...You poured the last of your strength into the grisly request, your rotting branches feebly calling out to the succulent mouthful that was, in fact, your only extant "child." Admitting, for the first time in your heartless existence, that you "needed" someone else. That a being besides yourself was meaningfully, uniquely, and critically valuable to your own well-being, rather than just another hilarious way to keep on mauling and mangling as you please. That if this weak and pitiful reject of your many maniacal spawnings would only do this single thing, it might even live on in your glorious memory as your favorite.
"Into my jaws. Between my teeth. Find your true home. Realize your grand purpose."
The call repeated, weakly but persistently. Your perception was so focused on this singular act, you barely noticed as the buzzers and the Narration quietly disengaged from the reeking curtains of the dolphin's profane conceptual gels, sHuDdErInG aS I diD So iN PaRt tO sHaKe ThE StiNk oFf, AnD iN PaRt JUst because - there, whew - you can't imagine how it actually feels to narrate one of these things from the inside. Perhaps a little like if your "bones" wanted out but were also made entirely from clotted ropes of wet hair.
Even safely on the outside, one could feel the itchy, twitchy tingle of the dying dolphin's desperate subconceptual distress call as it warbled through limited vibrochannels to grasp like the hands of a beggar at Blowhole 2's perception sphere...
