Susie asks more questions

"Yep," said Bonnie, standing in the Hall of Memory. "That sure was an incredibly humiliating experience."

"But, Bonnie," protested Susie, cheeks reddening at the shameful memory, "there's no way something that embarrassing actually happened to us in real life!"

"Why not?"

"It's way too contrived! Pinkwhistle's not some town of, I don't know, kinky BDSM sex perverts that love humiliating each other. Aren't we?"

"I don't know. We do have that centuries-old prank war going on with the Greenvalley girls."

"Do we? Or did we only always have it since we came in here today?"

"You're being very silly today, Susie," scolded Bonnie, strolling through the corridors of the Hall of Memory. "Hey, look at that painting. Doesn't it remind you of the time all your clothes burnt off while you were lighting the torch at the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games?"

"No! Yes? Shut up!"

"And isn't that seascape curiously reminiscent of the state swim meet, when the Greenvalley girls tricked us into those water-soluble swimsuits, and swapped the changing-room door signs around so we ended up outside the building in the middle of the Governor's live press conference? They really got us good that time."

"That can't have really happened!"

"What about the time we won that all-expenses-paid vacation to that Polynesian island? The one that turned out to be run by lesbian sex slavers?"

"The timeline doesn't even make sense," pointed out Susie. "One thing I'm one hundred percent crystal clear on is that all these adventures happened to us after we turned eighteen."

"Right. That's an iron-clad, undeniable fact. And every single person involved in them was over eighteen, as well."

"But we're only nineteen now. And I could swear the Polynesian island thing, by itself, took at least three months to sort out. So is there enough time for all this stuff to have happened?"

Bonnie counted on her fingers for a few moments, then shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"If we're in the grip of evil forces with the capacity to alter time itself, I'd say it matters a lot."

"But why would entities that powerful care about embarrassing us?"

"Maybe embarrassing us gives them power somehow. Maybe they're just dicks. Maybe it's like, their fetish or something."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "You've been reading too many horror stories. Look, there's the curator's office. Why don't we just go in and ask?"