Karen: Ngh…
Karen: Eugh… what happened? Where are we?
Chicken: BAWK BAWK
Karen: COUGH
Karen: And why is it so cold and dusty in here?
Karen: Ah! Maddie! Oh no… Wake up–!
Madelyn: I am awake, dummy. We’re in a dungeon. I’m fine.
Karen: But you got hurt…
Madelyn: I said I’m fine. It’s just bruised ribs. I’m a Basitin.
Karen: You don’t sound fine to me. What’s wrong?
Madelyn: . . .
Madelyn: You’re not a Basitin. You wouldn’t understand.
Karen: I can try.
Madelyn: When I was born, the old goats were so excited. A new Adelaide.
Madelyn: My mother was already a living legend by then. The embodiment of what it means to be a Basitin.
Madelyn: But as I grew up, it quickly became obvious I wasn’t going to end up like her… “What a waste.” They’d say. “Maybe next time.” No matter how much I excelled in other ways, I was always seen as a disappointment.
Madelyn: And the old goats were right. Cunning can only take you so far. I wasn’t strong enough to help you. Or myself.
Karen: Madelyn, anyone would have had trouble with that big lizard. And you’re just a kid. You could still grow to be like her one day!
Madelyn: Karen, I’m not actually a kid. I’m seventeen. My mother was twice my size at my age.
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