Most peculiar.
[...] This city of Las Vegas is in America, correct?
Many people still leave, and it's painful. It hurts, and it should hurt, and as a member of one of the extended families across this place, I have conflicting feelings on it. I am going to be affected when people leave (and conversely I know people would be affected if I leave). Still, I do not wish to spend all of my time here miserable, or else it isn't worth it here, and I don't want anyone else to be miserable, as much as that is possible. As such, I've been thinking about what I want to happen if I leave (Capitaine, by no means should that be interpreted as wanting to leave).
It feels like death, if I leave and return home. I have met so many people here I could never meet back home from my world and others. Albus, I could never have pictured you as a boy before here, but we are as two of a kind as we ever have been. I've fallen in love with one of the most wonderful men in all the worlds. I am biased in that as I should be. I have had tastes of what other worlds were like, of that strange way it's like in patriarchal worlds, in living children's tales, and fighting zombies. I am not the woman I was coming here, and I like the woman I have become. And she, I, will be no more, if I leave.
I want a funeral, if I leave. I want an empty casket, a chance for each of you to say goodbye, and for one of you - but only one - to punch Capitaine Epsilon in the face for allowing me to leave. It can be a chance to cry and mourn, as everyone deserves when they lose someone.
I want a party. After the funeral, I want the reception to be a party. There should be music and food and no one should worry about calories or healthiness or overeating or overdrinking. People should tell stories of things that happened here, of memories, of the good times. I want everyone to have those memories and remember them not entirely tinged with sadness. I want you to divide my things as you wish. The cottage is as much Arthur's as mine, if we're still here, and no one should try to take it from him. But Janie, Mini, the rest of you, I have a very large closet here, and you should all be dressed fabulously in my absence.
Even if I leave here and I die, even if I lose any one of you whom I love and am glad to meet, I am glad to be here and to have come here. It is better to have lived and loved than never loved at all. This may not be true for each of you, dependent upon who leaves and what they return to, but these are the thoughts I have, how I feel, and what I want.
What do you want?