This epilogue is brought to you by ...Previously...
Angela wandered outside Underborough High School, her bristly legs kicking up dust in the crisp afternoon air. Her reduced stature would make the trek to Underborough Square a little longer, but she felt drawn to the bustling crowds. Although she was a relatively new face in the area, she wondered if anyone would recognize her even newer
face. And body, for that matter.
Gazing upward at all the monsters and more than a few visiting humans, Angela smiled to herself. Though her tampering with magic spells had altered her form, her mind was still intact. She scanned the sidewalks and shops and found that even in a diversely monster-populated place like this, she was unique. She enjoyed getting the occasional raised eyebrow from creatures with multiple sets of eyes. It felt thrilling to know she was walking around incognito rather than just unnoticed. She knew who she herself was while others weren't sure what she was. It was her secret.
But that's when it hit her: it wasn't
her secret. Even she didn't know exactly what she was. She would have to go home eventually. What would her mother think when a tiny wooden imp crept into the house? What would she do at school the next day? Suddenly overwhelmed with the perceived consequences of her actions, Angela ran, darting between all manners of legs until there were no more people or monsters to see her panic.
The sky was growing darker as Angela shuffled out of town and onto one of the footpaths leading back home. Angela wrung her brush-like hands. The soft breeze blew noisily through Angela's straw hair.
"What am I going to do?" she muttered to herself. "I can't go home like this. And I can't go back to school and fix it, I'll just make myself worse!" Angela balled up her straw hands and held them to her face, wondering whether or not her wooden features could produce tears.
A voice came seemingly from nowhere. "I don't think you're so bad, little girl."
Angela looked up to see that she was now surrounded by several figures all her size. They all seemed to be human versions of things
, like she was now. There was a young man with a guitar body, a girl who was part teddy bear, a walking pepper grinder that was wearing what Angela thought might be a dress, and so on.
"I-I'm not a little girl!" Angela shouted in a way that only weakened her case. "Who are all of you?"
A boy with no arms spoke up, instead gesturing with his scarf. He pointed a single tassel at himself. "Well, I'm Wrappa, and this is--"
"No, no, no, that wil take much too long," a deep voice said. It was the disembodied voice from just a moment ago. "These, collectively, are the Scraps. And I--" A lanky figure rose from behind the crowd. He was plainly dressed, but still imposing due to his mouthful of jagged fangs. "--I am the Krockman," he finished, after a maybe-too-long dramatic pause.
"Scraps?" Angela asked, looking at the crowd who had now formed a small circle around her. "Is... is that what I am, too?"
"Not quite," Krockman answered. "Yes, they're all little, and they're all more or less household items, but you are different in one very important way. You see, you are not dead."
Angela waited for the tall man to continue, hoping his next word wouldn't be 'yet.'
"All of my little friends here are made from little bits of broken souls. Sort of the toaster leavings of Limbo. But I've never seen a living being turn themselves into one on their own. And I've seen quite a bit, mind you."
Parting the circle of Scraps, whose eyes remained fixed on Angela, Krockman bent down to examine the broom-girl more closely. "No," he said, scratching his slightly scruffy chin, "it doesn't appear to be permanent."
"So I'll go back to normal?" Angela asked.
"Sure. It could take a few days. Maybe a few weeks, but no more than that. Frankly, I have the power to change you back right now."
Angela's eyes lit up as she let out a little gasp.
"But I won't."
"Hay is for horses, and people with straw hair shouldn't... ah, never mind. Not sure where I was going with that. Anyway my point is, you meddled with powers you couldn't comprehend. And what would you gain from it if I just zapped you back, hmm? And believe me, I'm capable of leaving you as far worse than a Scrap. Of course, I won't do that either. It's more entertaining to see what you end up doing to yourself."
"Well, can't you help me at all? I mean, I thought you'd at least have some answers for me. All you did was allude to what a Scrap is, but otherwise I'm more confused now than I was before!"
"I can see you're disappointed. Just to show I'm not a bad guy, I'll take you somplace you can lay low."
With that, Angela instantly found herself alone once again. She was no longer on the footpath, either. Instead, she was standing at the front door of her friend Shelley's house. It was a good choice on Krockman's part, though Angela had no idea how he knew where her friends lived, let alone the right one to send her to. Shelley was smart and usually had helpful advice. Angela's brief adventure as a mysterious new being was over; she now had to come clean to someone about what she'd done to herself. Krockman's words nagged at her as she approched the door. "Entertaining
to see me turn myself into stuff?" Angela mumbled. "What kind of weird guy would find entertainment in that?"