"Keep your eyes on me, Shtooball." Greg places his hand on the other side of the bubble, one thin and suffocating piece of glass away from touching. He's so close. He's so close.

"You can be scared. You can fear her more than you trust me." How much he's been hurt, how badly he's been damaged, Greg would expect nothing else, damaged soul or no. He'd been just the same, until they pulled him out by force.

"But I'm right here, and she's not, and I'm not going to let you sink."

The darkness may be overwhelmingly present, but golden, soapy bubbles cut through as best they can. They're fragile little spheres of light, but they cut through the black one line at a time.