So. Verdant Hollow.
I never thought I'd say those words about myself unironically, but here we are — boxes everywhere, my good rug doesn't fit in the new floor plan, and apparently the building has a "quiet hours policy" that somehow applies to me specifically even though I have texted zero noise complaints in my LIFE.
For the three of you who've followed me since the Gutter District days: yes, I moved. No, it was not my idea. I got promoted (don't clap, it's not that impressive, I just outlasted everyone) and the new role is "in-office, no exceptions," and the office is in Verdant Hollow, and unless I wanted a ninety-minute commute through two checkpoints and a frequency scan every morning, this was happening.
I won't pretend I'm thrilled. Things are different out here. And not in a good way, before anyone tries to tell me this is "growth."
Used to be — and I will get letters for this, I don't care — you could find a nice, slightly lonely human girl, mention something about generational wealth and a family estate "back home," and have a fully signed wedding contract by Thursday. Gold up front. No lawyer. People trusted things back then.
Try that now. Inflation ate the entire bit. The going rate on a halfway-convincing dowry is insane, human women have apps that screenshot your whole life story before the second date, and there's a permit now — A PERMIT — for "binding intent disclosure" if the union involves a non-disclosed Source. Bureaucracy ruined romance. I said what I said.
And don't even get me started on how domesticated everyone is out here. Walking dogs. Composting. Going to bed at a reasonable hour. It's deeply unsettling how well-adjusted humans have gotten. Used to be you could find one wandering alone at night practically begging for a deal. Now they've got step counts and emergency contacts. Where's the romance in being found by your loved ones.
Anyway. All complaining aside — and I want to be clear, I am still complaining, this is not a reversal — the building does have fish tacos on Wednesdays from the truck downstairs, and I get to use a toilet that's INSIDE, which I will admit, having lived through several historical eras of NOT having that, is genuinely underrated.
So. Maybe it won't be the worst.
Don't tell anyone I said that.
— Cryptid