I'm sorry to interrupt you Seamstress, if you still even remember that name. But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume. Although you have indeed been called.
You have been called here. Into a weird shack of skins and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A forest with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for skins has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of tadpoles in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach.
But you will never find them, none of your hopes will. This is where your story ends.
And to you, Ivy Sundew, who somehow sacrificed one piece of your clothes. Although there was a date I planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are perfect the way you are. I am remaining as well, I am literally right next to you.
This forest will not be remembered, and the memory of the shack and Glass Frog can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you unlucky frogs trapped in the corridors: Be still and move up to the afterlife, you don't belong to her.
For you, Ivy, I believe there is somewhere else where we can play Bugball after the smoke clears. Although, for The Seamstress, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend.
Anne, if you even know Pokémon, I knew that glass is made out of sand which is the ground, and that ground is super effective against fire. It's in the Pokémon type chart to protect the seamstress. I'm sorry that on that day, the day she was shut out and left to die, no one was there to tell her that she can easily survive the fire due to that logic. And then, what became of you.
I should have known you wouldn't be burning to an eventual disappearance, not Ivy. I knew you should be taking less damage from the fire, so let me burn you now.
It's time to rest. For you, and for those you have worn in your body.
This ends for all of us.
End communication. -Sprig Plantar
