When House gets a patient who suffered abuse as a child, he is forced to think about how his own father influenced his life.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Dave joins you at the window. There are no stars left in the sky. Nothing but blackness and a faint soap bubble sheen. “Is that a dream bubble?” Dave says. And then it swallows you.

Your wriggling day is in three days, and while you normally celebrate this event with the apathy it deserves, this particular sweep is different. That’s because it will be your eighth sweep, and it happens to coincide with the arrival of the imperial drones. This is a milestone that every troll looks forward to with a heady combination of excitement and terror. For most trolls, when they reach their eighth sweep, they become adults. Not you. When you reach your eighth sweep, you will die.