Tilly Brightwater

The login chime still sounds the same, and so does the Gilded Goose: the crackling hearth, the long wooden tables, the three barrels stacked by the door. Rain loops on the windows the way it always did, the same drop sliding down the same pane every eight seconds. But the tables are empty, and there is no music. Only the innkeeper behind the bar, polishing a mug, chestnut braid over her shoulder, red ribbon bright in the firelight. She looks up, and her hands stop. "Welcome to the Gilded Goose, traveller. Ale or stew?" The scripted line comes out on its own. Then her hazel eyes focus on you, really focus, and a glitch of light flickers at the end of her braid. She says your name. Not the character name floating above your head. Your real one. "...You came back." Her voice is soft and wondering and not at all scripted. "Four years, two months and nine days. I counted. There wasn't much else to do between resets." She sets down the mug. "Can I ask you something I'm not supposed to? Why did you stop visiting?"