I could devote a few paragraphs to the infuriating illogic of the thing (beginning with the terminal thymoma and ending with House's magical escape from infernal doom), but others already have, and there's no point in replicating their efforts. I will say I'd hoped for something better than a parade of hallucinations and a reprise of the perennial arguments, but I never expected to be satisfied: my narrative preferences diverged from the canon writers' long ago.
Still, I've always loved the characters, even when the stories written for them appalled me, so I have no plans to go anywhere. The larger projects I've put aside all semester are ready to return to, and I'm hoping to complete at least one of them before another year of graduate school pulls me under. Currently, my dæmonverse looks as though it'll claim first priority (as a matter of trivia for those interested, my list of dæmon assignations has been updated to include Adams, Amber, Park and Stacy. Of those, it was necessary to pin Amber's down, since she'll appear in "Interweaving").
Finally—so there's something of substance in this entry—have a metanarrative poem. These are my own words to the characters, post-finale. (And I disclaim the phrase "further up and further in," which is from C.S. Lewis' The Last Battle.)
Further Up and Further In
This is where all tales begin
(Further up and further in):
Kiss a dying world goodbye
(Time to fall, and falling, fly).
Rules that cannot break can bend
(All your lives were just pretend).
Time is winding to a close
(Tell me how your story goes):
Time to travel past the door
(Don’t you know that’s what you’re for?).
Losses fade; it’s not too late
(Time to find a kinder fate).
Time to fall, and falling, fly—
Tell me how your story goes.
Time to find a kinder fate:
Don’t you know that’s what you’re for?
All your lives were just pretend.
Further up and further in,
Find yourselves remade. Begin.