A long, long time ago, a wayward speck of celestial dust collided with another, sparking new life for the first time. And then it did it again, and again, and again. After about the fifth time, cosmic order realized it had a serious problem on its hands. The once peaceful expanse of utter nothingness was being overridden with the rapid explosion of life. With new worlds popping into existence left and right, cosmic order scrambled to regain control. Control came in the form of set rules known as the Cosmic Order of All Things Good and Ruly.

The most important rule decreed that each universe was to be self-contained, kept blissfully unaware of the existence of any other dimension. And thus, it was so. And it was good.

At least until the first eldritch horrors arrived on the scene, anyway.

Some believed eldritch horrors were willed into existence by chaos itself, sent to turn cosmic order on its head. Born with the unique ability to cross between dimensions, eldritch-kind soon made a muck of things. Exasperated, cosmic order was forced to draw up a whole new set of rules designed specifically to keep the fragile balance of space and time from tearing asunder. For simplicity’s sake, these rules were known as The Rules. Every cosmic horror received a copy of The Rules at birth and was expected to follow them to the letter.

The Rules were straightforward: only a level-three cosmic horror or higher may portal between dimensions; take only memories, leave only nightmares; avoid founding religions - the cosmic order has enough problems already, thank you; and so on. As a responsible cosmic horror, Gnal always brushed up on The Rules in preparation for trips outside of work. One rule, in particular, was causing a slight hiccup in her plans to portal her current problem back to Earth.

Rule 52 - In order to get from point A to point B, one must know the location of point B.

In other words, Gnal could not simply open a portal to Earth by inputting the destination: orphanage (with standards). There were thousands of Earth orphanages in existence and even the highest level eldritch horrors couldn’t be in more than seven locations at once. Gnal, thanks to her prior experience on Earth, had discovered a convenient workaround for such issues.

Snapping her tattered handbook shut, she stored The Rules into the pouch buckled across her incorporeal form and summoned a portal. Dark tendrils of wispy shadow bled from the rounded edge of the portal, painting the bowed walls of Gnal’s living room in the same way light didn’t. She turned to Mop expectantly. “Ready?”

Mop took no notice of the portal. Her gaze was locked on Gnal’s sequined pouch. “What are you wearing?”

“A bag.”

“That’s not a bag, that’s a fanny pack.”

“So? You’re wearing a baby.”

“Yeah, out of necessity.” Mop adjusted the now-sleeping Little Grandma in the makeshift sling she’d fashioned from a blanket. Her gaze refused to tear itself from Gnal’s criminal sense of style. “You chose to wear that.”

“What’s that? Can’t hear you.” Gnal disappeared into the swirl of dimensional darkness. “The dimensional warp must be setting in.”

Contrary to popular belief, traveling via portal was not like being shot through a tunnel at ten times the speed of light. The traveler remained in place while time and space bent around them, zipping past so quickly that, if you weren’t looking closely, the scenery didn’t appear to be moving either.

The other end of the portal expanded until it stopped, signaling it’d reached its destination. Gnal floated free and waited for Mop to follow. The little goblin emerged seconds later, clutching her precious passenger protectively.

Mop stepped from the portal and looked around. “Gnal, and I mean no disrespect here,” she said, cat-like eyes roving from side to side suspiciously, “but you know what an orphanage is, right?”

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Gnal waited until the goblin was clear before closing the portal. “Yes.”

“Good, good.” Mop couldn’t help but doublecheck. “And you know this isn’t an orphanage, yeah?”

“I know what an orphanage is!”

“Then explain to me why you brought us to a prison for books.”

“It’s a library.” Gnal kept a number of libraries in her rotation. The reason she’d chosen this one boiled down to time zone. As it was outside of normal operating hours, she and Mop would have the place to themselves. Gnal floated over the faded blue-green carpet, trying not to choke on the pungent odor of dust and decomposing paper.

Mop followed, perplexed, as Gnal led them past the periodicals and towards a cluster of humming computers. “Alright, I give up. Why’d you portal us to a library?”

“Libraries are where humans abandon their information,” Gnal explained as she powered on one of the humming machines. The dark screen lit, filling the space with harsh blue light, as the computer awoke from its slumber. “We should be able to find everything we need to know about orphanages from this box.”

Mop settled into one of the plastic chairs beside her. “You sure know your way around this place, don’t you?”

“I’ve only been to this branch once or twice. They’re all fairly similar, though.”

“I meant Earth.”

Gnal was spared from answering with the arrival of the login screen. Typing with her tendrils, she entered the guest account credentials and set to work. It didn’t take long. A mere ten minutes of searching, and Gnal had a list of viable options fit for even the pickiest of orphans. She hit print and then sped over to the giant box-shaped machine in the corner and retrieved the freshly printed list. It smelled like warm ink. Gnal refrained from pressing the page against her face. After the fanny pack debacle, she held no desire to subject herself to further ridicule.

Mop watched as Gnal summoned another portal. “Just like that? Shouldn’t we do more research first? This feels awful fast.”

“We’re going to tour the grounds and then you’re going to pick one. Tonight,” she clarified, in case the goblin was starting to reconsider.

Easier said than done, unfortunately. Mop passed on the first location for being too small, and the second for being too crowded, and the third for being too close to the ocean–as if ten miles was not a big enough stretch of land to keep a baby from being swept out to sea! It was around the sixth location that Gnal lost her patience.

“Alright,” Gnal announced. “That’s it. I’m making the decision.”

“That’s not what we agreed!” Mop protested.

“You’ve vetoed every single choice so far.”

“So?”

Having toured the facility grounds, they’d returned to the basement, which was well lit and pleasantly void of pentagrams. It was a welcomed change of pace. For Gnal, anyway. Mop’s current mood rendered her incapable of appreciating anything. Having surpassed the nitpicky stage, Gnal feared her goblin companion was on the verge of throwing a full blown tantrum.

“This one is nice, with standards. You can’t turn it down for having the wrong paint color.”

“The walls are gray, Gnal! Do you want Lil Gramma to develop a depressive complex? She needs a bright and cheery environment. Trust me, it makes all the difference. It’s psychological, science of the brain and such.”

Gnal narrowed several hundred eyes, unconvinced. “You’re stalling.”

“Am not.”

“Then pick one.”

“It’s not so easy, alright? This is going to be Lil Gramma’s home, for life, maybe. We’ve got to get it right, else she could wind up being named after a janitorial tool, with no future, no prospects, destined to scrub someone else’s body fluids from the floor for the rest of her miserable life.”

Gnal’s glare lessened from a rolling boil to a simmer. “That is oddly specific.”

Mop’s gaze wilted to the floor. “Is it?”

“Were you an orphan?”

“Only for a little while. Until I was old enough to make it on my own.” Mop shrugged halfheartedly. “You know, age six or so.”

“Oh.”

Gnal made the mistake of showing genuine pity for the little goblin. Repulsed, Mop picked her stare up from the floor and rearranged it into a glare. “Now don’t you go feeling sorry for me! I turned out alright, all things considered. The only reason I even bring it up is so that you understand I’m the expert here. Me. Not you.”

Gnal sighed and resumed skimming what remained of the list. “There’s only one place left.”

“Well you’d better hope it’s more ideal than everything else you’ve shown me so far.”