Notes

The lighthouse needed upkeep.
It always did, donations in the chest, cobwebs in the corners, the light forever dimming by the day. It was an old dog, one Crois loved to take care of. The fields, the maze, the plots of land- endless things to keep them busy.To keep hands moving, idleness at bay. Even when the chores were done he'd race around the smp, watching as everyone went about their days. Quick to pull a sword and quicker to swing, hitting crits and hoping.
Crois loved the closeness of it, keeping a part of someone. Heads were collectables to people like Lisa and Lion. To Crois, they meant something.

Ohio had started small. A farm in the middle of a clearing. He'd taken the time, calluses from axes and digging, the exhaustion of building a camper from scratch. They'd done it though, and once Ohio was set up on solid foundation, other people came. That was always the fear of it- the curse had been no hindrance. Golden apes turned it into a blessing. But being alone? That was worse than any magic.
So while people built homes, he rolled up his shoulders, took the faces of all his friends, and set to work. Pumpkin farms and Donut stands and mazes, populated with the shapes all their friends.
Ohio would never be empty again.

The lighthouse needed upkeep.