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Jumper leaned back in her comfortable chair. Though that the name wasn’t truly hers, she had only taken to calling herself that after the girl entered into this world. JumperWho, her name was, and she felt such all-consuming envy. She had to preemptively take the name. It was, at least, something to call herself. She figured that the others must have done the same Whatever, whoever they were once, it was now meaningless. The only possibility there was for some kind of freedom was to take the new innocent, naive prisoner. Jumper tried to get comfortable for only a short moment, before precisely laying her hands on the piano and watching the girl through the one way portal.
She had spent the past two hours watching the girl navigate this world. She was terrified, obviously, and Jumper couldn’t blame her. Though the memory was dim now, Jumper could recall the confusion, then fear, then horror, as she slowly came to terms with her fate. They once took her name. They once chased her around, seeking to steal her identity and name, whatever that had been, and make their way back to reality.
That was so long ago now, she recalled. She retained herself, shedding only the superficial parts: her name, her face, her voice. Unlike the others, whose very minds had been chipped away, replaced by a raging envy, Jumper had still been able to watch and help this naive girl, guiding her carefully through, as best as she could, her new home.
But this hell, Jumper had learnt in her time here, would consume her too. It was already becoming apparent. The memories of her life were becoming vaguer and vaguer. She could hardly remember what brought her into this world in the first place. She had learnt instinctively that killing this girl would take her whole body, and send the lucky killer to reality, with a new identity. This gift of hope and knowledge, perhaps curse, was given to all the inhabitants by the malevolent god of this place. At least, that was what she told herself, maybe it all meant nothing. In the past, Jumper would have been horrified at the bargain. How could anybody possibly want to condemn another to whatever tortures lay beyond, for in this place death could be nothing good, only to return a finite, simple life that isn’t even one’s own. But this girl, this real JumperWho, had an identity. Jumper couldn’t stand to be apart from one for so long. She would be the lucky murderer. Eventually. For now she sat and stared. Any moment she could rise from her seat and fly through the portal. She could beat the girl in a fight with surprise on her side.
The girl was looking around one of the infinite-seeming house-grids. Jumper lazily pressed the chords on her piano: a low dissonant one when she looked the wrong way, and a nice pleasing chord when she went the right way. She felt bad about it. All she was doing was playing with her food. She’d have to kill the girl eventually. It wasn’t like there really was an escape, all this did was keep her hope alive slightly longer, make her think she had a friend looking out for her, though Jumper was no better than the rabid animals that chased her mindlessly. Jumper wanted to tell her: already she was trapped, whatever tether she thinks she has to reality is rapidly fading, whatever game she thinks she is playing has already wrapped itself around her mind and pulling her attention away would be an impossible, Herculean feat. Poor JumperWho, Jumper thought. At least until Jumper worked up her nerve.
The girl was writing signs now. Most of them were calls to her supposed guardian angel, begging for help, for answers. Maybe the isolation was finally cracking her spirit. Jumper played a few bright chords on her piano. The girl paused and her shaking slowed, an uneasy smile formed on her face. A frown would have formed on Jumper’s if she had one.