Archive of Our Own ^beta

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PROLOGUE: THE OET TIMELINES

*****

On September 23^rd, 2018, Mystic began the Unlucky Number 12 series that began with the story Little Orphan Annie, which was an alternate story to her Lucky Number 12 story, and the series is still ongoing, even now. However, this series caught the attention of a certain ETN character, known as the Cursed God, and he saw this as his chance to bring down the barrier between fiction and reality.

So he reached out to Mystic, offering to help her make her stories more real, an offer that she accepted, unaware of who she was communicating with…at first, and because of this, rips in reality began to form.

This allowed the Cursed God to start influencing Mystic and other ETN writers who happened to read and comment on her stories.

It was when the ETN YouTubers of ETN 3 began communicating with Mystic, that she started to realize that something was wrong, more so when some of the ETN writers started writing what would become known as blackout stories with no memory of writing them, and even she herself was being affected.

By November 11^th, 2018, the series Our Eternity Together began when Mystic figured out that she unintentionally let the Cursed God into the ETN fandom, that he was targeting the other ETN writers, and he pulled her into the world of fiction. Since this has happen, she has blamed herself, and so the search for the Tokens of Everlock began.

By the time that I, Delta, got pulled into OET, I’d been writing ETN fanfics, but I hadn’t been posting them on AO3, and that didn’t happen until April 10^th, 2019. That was when I got my AO3 accounting, having already joined Discord back in March, and it was during the 8^thinstallment, A Victorian Christmas, that I made my first appearance in the OET timeline.

I’d also gotten pulled into The Possession AU timeline, The Fugitive AU timeline, and not too long ago, the A Real Doll of a Girl timeline. Yeah, I’ve been pulled into a number of timelines, and I’m due to be getting a one-shot in the Mystic Blood and Other Vampire AU Tales that I’m looking forward to reading as I requested it.

And there is a recurring element going on with what I’m dealing with in the timelines, an element that I did introduce, and that element is me trying my level best to prove myself to be useful since I’m being excluded a lot, and treated like I’m either invisible or that I don’t even exist by my fellow writers and the ETN YouTubers.

This isn’t a particular storyline that I like doing, but these days, my insecurities have been cropping up more then usual, and so, like Mystic, I’m doing my best to work through them by way of these stories that I’ve taken to writing my own POVs for.

Back on February 5^th, 2020, Mystic began posting a new story titled Not Oki Doki, inspired by one of her own channels on her server about cursed shippings, and this has lead to including a game called Doki Doki Literature Club. Now I don’t play video games that often, only like a handful of times, and so I just chose to read the story for I was curious of what kind of situation she was getting herself, Alice, and Bailey (also known as Cinna) into.

I never thought that I would get dragged into another timeline related to OET, it honestly never crossed my mind that it could happen, and so when it did, I was literally caught off guard.

Why does this keep happening to me?

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE: ABDUCTED BY KERRIE!

*****

For me, it was a semi-normal Monday, and I say semi-normal because I had Safety Care training for the job that I still had. A normal Monday would have me going to the library, but not that day, and that was why I was at home after I’d finished the training for the year.

Anyway, I was on the main server that was run by Mystic, who was apparently missing along with Alice, according to Bailey that is, and yet, if they were missing, then how come I’d been doing the RP with them on the three The Fugitive AU servers? And why were they still updating their stories if they were missing?

I guess I should’ve realized that it had to do wither another timeline that was connected to OET, but that hadn’t crossed my mind since as far as I knew, there weren’t any additional timelines connected to OET, and so I hadn’t been as worried as Bailey, not even when the contents of the various Kerrie channels disappeared since I avoided those channels, having both muted them and hidden them from view on the server.

Anyway, I’m getting off track, which also tends to happen quite a bit these days due to the darn pandemic…and there I go again, getting off track.

Ok, so I was at my laptop, checking on things on the servers that I’m a part of, and so when Cyrille came online, I wasn’t surprised when in the Iconic Quotes, she began writing her favorite one.

“It is Wednesday, my dudes: AAAA”

Only to have it posted cutoff and I blinked. “Uh, ok?” I muttered, my forehead furrowed with confusion since Cyrille was online. “Hmm…must’ve gotten distracted, which would explain why she hasn’t finished the quote just yet.”

Figuring that what was going on, I began typing my own quote, which I knew was going to get a laugh out from those online. “Cyrille? Where’s the”

Suddenly a white gloved hand clammed itself over my mouth, stifling my startled scream, and as I tried to pry the hand off my mouth, another hand reached around me and hit enter on my laptop before closing it. I felt the hand fiddled with the phone case on my belt, and soon my phone was on the desk.

I let out muffled protests as whoever this was wrapped that arm around my waist and dragged me out of the chair and toward the door. I struggled against my kidnapper, trying to bite the hand wasn’t working, and this person wasn’t even reacting when I would elbow them in the stomach, or even when I would stomp on their foot.

It was when I heard a giggle in my ear, did I freeze with fear, and the owner of the giggle spoke, sending chills down my spine.

“Oh, enough of that Delle Belle,” giggled the voice of Kerrie the killer clown, who was a meme that wouldn’t die thanks to the many ETN fans who’ve been obsessed with her ever since season 3, and had gone from just being the leader of the Killer Clown Clan, to being both a meme that never died and a minion of the Cursed God. “Keep that up, and I might just have to hurtyou.”

I let out a fearful whimper as she dragged me up the stairs to the landing, where I realized that the racket being made should’ve drawn the attention of my mom and my sister, Mackenize, but neither of them were reacting, and I realized that my watch wasn’t working – time had been frozen!

‘How did Kerrie freeze time?’ I wondered as she managed to unlock the front door, dragging me out of the how. ‘Just how powerful is this freakin’ meme?!’ I don’t know why I was being kidnapped by Kerrie, but this couldn’t be good, and I was worried that this had something to do with one of Mystic’s projects. ‘Am I being dragged into another timeline? Please let that not be true…that would mean I’d be in five freakin’ timelines!’

Kerrie dragged me outside, where there was a purple portal waiting for us, and the next thing I knew, she was shoving me into the portal. “Time for a trip, Delta girlie!”

“Agh!” I screamed as I disappeared into the portal.

*****

My world became a blur of purple, wind, and loud noises that I was certain was going to leave me deaf – and then I landed on something hard that knocked the breath out of me. I laid that for several hour-long seconds, struggling to breath without triggering my asthma, and when I could breath again, I gingerly sat up, wincing.

“Delta?”

I started and looked around, until my eyes fell upon Cyrille, who was looking as shell-shocked as I was feeling. “Cyrille? Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Cyrille admitted. “One minute I was at my computer, typing out my quote – and the next thing I knew, I was being grabbed by Kerrie, shoved through some purple portal, and ended up here. What about you, Del?”

I sighed. “Same. I saw your quote get posted before you finished writing it,” I replied. “And I was writing out a quote of my own – when I got grabbed by Kerrie, who sent my unfinished quote, dragged me out of the house, and through the same portal.”

“Damn,” said Cyrille. “Why you think this is happening?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea…although if this is another timeline thing like OET, then we’re in trouble.”

“Oh you got that right, Delle Belle!”

Both Cyrille and I yelped as Kerrie popped up like a bad penny, scaring us both, and that was when we became aware of our surroundings…our very familiar surroundings.

“Holy crap!” Cyrille yelped. “It’s- it can’t be.”

“It is,” I said fearfully, staring at the building that we both knew best as the Museum of the Dead from the fourth season of Escape the Night, “it’s the Museum of the Dead. We’ve been dragged into another timeline connected to OET.”

Cyrille groaned and looked at me. “Permission to f-bomb?”

“Granted.”

“F*! F*! F*! F*! F*!”

‘This is bad,’ I thought, wishing that the portal hadn’t closed, ‘this is really bad.’

Kerrie grabbed us both by our arms, making us both yelp in pain, and she began dragging us through the front gate of the museum, ignoring our struggles and protests.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO: CG AND THE COLLECTOR

*****

Cyrille and I struggled in the grip of Kerrie as she hauled us through the grounds of the museum, shouting and demanding that she let us go, for it was clear that she was taking us to see The Collector, and, possibly, the Cursed God himself.

I hadn’t gotten to tell Cyrille this, but I had a nasty feeling that we’ve been thrown into the Not Oki Doki timeline, and if that was true, then that meant that Monika would be somewhere and I wasn’t familiar with Doki Doki Literature Club at all.

All I did know, based on Mystic’s writings, was that Monika was a dangerous A.I., who was now obsessed with Mystic, and she was the reason why Mystic had ended up asking Kerrie for help in order to get to the museum in the first place.

‘I so don’t want to be here!’ I thought, once again trying to free myself of Kerrie’s grip. “Let go! Let go!”

“Hands off!” Cyrille shrieked. “I don’t want to go to any secondary locations! They’re a not a good place to be!”

Kerrie ignored us both, just cackled as she kept dragging us until she reached the courtyard, where both CG and The Collector were talking about Mystic and, for some reason, Scheherazade.

“Does she know?" CG asked.

"Indeed,” The Collector replied. “I have told her that her mind is made much differently than others; thus she can provide some unique perspectives and tales. However the choice is left up to her."

All of a sudden, Kerrie entered, dragging us both with her, and she was still cackling. “Hey, boss!" she exclaimed. "Got a couple of Mysty's friends. Perhaps we can hold them for blackmail."

"Let us go!" I yelled, struggling in her grip.

"I told you!" Cyrille exclaimed. "That I don't go to secondary locations!”

The Collector looked at us both, and we both went quiet, plus a bit pale since we knew who both she and the Cursed God were.

“Ah yes," she said. "I know of you two; Delta and Cyrille. And now that you are here in the flesh, you will be excellent additions to the exhibits."

Cyrille and I looked at each other, feeling uneasy.

"Hey, Cyrille," I gulped. "What did John Mulaney say about tertiary locations?"

Cyrille shook her head. "I don't think Detective Bittenbinder told him anything about that.”

The Collector seemed to become intrigued about what we were talking about. “Who is this…Detective Bittenbinder? And this John Mulaney?”

I glanced at Cyrille, whose expression was a mixture of excitement, confusion, and fear. ‘Oh jeez,’ I thought, realizing that she was in a panic, ‘Cyrille’s going into panic mode.’

Clearly The Collector could tell that Cyrille was in panic mode, despite having a chance to talk about her favorite comedian. “I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you would be better off telling me in writing. A miniature exhibit on them would be quite fascinating.” She then turned her attention to me. “And what about you?”

‘Crap!’ I thought as my stress levels, which were already high due to being kidnapped and manhandled by Kerrie, skyrocketed, and I was literally at a lost for words.

Clearly The Collector could tell that I was stressing out big time. “I see,” she said, and there was a hot second when I was sure that she would have me killed, but her next words shot down that theory very quickly. “Well, we will still find somewhere in the museum for you. Every bit of the fandom, especially the writers involved in the Possession, has made a grand impact on its history. So you will not find yourself feeling useless or invisible here.”

‘How does she-?’ I thought, my eyes going wide behind my glasses, for that was the question that I now had: how the heck did she know that?!

The Collector smirked, clearly knowing what I was thinking, or at least feeling since I don’t have the best poker face. “It is not difficult to tell one's insecurities when you have lived as long as I have,” she said casually, and then she had an idea. “Perhaps, if you are interested, you may compete for a special spot.”

Ok, I will admit that had me curious, especially if it meant me not getting killed or worse (yeah, yeah, I quoted Hermione Granger, deal with it). “Wait…what sort of…special spot?” I asked, regaining my voice.

The Collector smiled. “You will see.”

All of a sudden, the Cursed God gasped. "I think we have a general location."

The Collector rushed over to some kind of magical map and checked. "It appears we do indeed." She summoned up a portal and stepped through, disappearing from view.

After about a minute or so, The Collector returned and sealed the portal. “This is the general area,” she told the Cursed God, and summoned two guards. “You, take that one” she pointed to Cyrille “to start the work for the John Mulaney exhibit. You, take her” and she pointed to me “but remain here with her…for now.”

The two guards nodded, the first one grabbing Cyrille and pulling her free from Kerrie’s grasp, while the second guard did the same with me, and then Cyrille got taken away.

“Cyrille! No!”

“Let go! Help!”

I could only watch helplessly as my friend was taken away to someplace else, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was never going to see her again.

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CHAPTER THREE: MEETING THE STORYTELLER

*****

The Collector turned to the Cursed God and Kerrie, speaking quietly to them so that even my own sensitive hearing couldn’t pick up on what they were saying, and then she opened a portal that they both went through. She then sealed it, but not before CG let out a bellow.

“Hey! This isn’t-!”

‘Wait, what?’ I thought, not sure of what just happened. ‘Did she? Did The Collector just leave the Cursed God and Kerrie somewhere that’s no where near wherever Mystic currently is?’

“That shall keep those two busy for a while,” said The Collector, and she turned back to me. “Now for you. Bring her.” And she headed out of the courtyard, the guard force-marching me behind her.

*****

It never really occurred to me just how big the museum actually was, which did make sense as only certain exhibits within the museum had been shown in ETN 4, until I was being manhandled through it, following The Collector, and I was trying to figure out what the ‘special spot’ was that I could compete for.

‘What am I competing for?’ I wondered. ‘And who would I be competing against? Of course if I was to win, then whoever lost would most likely die. What am I thinking? I could die if I lose, and given my brand…’

I pulled away from that line of thought, not wanting to even think about what my brand had been turning out to be in the timelines I was already trapped in as it was. Of course, it wasn’t easy not to think about how my brand seemed to be of me being useless, treated like I didn’t exist, being excluded and left out of information loops, and just generally getting the short end of the stick.

Once again, I did my best to push away those all-too-familiar negative thoughts, and tried, instead, to focus on where we were going. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“You will see soon enough.”

‘Vague much?’ I thought, but at least I did get a sort of answer, which was more then what I normally got in the other timelines.

*****

Eventually we reached a foggy area, where The Collector waved her hand, causing the fog to turn red, and it seemed to part, creating an opening that we went through.

The second I was through the opening, my jaw dropped, for on the other side were tents everywhere, violet smoke filling the air with incense, faerie lights, and I knew without a doubt that this was the Arabia Exhibit – only there was something off about the place that was sending a chill down my spine.

The Collector walked toward the stage, the guard forcing me along, and I saw that there wasn’t a body on the stage. ‘Wait, there’s where Scheherazade died!’ I thought, realizing what was wrong. ‘If she isn’t dead? Then where is she?’

A scream tore me out of my thoughts as The Collector stopped walking, and right before my eyes, I saw that a woman wearing a red outfit with a lot of gold jewelry was being surrounded by the dagger-wielding belly dancers, and standing off to the side, very much alive, was no other then Scheherazade, the storyteller.

“You were foolish to betray me, Fatima,” Scheherazade said mockingly to the lover of the late Sinbad, and she was twirling her quill between her fingers, her book in her other hand. “And now,” she added, writing in her book, “your tale shall end…tragically.”

“My story may have a tragic ending!” Fatima shouted defiantly. “But that’s a small price to pay to finally end it and be rid of you!”

“No,” I whispered, realizing that I was going to see Fatima die, and I looked pleadingly at The Collector, who was just watching. “Please, this is your museum, don’t let this happen. Don’t let Fatima die.”

The Collector shook her head. “I will not interfere in the punishment of another,” she said firmly. “Not even if that means the death of an exhibit member.” She looked at me. “Who knows? You might end up in this particular exhibit, Delta. If you win the special spot.”

There it was again, something about winning a special spot, which was connected to the Arabia exhibit, and then I saw one of the belly dancers thrust her dagger into Fatima’s chest. I looked away, unable to bear to see her die, and I felt the emotional pain in my heart.

‘Maybe in death, she’ll be with Sinbad,’ I thought, hearing the gasp of pain and a body falling to the ground. I opened my eyes, feeling sick as the belly dancers grabbed Fatima’s body and dragged her toward the back of the stage, the smug Scheherazade following, and The Collector followed also, which mean that the guard manhandled me to follow was well.

*****

Behind the stage, I saw that Sinbad’s body was still there, and it looked like he only just barely died. I numbly watched as Fatima’s body was laid next to his, and, mostly to add insult to injury, their hands were tied together so that it looked like they were holding hands.

Smirking, Scheherazade turned away and saw The Collector, who she immediately bowed to with a flourish of her quill. “My lady, what brings you to Arabia?” she asked, straightening up and noticed me. “And who is this?” she inquired, moving over to me for a closer look, and traced my face with her quill, tickling my nose with the feather so that I ended up sneezing a little. “Aww, what a cute sneeze for a young girl.”

‘Well, I’m not that young,’ I thought, but I didn’t correct her either, for to be perfectly honest, I rather be mistaken for someone younger then 37, my current age.

“This is Delta,” said The Collector, “and even though she looks young, she is really 37 years old…but I think it’s what else I know about her that you might find useful for a certain special spot.”

Scheherazade looked intrigued and nodded to the belly dancers, who moved forward and pulled me out of the grip of the guard, who was dismissed by The Collector. “Do tell me more,” she requested, and walked with The Collector toward one of the tents while the belly dancers herded me in the same direction.

*****

While The Collector and Scheherazade were outside the tent, talking, I was taking inside, made to sit down on the ground with my back to the pole, and then I was tied to the pole, I figured that this was the same tent that Joey and the others had been taken to when they got captured.

I wasn’t sure of what The Collector and Scheherazade were talking about, only that it had something to do with me, and I couldn’t help but feel uneasy that whatever they had planned, that it had something to do with whatever The Collector had been talking about with the Cursed God earlier.

‘They were talking about Mystic and Scheherazade,’ I thought, recalling what I’d heard. ‘Something about Mystic having some kind of choice. But what could it be? Does it have to do with this special spot that The Collector keeps hinting at? And how will I be involved if it does?’

I was pulled out of my thoughts when both The Collector and Scheherazade entered the tent, and once again the storyteller ran the feather of her quill along my face.

“Well, well, I’ve just been told some interesting stuff about you, Miss Curly Top,” she remarked, looking amused. “And for the moment, your story is, dare I say, somewhat tragic? Feeling useless and invisible to those that you consider to be friends…but don’t seem to be that way at all. Then again,” she continued, “that is just the prologue for your story. For now.”

“What do you mean ‘for now’?” I asked, feeling hurt since it was true to my brand that I was treated like I was useless and invisible a lot of the time, especially in OET.

Scheherazade just smirked. “You will know soon enough,” she promised. “There is, however, someone else needed for this story, and I expect that she will arrive soon.” She and The Collector then left me alone in the tent.

I don’t know who they were waiting for, but this didn’t sound like a good thing for me, and I had a nasty feeling that the odds weren’t going to be in my favor.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR: MAY THE ODDS BE IN YOUR FAVOR PART ONE

*****

I don’t know how long I was tied to that pole, but one thing was for certain, I was glad that I was sitting on the ground, and not having to be standing in one spot. Of course, with my wrists tied behind my back to the pole, my arms were getting sore instead, and I couldn’t get freed, not for a lack of trying on my part.

I was wondering how much longer I was going to have to wait, when I heard some kind of commotion outside the tent, shouting and sounds of someone being captured. I could see shadows moving closer until two of the belly dancers hurried into the tent, dragging a struggling blonde girl with them, and they also tied her to the pole so that we were back-to-back.

I tried to see who this girl was and I gasped, realizing who she was. “Mystic?!”

Mystic blinked and looked until she could see me, and she was also equally surprised to see me. “Delta?!”

“Mistress!" one of the bellydancers called out. "We have another.” And more bellydancers flooded into the tent, forming a loose circle around us both, and I knew without a doubt about who would enter next and I was certain that Mystic had an idea of who was going to show up as well.

“Well, well, well," Scheherazade said as she entered, book and quill in hand. "What do we have here?” She moved toward us with a smile that sent chills down my spine, especially when she brushed her quill along my shoulders before moving onto Mystic.

“Some new characters for a tale, perhaps?" she wondered as she circled the pole, brushing her quill along Mystic’s chin, seemingly entrancing her. "Or wandering travelers who've lost their way?”

Scheherazade flickered her quill toward me. “I already know her story," she said. "A lady nearly 40, intelligent and compassionate, yet feeling useless and invisible. And that's only the prologue.” And she ignored the glare that I shot at her as she returned her attention to Mystic, once again brushing her quill on her face.

“However I don't quite know your story, little girl,” she remarked, seemingly oblivious to the annoyed look on Mystic’s face at being called a little girl, especially since I knew that she was 22 years old. “To be fair, I don't recognize you."

She shrugged. "But none of that matters. You both shall die soon anyway, for a new tale of woe to write has walked upon us." And she began to write in her book.

‘Oh crap!’ I thought and glanced at Mystic, who was looking equally alarmed. ‘She’s going to kill us! I’m certain that’s not what The Collector wants to have happen…or is it?’ I could feel myself start to tense and my stress levels were on the rise, which was never a good thing for me.

“Oh…you like to write?" Mystic asked, pulling me from my panicking thoughts. "Delta and I actually do a lot of that ourselves."

Scheherazade suddenly stopped and looked up at us, and there was a glint of intrigue in her eyes. "Oh? Is that so?" And both Mystic and I nodded. "What do you write?"

"Fan-fiction, mostly," Mystic admitted, while I was nodding in agreement. "Though I've also written short stories, poetry, I've tried writing novels as well."

"Interesting…" said the storyteller and she was considering us both, circling the pole, and I had a feeling that she was studying us. "I see why the Collector brought the curly-haired one to me then,” she commented, lightly touching my face with her quill. “A writer tends to be a good candidate for this special and coveted spot.”

Scheherazade then turned her attention to Mystic, moving her quill back and forth, forcing the blonde’s eyes to follow it, and I had to wonder if she was trying to hypnotized Mystic by doing that. “But you…you went out of your way and found me, didn't you?” she asked softly.

“Sort…of…” Mystic mumbled, still following the quill with her eyes.

A grin emerged on the storyteller’s face. “Tell me, young one, what is your name?”

“Mystic,” Mystic answered, and I knew that was the only thing she could do since we both knew that this woman was loyal to The Collector.

Scheherazade was clearly intrigued and there was whisperings among the bellydancers, almost as if they knew something, and they only quieted down when she made a simple hand gesture.

“Ahh," she said. "Now I know part of the story; a young, innocent, caring, and naive girl just above 20 years. One who released a dark deity without knowing, all because she wished for her writing to be more real."

Mystic nodded. "That's…kind of the gist of it.”

‘Yup, that’s totally true,’ I thought, but I couldn’t help having a feeling that the storyteller had been waiting for Mystic, given how the bellydancers had reacted earlier, and it brought to mind what the Cursed God and The Collector had been talking about.

“I see…” said Scheherazade, pulling me from my thoughts as she pondered us both. “Well, unfortunately, there's two of you, but only one spot.”

‘Oh no,’ I thought, feeling scared since I had an nasty idea of what she was going to say next, and I was pretty sure that Mystic was having the same nasty idea, for we’ve both seen what this crazy woman had tried to do to Joey and Bretman in ETN 4, the fate that Sinbad had suffered, and Fatima’s death was still fresh in my mind. ‘Please don’t say it, please don’t say it!’

“I should think that a competition is in order,” the storyteller suggested. “The one who tells the best story shall win this coveted spot, while the other will be killed. How does that sound?” And the bellydancers were all excited by this.

I, on the other hand, was filled with dread, and I just wanted to run out of there screaming. But I couldn’t, not while I was tied to that pole, and even if I could get away, I wouldn’t dare leave Mystic behind, even if she begged me to leave her.

“After all," she chuckled. "A story isa bit spicier with blood…”

And I knew that we were doomed the moment she said those words.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE: MAY THE ODDS BE IN YOUR FAVOR PART TWO

*****

“But it's also boring with death,” said Mystic suddenly.

I stared at my friend, both alarmed and confused as to why she would say something like that. “Mystic, why?”

“Oh?” Scheherazade asked, her voice was laced with a frosty coldness that sent a chill down my spine. “And why do you think you can tell me such a thing?”

“I…well, I don't," Mystic admitted. "I just simply think that death is an overused plot point in stories, because it's not tormenting enough.”

‘Oh for goodness sake!’ I thought, positive that Mystic had finally gone mad, for there was way that the storyteller was going to fall for this, and we both were going to get killed. ‘Mystic, I don’t want to die! Stop it!’

“Not tormenting enough?” the storyteller asked, now looking confused. “What could be more torturous than death?”

Mystic shrugged. “I can think of a few things."

Scheherazade gestured at her to continue. "Then continue."

Mystic nodded. "You see, there are people who wish to die. And it's usually a temporary suffering when you kill them. Once you die, you don't feel pain. That's that,” she explained. “Now consider this; a man with a death wish enters Arabia and runs into you. You ask him to take part in your story and he knows that you write many death stories. He thinks this is the perfect chance to end his life. But what if, instead, you torture him, have him become a slave, prolong his life? He'll soon be begging for death, and you'll find that there's more satisfaction, because you hold his life in your hands for much longer. You hold it for as long as you wish.”

Hearing this, the storyteller was becoming intrigued, the bellydancers were also intrigued, and I did have to admit, that Mystic knew how to win the over…which wasn’t going to look too good for me if I was asked to speak next.

‘Morbid isn’t really my thing,’ I thought, trying to come up with something that would impress Scheherazade enough that she wouldn’t kill me, for I would rather be in one of the other exhibits then be dead, but the stress I was already under was making it hard to think, and yet I kept trying while Mystic kept the crowd distracted. ‘Come on, I gotta come up with something!’

“Another way you can torment people is through multiple victims. Instead of inflicting the suffering, have them inflict the suffering on each other,” Mystic continued, laying it on thick. “Here's an example; a group of best friends, two boys and two girls, enter a torture chamber as they play a game of life and death. There's no guarantee that they will die, nor is there a guarantee that they will live. The contraption is a length of barbed wire you set up and a bucket below that triggers a mechanism to open the door before they're killed. They must split into groups of 2. One from each pair is bound by barbed wire. The other partner must tighten the barbed wire by turning the cranks and when a certain amount of blood fills the bucket, the door is opened. You see, you didn't do anything to torture them. The blame's not on you. There's no blood on your hands. You simply set up the contraption. They can choose not to use it. They have that choice. But so many of them choose to place their own lives over the lives of their loved ones. And just like that, you've turned their need for survival against them. You've exploited their need to survive at whatever cost. And if they leave alive, they'll never be the same. They'll be scarred for life.”

“Well," Azizah, who I believed was one of Scheherazade’s sisters, said. "I think we know who would win. Unless of course Ms. Curly Top has a better idea.”

I immediately tensed up, having been wracking my brain for a story idea that would appeal to them, but what they liked, it wasn’t my strong suit, and the fear and stress was getting to me. “Ok, um…” I began, a bit annoyed when the bellydancers yawned, and Mystic glared at them as I finally got a small grain of an idea to run with. “Ok…what if you were to have the most sexy and insufferable flirt in the world show up?" I asked, falling back on my Doctor Who knowledge…of a certain character that even Mystic should know. ‘Time to talk about Captain Jack Harkness.’ "He would lovehanging around you, and try to choose who is the most beautiful.”

The bellydancers were silent for a few moments, and then they began to snicker.

“We'd just end up killing him," Dunyazade, Scheherazade’s other sister, giggled.

I smirked. “But he can’t die, he’s immortal.”

Unfortunately, it seemed like Duyazade wasn’t amused by this factoid and turned to her sister. “Sister, perhaps if we got the hypnotism dust, they'd be more willing to give us ideas.”

“That might work…” Scheherazade said thoughtfully.

‘Oh hell no!’ I thought, for there was no way I was going to let them use that kind of dust on Mystic or myself, and so I continued, getting flustered. “Seriously, the guy I'm talking about really can't die!" I exclaimed. "I mean…he's been blow up, and he literally pulled himself back together!” And this time, that definitely got their attention.

“Hmmm…" Azizah pondered. "That'd certainly make a good comedy. But it would be a horrible tragedy.”

I gulped, for I hadn’t actually forgotten that tragedy was their speciality, it was just I wasn’t one to do tragic stories, and the stress I was under wasn’t helping matters either.

“Unless he wanted to die,” Mystic added, startling me out of my panic mode briefly.

“But she said he pulled himself back together," another bellydancer pointed out.

"Trust me…” I said quickly, and I was shaking by this point, “no one has been able to keep him dead. No one!” And my heart sank when Azizah sighed and left the tent, which meant that she was going to be getting the hypnotism dust.

“But what does that have to do with what he wants?" Dunyazade pondered.

"He wants to find his one true love…” I answered, and I recalled how Ianto Jones had died in Jack’s arms during Children of Earth: Day Four, “the last man he loved died in his arms."

Ok, so the bellydancers did seem a bit confused, except for Scheherazade, she was slightly intrigued by the idea of a same-sex couple.

"Man?" a bellydancer asked.

"Yes! He loves both males and females, even aliens," I answered.

"But why didn't the man stay alive like he did?" a bellydancer immediately wondered.

"And how does he want to when he flirts with anyone and everyone?" added another.

"Um…” I trailed off, struggling to figure out how to answer the questions that were coming in faster then I could come up with responses. ‘Stupid stress!’

“He's compensating for the heartbreak inside of him," Mystic answered. "Everyday that passes, his soul cries out in agony for his love to return."

"Exactly! Exactly!" I jumped onto that as a lifeline. "And so that's why he desires to find another true love! Even if it means dying repeatedly to do it!"

"But you said that man was his one true love. How could he possibly find another?" asked another bellydancer.

Even Scheherazade was confused. "I want to know that too."

"Because it's possible to have more then one true love," I added, getting really desperate by this point. "Especially if the love is strong and pure to the point that it can't be destroyed.”

“He can't,” Mystic countered. “He's deluding himself. He's in denial that his one true love is gone for good.”

‘Seriously?!’ I thought, shooting Mystic a look for saying that, and just when I’d finally came up with something to save my skin.

Scheherazade, however, smirked in a way that made it seem like she was amused by what was going on between us. “Which is it?”

“He thinks it's possible, he wants to believe it's possible," Mystic said. "But deep down, he knows that it's not meant to be. He just refuses to acknowledge it and wanders a lost soul, hiding behind a façade.”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to work with I’d been preparing to say, but I had to say it, even though I knew that I was crashing and burning by this point. “Of course he does! He's lost his family, the man he loved, and has been cursed to live forever!”

“You both may want to compare notes," Scheherazade said condescendingly. "That is, if you're going to be alive any longer.”

I was screwed, I just knew it, but I did put out one last thing, even though it was pointless by this point. “…what if I said that he caused his own grandson to die in order to save the world?” I asked, but I could tell it wasn’t going to take, and that I had just dug my own grave. ‘Well, I’m on brand once again, I’m going to get the short end of the stick, and I might just signed Mystic’s own death note, too.’

This was going to end badly for both of us, I was sure of it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX: MAY THE ODDS BE IN YOUR FAVOR PART THREE

*****

“Well, if you're gonna kill us, then you'll never get to hear my other tale," Mystic said, shrugging, and that stopped them.

Scheherazade went over to Mystic, feather quill in hand and once again she began to move it in a rhythmic fashion. "Oh?" she wondered. "What is this tale you speak of?"

"It's called The Tale of the Wandering Girl," Mystic answered, and I could already guess which story she was going to tell them, especially when the faces of the storyteller and the bellydancers became intrigued.

"Hmm," the storyteller mused. "Do tell."

"Are you sure?" Mystic asked. "I thought you were gonna kill us."

Scheherazade grinned. "Do you really think that I'd pass up the chance to listen to a story? Tell us.”

I just hung my head in defeat, already knowing that I’d lost, and silent tears began to run down my face as Mystic began her story. ‘This is it,’ I thought. ‘Once Mystic has told her story, it’ll be clear to them that she’s the winner, and I’ll end up dying.’

“A long time ago, in a village far away, there lived a shy and timid young lady, one who had suffered many a tragedy and was quickly losing hope,” Mystic began. “To cope with this tragedy, she would visit the grave of her grandfather who had died during an invasion, at the same time every day. One day she came to visit at her same time, when she heard a voice. 'Free me from my chains…' It was a rusty and dry voice. The girl followed it only to find a box. 'I have been trapped here for centuries. My only way to ascension is to finish my earthly deeds. Yet I cannot open this box. I beg of you, release me from this hell!'  "Now the girl was also a rather sweet one and she wanted to help people. And so she decided to let him out. Unfortunately, she found out too late of his true intentions. It was an eldritch abomination who had been kept in that box for safety, and it was for good reason."

"I see," Scheherazade remarked.

"The deity rushed to her village and began possessing the citizens through the written word. Anyone who read something that he had possessed or something in which he was mentioned was doomed to become one of the next victims,” Mystic continued. “Everyone managed to connect it back to her and they tried to warn her. At first, she thought it was simply a joke. It was not until it began to spread outside of her village that she realized the truth. Alongside this chaos, she found out from a prophet in a local village that this eldritch abomination had become obsessed with her; he wished to separate her from her friends and family, and keep her as his bride."

"And then what?" Scheherazade pondered.

"In a panic, the young lady begged to the prophet. 'Surely there must be a way this can be undone!' After a long thought, the prophet told her that she must find seven medallions that link him to the graveyard-seven medallions belonging to the seven other women who he had married-she must destroy them at the same time to send his soul to Hell. In spite of her pleas, her friends insisted on coming with her. Finally she caved and allowed them to go with her, knowing that this was a deadly quest. On this on-going quest, her loved ones have dropped dead over and over, and even with a well of resurrection, she can only watch as they die, because the well requires a sacrifice. For each person one wishes to bring back from the dead, they must throw another down the well in exchange. Legend says that she still wanders today with those who still remain, frightened that the eldritch abomination may find her again, terrified that this will be all for nothing.”

The storyteller was taken aback by this twist. “All for nothing?"

Mystic nodded. "For the medallions are hidden well, and whispers from the sands of time say that there are actually 8 medallions, and that the 8th is not a thing, but rather a person.” And she stopped, which was an indicator that she was done with her story.

I raised my head slightly, just to see how Scheherazade and the bellydancers would react to the story, but I already had a strong feeling that Mystic was going to be declared the winner, and that I was, most likely, going to die.

I was right, the bellydancers began clapping and Scheherazade was smiling, and it was a true genuine smile.

“You truly have a gift, my dear,” she told my friend, which was pretty much sealing my fate.

Just then, Azizah returned with a bag of colorful…sand? "Mistress, I have-”

“We may not need it," Scheherazade told her. "It's clear who the superior teller is."

"What if she's not cooperative, though?" another bellydancer asked.

"Of course, of course,” the storyteller, turning to Mystic while the bellydancers were all eying me hungrily, and they were clearly waiting for the order to kill me. “You have a way of weaving stories," she told her. "And because of that, you have won the coveted spot.”

Mystic blinked and asked the question that’d been on my mind. “And…what is this coveted spot?”

Scheherazade smirked. “For thousands of years, I have been looking for an apprentice to train under my craft, but I need one that shows promise.”

“Wait…so do you mean-?" Mystic began, clearly wrong-footed.

"Oh yes," she answered. "You, my young storyteller, shall be my apprentice.”

And the moment she said those words, I knew that my fate was sealed. She’d been wrong about saying that this was just the prologue to my story. I didn’t have a prologue, for my story was a one-shot, plain and simple.

I was going to die.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN: A LIFE SPARED…FOR NOW.

*****

Although my fate was pretty much sealed by this point, I peered around at Mystic, and saw that she was trying to process what she’d been told. And to be honest, it was quite the bombshell when you thought about: Scheherazade-the woman of 1000 tales, the woman who kept a king from beheading her for 1001 nights just by telling amazing stories, the woman who soon after got married to him and became queen, wanted Mystic to be her apprentice.

‘It makes sense why it’s a coveted spot,’ I thought, feeling lower then I’d ever felt in the other timelines. ‘To be the apprentice of Scheherazade would be a dream come true…just not for me.’

“I…I'm sorry," Mystic stammered, finding her voice. "What did you just say?"

Scheherazade chuckled. "Quite a shock to you, it would seem.”

Mystic nodded. “It's just…you don't seem like the type of person who would needan apprentice,” she pointed out. “I mean, you became queen by keeping a king enraptured in a thousand tales for a thousand and one nights."

"Of course I did, and I am still a queen," said Scheherazade, sniffing a little. "But new stories are always welcomed here, and your mind weaves such inventive tales, I can tell." She circled Mystic’s head with that quill feather and she shivered.

"Hang on a second,” said Mystic, realizing something. “My friend told me that you got devoured. How are you still alive?"

Scheherazade giggled and boop her nose with the quill.

Mystic wriggled it a bit, like a bunny rabbit, causing some of the bellydancers to giggle and one of them went "aww".

"Do you really think that my sisters would devour me?” the storyteller asked, amused. “We're quite the actors, you know."

"Acting?” Mystic repeated, her face brightening. “I mean, I love performing as well.”

Hearing this, the bellydancers turned their full attention to Mystic and away from me, and for once, I was glad since it meant that I got to live a bit longer…not that it mattered anymore.

Scheherazade knelt next to Mystic, and shared with her the benefits of the spot.

“Just imagine it; you'd be training under yours truly; as you said yourself, I am the one who enraptured a king with a thousand tales for a thousand and one nights to save myself from certain death,”she shared with a dreamy smile. “This Arabian exhibit is the only one that is both moving and interactive, so you shall be able to choose visitors to partake in tales you come up with. Everyone will love you for your ingenuity and imagination. Plus, weshall gift you with mystical power, magic that shall help to bring your stories to life, magic beyond even your wildest ideas.”

‘That all sounds wonderful,’ I thought, feeling jealous for a few seconds before the despair about my eventual death overwhelmed it.

Mystic was definitely interested, but then her expression changed, and she seemed to hesitate.

The storyteller noticed this. “You seem…conflicted, young storyteller.”

“Well, the thing is the Collector wants to keep me in an exhibit,” Mystic explained. “She's also made a business deal with the Cursed God so that he can be married to me and shecan have a star exhibit."

This clearly had the storyteller and the bellydancers confused.

"The Cursed God?" Dunyazade asked.

Mystic nodded. "He wants to lower the barrier between fiction and reality, and apparently I'm the one to do it."

"So then why shouldn't we simply hand you over to the Collector?" Azizah asked.

"Because if the deal was successful, and I ended up lowering the barrier, it would ruin the suspension of disbelief,” Mystic pointed out, “fiction and reality would blur into a single entity, and no one would know if you were telling a tale or just recounting something that happened the day before. All of the magic would be gone. Also if I'm married to him, I'll fall into a depression, I'm sure, and when I'm in a depression, all of my creativity goes down the tubes. On top of that, she wants me stuck in the medieval exhibit, which wouldn't bode well for you.”

Scheherazade consulted with her sisters and the bellydancers before turning back to Mystic. “Yes," she said, nodding. "You make a fair point. What do you seek from telling us this?"

"Protection,” Mystic requested. “I understand you're loyal to the Collector, but if you keep me hidden from her until their contact with one another is sealed off, at the very least, I'll be more likely to stay with you.”

The storyteller considered this for several hour-long-seconds. “Very well,” she agreed. “I shall instate such protections for you, my young storyteller.” She then glanced at me, clearly recalling that I was fated to die, and turned to the bellydancers as she gestured to me. “Ladies, as you wish.”

The bellydancers all smiled hungrily and started toward me. I shut my eyes, waiting to die, for this was my fate, and I wasn’t even going to resist.

“NO!!!!”

I opened my eyes, startled, and glanced at Mystic, who was glaring at Scheherazade, who was looking confused. ‘Uh, what is Mystic doing? This is my fate…isn’t it?’

“What do you mean?” the storyteller asked her.

“Delta may not be a good storyteller in your eyes, but that doesn't mean there aren't other people who like the stories she presents,” Mystic told her while glancing at me. “I read a story of hers in which she placed modern-day people into a Greek mythology setting of a death game, and I honestly thought it was pretty good. She even made Medusa seem more sympathetic when she killed the loser of that story's death challenge. Furthermore, that is another condition I wish to instate; no harm of any sort must come to my friends in this exhibit. In fact my condition is that they must also be granted protection. That includes Delta.”

I was floored. I mean yeah, I was sitting on the floor, but still I was floored by what Mystic was requesting of Scheherazade. ‘She wants me to live,’ I thought, ‘and what she said about my ETN 2 story is true…wow.’

“I don't believe I'm asking for too much,” Mystic added, shrugging.

Scheherazade huffed, clearly not used to being talked to like this. “You are much more courageous than I originally took you for.” She then sighed and nodded. “Very well. I shall instate protections for your friends as well."

Once again, I was floored. ‘Ok, wasn’t expecting that,’ I thought, and while I was glad that I wasn’t going to die, it did hurt my heart that I wasn’t going to get the apprentice position either. ‘Well, it looks like my brand is still being useless, invisible, excluded, and it’s clearly not going to be changing anytime soon.’

"But how will we know who are your friends and who aren't?" Azizah asked.

"Tell me their names when they enter," Mystic suggested. "And they must be granted protection and asylum until otherwise said."

"If these are instated, you shall stay with us, correct?" Scheherazade asked with a slight fury in her voice.

Mystic gave a simple nod, clearly not wishing to push the envelope any further. "Yes, if these conditions are instated and met, I shall stay and train under you."

A slightly-medium smile appeared upon Scheherazade's face, her fury gradually disappearing. "A wise decision, my young storyteller." With that she turned to the others. "Please untie these two and kindly show Miss Delta to the exit.”

I was going to get out of there alive…but for some reason, it didn’t make me happy. Instead, I felt like I was just going to be sent away and excluded, once again.

Azizah went over to Mystic’s side and untied her knot while Dunyazade went over to me and untiled my knot.

"Welcome to your new home, young storyteller,” Azizah told my friend.

Dunyazade helped me stand up, which I was glad about, given that my legs were shaking a bit from having sat so long on the floor, and my arms were aching.

“You shouldn't beat yourself up about it," Dunyazade said to me kindly. "I personally think a man who can never die is an intriguing concept.” she looked at the storyteller. “Sister, don't you at least think she has potential?”

Scheherazade twirled her quill around in the air as she considered this for a brief moment. "Well, of course she has potential,” she agreed. “I just don't believe her skill level could survive here, at least as of the present. It was rather disorganized and choppy, more or less character backstory. It was an interesting one, I shall grant you, but nonetheless there wasn't a true story.”

I became disheartened when she said that…yeah not as badly as when it looked like I was going to die, but it still hurt.

“Wait," Mystic said, and I had a feeling that she was picking up on how I was feeling. "You said that Delta has potential, and potential can be transformed into talent. Perhaps she could come and train with you every now and then.”

The storyteller thought for a moment, once again twirling her quill.“Perhaps," she said slowly. "Perhaps some lessons from me would help to bring her skill up. I'll definitely give it consideration, but for now my priority lies with training you, my young storyteller.”

And with that, I was lead out of the tent by Dunyazade and several of the bellydancers while Mystic got to remain with Scheherazade.

‘I guess my story isn’t just a one-shot,’ I thought as I was lead through the Arabia exhibit and toward the exit. ‘Of course, what will happen in the rest of my story will remain to be seen.’

I wasn’t sure of what would happen to Mystic, or how The Collector would react to this…for I was sure that she would find out somehow, but one thing I knew for certain.

I’d still gotten the short end of the stick…again. Yup, this was my brand and that wasn’t ever going to change.

Ever.

To Be Continued…

*****

I have so many, so many regrets.

So many lies, so many broken ties.

I wish for my old life.

Wish I could fix my strike.

Cause no one truly escapes the night.

Oh, won't you help me escape the night.

Oh baby help me escape the night.

Escape the night.