Chapter Text
Despite all her worries, it was not the Witch of Calamity’s curse to cause the end of the world, but rather to be its sole witness.
Millie remembers how the world turned gray and empty all at once - or maybe it was a slow descent into quiet ruin. Time seemed to blur and bend in her immortal eyes. More so now that there was no company to share the memories with.
Memories of the sky growing dark and dim, of the stars in the night fading away one by one.
Memories of the woods wilting, of the seas drying out, of distant cities twinkling away into quiet darkness.
Memories of the sun dying in a cold world.
If only there were someone else to record it all with her. To take all these moments and chronicle them in word. An archivist.
Millie wakes up with hot tears in her eyes, clinging to the dust on her face. She takes a breath of thin air and suddenly the world is alive again, filled only with her sounds. It would be so easy to let the quiet lull her back to sleep. Let the nothingness wash over her and carry her away.
The tarp covered shape across the decrepit room from her, however, beckons the witch over with its quizzically tilted head. Morning sunlight filters in through a broken and dirty window, striking a metal plating sticking out from underneath. And it reflects at just the right angle to hit Millie square in the eye.
Even asleep, he still proved to be a bother of an older brother.
Staggering to her feet, Millie stomps over broken glass and scattered rubble, eyes still stinging. Her hands yank at the heavy cloth and it pulls away to reveal the slumped over form of a certain cyborg, motionless and propped against the wall.
“If you’re gonna make me get up, you should too, Fuu-chan…” Millie sighs as she crouches down, chin resting on her knees as she inspects for any new wear and tear.
Fulgur’s arms had dulled and faded like blood drying up, now a darker red, almost brown in color. Scratches ran up and down the metal from when Millie had occasionally dropped him, when the weight became too much for her to carry across the empty dystopia. Some of his belts were missing too, along with his nethack thingy.
And his eyes. There was a light missing from them, a certain energetic twinkle. They looked so empty and foreign. Millie stares into them, half hoping she’ll see them turn back on, only to look away when she starts to see her own reflection.
She doesn’t want to know what she looks like anymore. How she’s had to change to survive, what she’s had to give up. She wants to keep believing that she’s the same.
That if she brings him, or anyone else back, they’ll still be able to recognize her.
With a grunt, Millie lifts Fuu-chan onto her shoulders, hands under his legs with his body slumped on top of her. She stumbles a step forward, then backwards, then forward again, finally steadying herself. Millie has grown accustomed to the feeling after so long. It was comforting in a way, like a reminder that she still had something to live for. She just wished he hugged her back sometimes.
The witch trudges out of the makeshift shelter and into the wasteland with Fuu-chan on her back. In the distance, past barren hills and fields, the broken silhouettes of skyscrapers stood tall against the bleak sky. Millie could get there by the end of the day, if she was fast. She adjusts the cyborg on her back as she heads off and wonders if there’s anything nice to see there.
Maybe a library.
Yeah. A library would be nice.