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Summary
Tommy had changed in the last few decades under Dream's careful watch. He pulsed with the lasting effects of magic and death, and his hair was a startling white color. It was tied neatly back out of his face now, after Dream had convinced him to grow it out to match Dream's own hairstyle (his only regret was forgetting how to braid it back.)
"Tommy?" Philza spoke softly, "what are you doing here? How?"
Tommy chuckled awkwardly. "You know? Living and all that jazz."
