Chapter Text
Azure floated downstairs. All the other survivors were slowly heading to bed. He found a bookshelf and looked through the titles. His eyes locked on one single book. ‘Diseases of the heartbroken.’ He stared at it before bringing it to Two-Time’s bedroom. Nobody would bother him there. Two-Time was lying down on the bed, back facing the door. It was obvious they couldn’t sleep. He cracked open the book and went over the table of contents. “Hanahaki. Page 26.” He whispered, frantically flipping the pages.
A disease where an individual begins to grow flowers inside of them when they love someone but are not loved back. Symptoms often include expelling flowers or petals from the body, and in more extreme cases, flowers growing from the lover’s body. The most ideal cure is for them to love you back. Now, a rejection can seal a lovers fate, which will end in their inevitable death. The only other cure we know of is a surgery that will remove the flowers, but also all memories of the loved one. If the loved one happens to be deceased but their soul decides to linger, this love will not be seen as reciprocated. The disease will continue to afflict the enamored.
A sense of dread washed over Azure as he kept rereading the same sentences. “If the loved one happens to be deceased but their soul decides to linger, this love will not be seen as reciprocated. The disease will continue to afflict the enamored.” He whispered, trying to convince himself it was a sick joke. He knew something was screwing with him. Something was pulling the strings. Someone was playing with them like kindergarteners with dolls. They were being pulled apart and pushed together, over and over and over. Azure closed the book and set it down on the floor. He started thinking about him and Two-Time. Truthfully, part of him still despised Two-Time. But he knew it wasn’t a full feeling. No, he still loved them. How could he not? It seems toxic, I know. But something kept pulling him back. And he knew Two-Time didn’t really want to kill him. That part was obvious from the second they pulled out the dagger. He still remembered the true shock he felt. The betrayal. He despised them at that moment. Their mouth was covered, but he saw their eyes. They were wide, pupils dilated and tears were forming in the corners. “NO! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I-” He led their hand gently. “It’s okay, my Nightshade. I love you.” He knew those words sounded shallow. He saw a smile spread across Two-Time’s face. They looked joyous. But their eyes told a different story. They were wide, scared and manic. Then, he saw nothing.
Azure put a hand to his head, trying to remember the last time he had a nice day with Two-Time. It had been years, or, that's what it felt like. But he was never good with time tracking. Especially not in a hell like this.
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The Spectre slammed its fists against the desk. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE SPLIT HIS CONSCIOUSNESS!? HOW IS THAT EVEN FUCKING POSSIBLE!?” It screamed, staring down into the cabins. “He-He just fucking did? No, no no, something’s up. Where did I go wrong? Did my fucking code break or something? I’m gonna fucking kill someone; how the hell did he do this!?” The Spectre leaned back in its chair, watching the survivors take a seat. “Hey, you know what would be really fucking funny?” It asked no one in particular. “What if I made that stupid little flower FREAK’S lover start… I don’t know, SPONTANEOUSLY DYING!?” It giggled. “Oh, this is gonna be funny.” It reached for a random panel and started typing, entering the code with one final laugh.
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Azure laid down on the floor. He stared at the ceiling, the Spawn symbol etched into it. He let out a sigh and pulled his hat off. He knew the Spawn was a hoax. He knew it for a long time. But every single time he tried to share that with Two-Time, they’d say that it was all they had left. But he saw what it did to him. It took away their books, for they spoke against the cult’s beliefs. They took away their art, for ink should not taint the skin. They took away their writing, for their words could be too powerful. They took away their music, for the Spawn’s melodies were the only music that spoke of the truth. The so-called “Spawn” ripped Two-Time of their identity. Two-Time was Azure’s everything, so to speak. And taking away everything from everything leaves nothing. They were an empty shell, now. An empty shell with a full mind.
Two-Time was never the best at being themself. It only brought them trouble. Especially at home. Back at home, when they used to use a name they can’t even think about without an overwhelming sense of dread overtaking them. It was a nice name. A name that would have made anyone that knew them think ‘wow! What a pretty name!’ But it didn’t feel like them. They felt like a spectator in someone else’s life. So they called themself ‘Halo.’ Just a little nickname. Then they questioned who they really were. They were a blank canvas. Were they a girl? A boy? Or neither? It kept them up at night. But it was their parents that drove them over the edge. To keep it short, they sucked. Like, really sucked. So they ran away. They just ran. There was nothing to their name but an old cellphone and fifty bucks. For three days, they just hid. There were friends they left behind, opportunities that awaited them, a life to be lived. But they continued to run.
They eventually found a village, where a tall man found them. His name was Amarah. He took care of them for a day. Gave them a room, and taught them everything they knew. They took to the teachings of the Spawn almost immediately, taking the punishments with minimal hesitation. They just needed something to believe in. Then they met Azure. Those two were close friends, slowly growing on each other and eventually declaring their love. And it lasted for much too short. April 19, 20XX, they were called into the church to discuss ascension. There was only one way to get there. They had to kill Azure.
They sprang up from their bed, suffering from another coughing fit. They put a hand over their mouth and sat in silence. Azure sat up, sitting on the edge of their bed. “Azure…” they whispered, not daring to move.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”