…
How much time does it take to sleep? If a person sleeps for too long, will it be the same as not being alive? Perhaps so, because sleeping is just a matter of not living in the real world. You live within corporeal world, a world of nothingness and delusions, where your body is nothing more than an empty vessel, left by you as your mind travels within grand cosmos of extra-dimensional realities. Within these realities, are the presences of different timelines, a different you who lives. Maybe there are different yous who life. But they all live in lives far different than yours. Each one doing something different, and in a manner more different or less different depending on each one. One of them will happen to be the total opposite of you.
<Varvara.>
They are the mirror image of you! They are the antithesis to your whole being, but are just as much connected to you on the most basic level. And perhaps, there is a way to reach them And that would be with the help of the deity, that resides outside of cosmos…the Whale!
<Varvara!>
And that whale, that beautiful creature, shall welcome us in it long, huge flippers! It will shield us in its body, travelling us through the long, loud, and hostile body of realities, in order to bring us toge-
<Varvara, can you hear me!?>
Oh! Zamarad! Sorry, I think I got into the whole story again.
<I am aware. You seem to have quite the imagination,> Zamarad said, then sighed. <Now, are you able to focus? I believe I have managed to contact Rose.>
Oh wow, that’s great! So, then, can she take us out of here?
<I believe so she does,> Zamarad said. <This pocket dimension seems to be designed to leave you fatigued, however. I will try to contact her again.>
Varvara tried to nod, but her neck was too restricted to do so. She then looked up into the sky, once again, filling her with the melancholy. The grey skies, the cool weather, the trickle of the rain, all were giving her that serene, calming effect. 
<I believe I have come to a perfect solution to our problem, but I must consult with Rose and the others first,> Zamarad continued to talk. 
It was then, that Varvara finally gave her stretched out, vocal sigh, directed right into the sky. It really was a beautiful sight for her.
<Varvara?>
I think…I want to rest for a bit. Can I?
<What!? No Varvara! We must absolutely not->
We don’t have to hurry up all the time. Let’s just leave it to others. Chester is probably going to help us. He always helped us. And Flora can work with him too. They all will do fine. It will be all fine.
<VARVARA!>
All fine…
…
The clown walked briskly through the front yard The hammer on one side, and a small crow-boy on the other, the evil general looked no different than a child in a fair, ready to claim his next prize. There was confidence in his smile, which hasn’t faded yet for over several minutes by then.
“Well, well, well, did you see how far the guy flew, I tell ya! I think I broke a new record the’e!” the clown chuckled, elbowing the crow boy. The latter teetered almost into a fall. The clown moved to see the broken debris of the wooden fences that separated the front and the back of the orphanage’s yard. The clear u-shaped indent was all it took to tell him how well that brat took the fall. “Alright, you can come on out, spiny little brat! I know how my mallet sounds when I hit someone good with it, and the sound you made wasn’t nearly as satisfying! I reckon you jumped back on instinct, didja?” 
He chuckled slightly, moving back to the crow boy, then hovered the mallet’s head over the latter’s own. The circumference of it was enough to cover him if there was a storm outside. 
“How about you come on outta there! Just make it easy for me! Cause if you will not, then I guess certain someone might have scrape certain one or other from the ground with a shovel…Oh, why am I trying to hide it, it’s your friend here! I’m gonna turn him into paste! OI-HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!”
The roaring laughter could’ve been heard from outside the house quite easily, so Chester, being just behind the fence, gotten the message very plainly. He tisked quietly, scratching back of his head already.
He got us there, Chester admitted.
<Without a shadow of a doubt. You wish to turn in?>
Well, what else can I do? If I won’t go, that bird brain will turn to bird mush, alongside with Miss Cheshire…and I don’t think I like to imagine that, actually. It’s not really good for my health. We gotta free them, then  take care of the clown!
<In that case, I suggest we counterattack.>
Chester raised an eyebrow. You got a plan?
<He is clearly looking to entrap us. His decision to spare us earlier, despite a window to end us here, suggests he is aiming for a different goal. He wishes to keep us alive, for one reason or another.>
Okay…how does that help us?
<Simple, all we need is to stall for a short while.>
But what about-
<We have some leverage here, Chester. Plus, I believe he is being far too confident.>
Chester raised one brow at him.
<Now, here’s what we do while he waits…>
On the second floor, in the dark, creaky hall stood Matthew, tapping his foot impatiently.  As far as that boy acted, he was actually being extremely courteous. Even though he did not want to be there. He initially attempted to stay within the same restroom as the younger penguin, stating that it would be better to keep an eye on him if something were to happen. He also tried to negotiate his stay there by claiming he could look into the corner the whole time. 
Bobby explained to him that he feels uncomfortable doing it with others, even mentioning his problems in the public bathrooms. Also, he mentioned that the restroom up there wasn’t made for more than one person. And so, the very considerate and not-at-all-scared goose went on waiting, for few minutes already, until the boy could finally finish with his business. Albeit, every second grew harder to accept, as time went on.
In a bid to pass the time faster, Matthew ended up, of all things, listening to things closer. The chattering in the bedroom, the singing in the restroom, the water drops in the kitchen, the odd laugh that came outside…Oh, how truly he wish it would all pass over. And then he jumped when something loud knocked right behind him.
“Mister goose, are you there!?” shouted Bobby, making shush him quiet in an equally loud volume. 
“Yes, dear boy, I am,” Matthew whispered into the door, only to quickly pull his nose away. What had the boy eaten?  “Is there anything you need to help with?”
“Can you bring toilet paper?”
Matthew pursed his brows. “Oh, but…was not there a whole roll, just when I entered with you minutes ago? What happened to it?”
“I accidentally dropped it into the bowl.”
“How!?” Matthew honked, then quickly shut his beak. He heard a small round of laughter, a bit too loud, from the bedroom only.
“It’s embarrassing, can I not say it?”
The goose gave his nasal sigh, then leaned into the door, 
“Very well, I shall get that toilet paper for you. But first, where could that paper possibly be?” he asked.
“Downstairs. In the kitchen closet.”
Matthew’s eyes grew big. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Really sure?”
“Yep”
“REALLY, really, really, really, really, really, really, absolutely sure?”
“Mhm.”
“But…why is it downstairs?”
“I dunno.”
Matthew looked down the hall, leading his eyes to the stairs. Then he heard a faint whistling, which came neither from the restroom near him, nor the bedroom on the other side. It was clearly from outside the building. How close that whistling was, he had no clue, but he was sure that the person doing it was probably right by the door. And, equally as sure he was, that if he were to go down the stairs, that clown…that monster…would notice him. 
Perhaps, he could ask Bobby to pull out the paper from the bowl? Who is to say, it could never be useful again, just because it was wet.
“Oops!” a sound came from the restroom, with flushing following it. “Uh-oh, it’s getting clumpy. You probably need a plunger from kitchen too.”
Matthew exhaled all the air from his lungs. Then, emitted a low, drawn-out, very high-pitched, whiny yet pitiful, honk. He continued on staring at the stairs, think for a moment about Chester. Oh, how terrible it is, that common man had not been imbued with telepathy, just so they could ask simple questions as, “Is the killer clown gone?” and whatnot. He had stopped hearing the whistling, but that did not stop him from thinking that he was still there. How long will it take to get rid of him?
Outside, the clown tapped on his foot.
“Her now, time is running out!” exclaimed the clown. “If you don’t come out now, you might never see your friend again! Except in the ‘Modern’ section of the art museum, or something. Hellooooooooo!” the clown called impatiently.
There was still no response. The clown murmured behind the same stone smile, very well aware that the brat, without a doubt, was trying to do something. That said, as far as the abilities of the boy to use the wind and to fight at close quarters, he knew how to easily bet anyone by simply standing in the right place at the right time and in the right way. If that stupid pinheaded maggot spontaneously decided to come out, with some sort of sneak attack, he could easily use retaliate with his already set up back up plan. All he had to do, was bait him. And once he does, that the days of the boy, who ruined his life and turned it into living hell, were numbered.
He waved his hand around “Pierre,” as two began stepping towards the fence.
“Alright, I am giving you a last chance, you little brat!” He gave a low snicker. “I’m gonna stand here, and completely not more at all,” he slowed his steps when he heard some noise. Nothing happened. Although, the clown noted the section of the fence that the blue warrior was probably behind. “…And I will count to three! This is your last chance! One! No way out! Two! Two and a half…”
The air has thinned. 
This became quickly apparent to the clown. The air, has in fact, became thin. He did not breathe real air, nor ever breathed in his short time on earth, but he felt it, in the marble skin of his. The air became thin and ribbony, rubbing into the cracks of his, gently shushing down the flames inside. He tried to wipe it off, but the ribbons instead wrapped on his hands. He inspected the air closer, then saw the faintest trail azure within it. That was undoubtedly some form of magical energy. And then, his eyes were slashed. There was no pain, but his vision had been removed. It was then that the boy finally appeared.
“Gotcha now!”
The clown felt these words reach one year, and proceeded to swing horizontally the mallet. But the boy, despite the large object going at him, did not stop. Instead, he ducked, letting the large weapon simple graze the crown of his head. He made a first gash across the clown’s belly. The former could not even recognize yet how it happened, but it seemed as if the boy saw it through. He saw that the clown wasn’t as elastic anymore, that his power grew unstable, that his otherwise indestructible body, was vulnerable. Had the gashes on his face gave it away? Had he come to a conclusion like that on his own? Did he randomly decided to do that? 
Who knows at this point, actually. The clown growled few flames tongues out of his smiling mouth. Without a doubt, this brat was a real pain in the-
With one last swing, the clown’s head hit the ground and rolled off…
…
Flora was in the kitchen with her Mom and Dad. These were dreams. Completely and utterly unreal creations that came from her own mind. For one, both of her parents were laughing, and playing with one another, something that could never happen. Mom was too embarrassed to do that in front of anyone. If anything, Dad would rather spend time laughing at his own jokes. Also, a pinkish tone that coloured everything in her view gave away it too. She pressed her lips together, then mildly let her eyes wander everywhere. At some point, this would all stop, right?
<Flora?> asked Rose, as if on cue. Flora opened her eyes to see the grey skies again, body still strapped. <You are awake?>
I think I’m starting to get immune to it, of something, she posited to her spirit.
<I do not believe so. It is far likelier that trying to juggle between three of you, all at once, is simply too much for the Torque. Mayhaps it is its weakness to have to deal with multiple targets. Nevertheless, we ought to contact Zamarad and Varvarad. However…>
Flora furrowed her brows. What’s wrong with her?
<Simply put, I believe she has been affected by this spell the most. I have talked with both Kage and Zamarad, but it is Young Varvara who seems to fall to sleep much more than both you and Young Tom.> Rose shook her head. <At times, we are met with curses that could have much stronger effect on us than on others. But for now, we do need her and Zamarad to be able to escape this trap! Zamarad is having problems waking her up, however…>
Flora sighed, and then bit her lip. It looked like it was not only her who was thinking about parents. Poor Barbie, she thought.
<Can we…reach her?> Rose pondered.
Yeah…we can, Flora answered. If you can help with that first, of course.
<Very well. Allow me to figure this out. I do hope I can find a way.>
Me too.
Flora looked up to the sky again. She was getting tired of having it in front of her face, making her feel a bit too gloomy. That was enough of moping.
…