Chapter Three: Thirteen Is a Door

Three hours before the fire, twenty years ago. Little Full was not the newest personality. She was the oldest. Every laboratory light came on. Breath misted the inside of all twelve child cradles as if someone had just awakened within them. Little Full's portrait appeared on the physical console for the first time: blue pajamas, crooked stitches on the right sleeve, and the number 00 fixed to her chest. “I'm sorry, Brother.” She had stopped crying. Her voice no longer sounded like a child, but like a witness exhausted by twenty years. “I said you were the thirteenth so they would fear you. The thirteenth was never a person.” “What was it?” “A vote.” A new proposal appeared: OPEN THE NARRATIVE EXIT AND RELEASE THE ORIGINAL FIRE MEMORY?