So, if you guys haven't read the OTGW graphic novels... Go do that.

So far I've read the first one (Tome of the Unknown) as well as Volume One. Tome of the Unknown details in between type adventures and Volume one so far was half about the adventures Greg has in his dreams. The other really great part about both of those is the story about the woodsman's daughter, Anna. It's so heartfelt and sad and definitely worth checking out. Tome of the Unknown is way too pricey to get a physical copy of, but was ten dollars on google play. I highly recommend it.

Anyway, take this depressing traumatized Greg fanfic because if I have to suffer so do y'all.


Rough bark digs and tears at my skin, bruising, cutting, pouring out the contents, making me nutrients, dust to dust, ash to ash, I return to the ground, to grow, to be cut down, to burn for my sins. I was young once and thought I was innocent but I see now the bright trail of candy wrappers behind me pinpointing my transgressions. My soul leaves my battered body and thinks ethereal thoughts, thoughts that fit better in my brother's mouth than my own, but my brother is not the one wrapped in roots and coughing leaves. I think, in the moment when my body was on the brink of exhaustion, my mind remained sharp and hopeful. I told myself that I could be anything. I did not let the brambles tear at my skin, I did not let my cheek bruise or my neck be snapped by the branches. I didn't let myself process the despair of giving up that I was feeling then because something nagged at me, motivated me, this fight or flight response that flew my mind away from the apparent danger to somewhere where I could at least believe my brother would be okay.

It was only when we were both okay, both as safe as we could be, only when Wirt reached out and carried me, rescued me, that the sting of the evening finally reached me. Then it was painful, not just to exist outside of the comforting embrace of the tree leeching my life-force but also to be held. When I was awake enough to recognize what was going on I wanted to tear myself away, I did not want to be touched, I did not want to be wrapped up in a hug from my brother, my mother, my father. I wanted to be near them, to feel safe, but the second an arm wrapped around me I was back, rooted in the dark forest.

When I was held by my brother, or my mother, or my father, I was held by the beast. I had to tear myself away, it was not safe to be held. It was suffocating, to be transported back over the garden wall. I was not strong enough yet to be closed in. Blankets and sheets were suffocating at first as well, though I eventually grew to trust in them. It took me longer to trust the people I loved the most. I wanted to disassociate, at first. Because all they wanted to do after nearly losing me to the woods was hold me close and all I wanted to do was flee the beast, to the safety of my dream world. So I would let my mind wander as it did when I was first captured by the branches. I let myself think thoughts much bigger than I am, thoughts familiar to Wirt's wistful poetry. As I dissociated, I grew, not into a tree of oil but into the thoughts that filled the world outside my own head.

I kept the whimsy when eyes were on me and I was safe from the edelwood. I let myself joke and be a child though it again took a long time until that child was actually me. It took a long time to feel safe though I did feel protected. I knew Wirt would lay down his life for me, though that was the last thing I wanted. I had struck a deal with the beast, after all, to ensure Wirt made it home. I knew, when I made it, that I wouldn't make it home as well. And though Wirt bested the beast, I do think part of me didn't make it home in the end.

So it was hard to be hugged, harder still to maintain a smile, to joke and run and give in to fantasies. Often, in the beginning, when I was playing pretend, my fantasies turned dark, and without the threat of embrace, I was back in the unknown, back in a twisted tomb of roots and branches. I had succumbed to it. I would be returning to the dirt, and Wirt would be returning home. It had seemed much easier when I knew that soon I would be fuel. Now I am not sure who I am or who I am supposed to be. Some days I play detective and hero and I let myself be whimsical again, but even in those instances, I return to the beast. Sometimes I cower and sometimes I cry and sometimes I succumb, waiting to be fuel but the blaze never comes.

I am not as strong as my brother, though I know he is haunted as well. I wish I could be stronger. I wish I could say that the sight of a bluebird, a shadow, or an upturned root doesn't make me feel a little queasy. I imagine I will be stronger when I am older when I can truly be anything. I do not know if I will ever escape the feeling of almost wanting to be fuel. In the moment I couldn't feel the bruises or the scratches but I did feel an almost worse pain, the pain of giving up, the pain that drove me out of my mind, to this space above it all. After the bruises and scars faded from the tree, those inner scars remained. I still ache remembering giving up, getting to the point when it was better to be consumed. My heart aches for the oil I am not and for the little boy I can no longer be. Of course, I can still smile and laugh and talk about our adventures in the woods as if it were all an episodic series of adventures where Wirt and I triumphed in the end. But what did I win?

A home I returned to, damaged so badly that I could not even be held by the ones I loved? A brother who frets, who will never feel safe again, who can never make me feel safe again? Parents who cannot understand? If I am the victor in this scenario, what happened to the loser? Is he now oil, ground-up branches lighting the last of a lamp meant to flicker out? Is it too late to trade him places?

I know I was meant to die that day. Those were the terms of my agreement. But we both broke our side of the deal, I am alive, yet pieces of myself and of Wirt never made it home. It's alright though, I'll get those pieces back one day. I will be whole when I am consumed, ash to ash.