Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In an instant, Siffrin is gone.

It happened so fast it took you a minute to realize what even happened. One moment, Siffrin was giving Mirabelle a thumbs up and a sloppy grin. The next there was only a boulder in their place. As your eyes take in the slowly expanding pool of blood, you are forced to accept the terrible reality.

This “Death Corridor” lived up to its name.

Bile rises in your throat, and you have to fight it down. The world around you feels like it’s spinning. For precious seconds, maybe even minutes, you can do nothing but stare.

It’s only the sight of movement that snaps you back to your senses. Isabeau slowly approaches the rock, hand raised. You have no idea what he intends to do. If it’ll make the situation better or worse.

Because things can still get worse.

Gems, you’re still in danger.

“Stop!” you shout, and Isabeau startles. Bonniface and Mirabelle look up with a start from their own sorrows.

All eyes are on you.

“We need to get out of here. Now. This room is not safe.”

You gesture towards the room behind you, and to your relief your companions quickly follow you back to the hallway outside.

But that seems to be the limit of how much action they’re prepared for.

Ten minutes go by, then twenty. Not a word is spoken.

Poor Boniface was sobbing uncontrollably, for a while. They made no effort to hide or restrain their emotions, nor should they. They’ve tired themselves out, though. Now they merely sit curled up in a ball, from which can be heard an occasional sniffle.

Mirabelle has also stopped crying, and made a halfhearted effort to clean her face on her sleeve. She sits in a corner turning her brooch over and over in her hands. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking.

It’s impossible to tell if Isabeau is thinking at all. He simply sits with his back against the wall, with a vacant stare. You don’t think he’s moved a muscle since he sat down.

Without even thinking, you turn to check on Siffrin. But that’s silly. Siffrin is gone. They’re gone and you’ll never see them again.

Of all your companions (of all your living companions), you seem to be the least effected. What does it say about you? That you, alone, haven’t even cried?

...

Right now, it says that you’re the one who needs to take charge. You still have a country to save.

You need to say something, anything that will distract your party from their grief.

Anything at all.

...

The only thing that comes to mind is something stupid. Your wish. It feels completely inappropriate to the situation. But perhaps that’s what you need? If you can start a silly argument over Vaugardian customs, that’s got to be better than moping in silence.

“We need a distraction,” you say out loud, because your only choices are to admit it outright or to look like you’ve gone crazy. “So, Isa. Heads or tails?”

Isabeau doesn’t respond at first, but rouses when you poke him. “Um, tails,” he says.

Trying your best to affect a grin, you pull a coin from your pocket and flip it end over end. You cover it dramatically as it lands, before moving your hand to reveal that it landed tails up.

As you open your mouth to grouse about your defeat—

—your senses are overwhelmed. A painful static fills your eyes and your ears. You smell burning, and sugar. Your skin crawls. What—

“—did you wish for?”

You are outside, crouched in the dirt in front of a giant tree. The sun is shining. The sound of birdsong is mostly absent, as it has been for months, but one enterprising bird still calls for attention within the tree’s branches. A cool breeze makes you shiver.

You shield your eyes with one hand while you try to regain your bearings.

A moment ago you were in a dark, still room within the House. Weren’t you?

“Are you okay, Madame Odile?” asks a worried voice beside you.

Siffrin’s voice.

You turn to him.

Whatever expression you must be making only makes them more concerned. Siffrin extends a hand to help you up, which you grab before they can change their mind. They only jerk back a little at the touch.

“Thank you, Siffrin,” you say, weighing your words carefully. “I think something… happened. I’m not sure what. We were… you were showing me your method of making a wish to the tree, weren’t you?”

“Um, yes?” Siffrin tilts his head at you quizzically. “That is what we were doing just seconds ago. Are you sure you’re okay?”

A grin splits Siffrin’s face, which serves as your usual warning to brace yourself for an incoming joke. “If you’re planning on going senile, could you wait until the day after tomorrow to do it?”

On any other day, this would be your cue to retort with an age-related barb of your own. But your mind is still filled with images of their death.

“I just need a few minutes,” you claim feebly.

Siffrin nods, and turns back to the tree. As he picks out a leaf from the ground, a half-formed idea flits through your mind which you cannot afford to ignore.

“Wait,” you cry, causing Siffrin to flinch with the unexpected volume. You grin sheepishly.

“Sorry. But could you… hold off on making your own wish? At least for the next couple of hours. And try your best not to let anyone else make one either.”

Siffrin looks deeply confused at this request.

“I need to test something,” you explain. “I’ll explain later.”

Siffrin agrees, and you flee from the awkward conversation as quickly as you can.

If you really did see all that in the House, if that wasn’t just your imagination running wild, the puzzle pieces fit together too neatly for any explanation but one. Tossing a coin and losing somehow warped you back to the moment after you wished to win your next coin toss. You’re back here because of that wish.

It was such a frivolous thing to wish for, in hindsight. Here, on the eve of your final battle to save Vaugarde, you wished to win a coin flip in order to prove a point. It was quite possibly the only wish in the history of Vaugarde whose asker would have been happier to see it unfulfilled.

Your wish only turned out useful by sheer luck. But if there’s any chance that magic still holds, that it could happen again… you need to make the most of that advantage.

Chapter Text

Your first order of business upon leaving the Favor Tree is to go to the river and splash cold water in your face. Your sortie into the future left you in a cold sweat and a little shaky on your legs. It’s no wonder that Siffrin was worried for you. You sit by the water and imitate his breathing exercises until your reflection looks calmer. Presentable.

In. Out. In. Out.

Everything is okay. Siffrin is not dead.

In. Out. In. Out.

What you saw hasn’t happened. What you saw won’t happen.

In. Out. In. Out.

This can still be a good thing, if you play your cards right.

Cards, ha! That might be mixing your metaphors a bit. Cards are not the form of gambling on today’s agenda.

A coin flip is a fifty-fifty chance, by default. But it doesn’t have to be. With the right preparations, a toss of the coin can be a sure thing.

You’re feeling better already.

...

Your second order of business is to stack the metaphorical deck.

Locating a trick coin is a tricky thing, even for one of the saviors of Vaugarde. It’s an item that few will easily admit to owning. It’s also far less useful in a cozy village like this than it would be in a bustling city. It doesn’t help that you can’t admit why you’re looking for one.

The only person here you would actually expect to own one is Siffrin, but you have no luck there. They deny having such a thing, and you sense that they are not lying. The question sparks a mischievous glint in their eye, though, which tells you that they will probably seek one out by the end of the month.

If they’re still alive by then.

Your search takes almost three hours and sees you talking to almost every adult in the village. It’s time you could spend searching for a familytale, time you did spend searching for a familytale the first time around, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If this works, you’ll get the time back. If it doesn’t… a book will be the least of your worries.

That knowledge doesn’t quite quell your frustration when you do finally track down a coin. Because it was mere feet away from where you started your search. In the pocket of a child, playing near the bridge.

“Hello,” you introduce yourself. “I heard you might have a very special coin. A coin with two heads.”

“So what?” says the child, immediately defensive. “It’s not illegal. And, I didn’t use it to trick you or any of your friends.” They pause and look worried for a moment, before adding “Did I?”

You do your best to reassure them that they’re not in trouble, and you have no intention of taking their coin away. You simply want to take a closer look at it, and give it one toss for the sake of “scientific curiosity.”

The child looks very skeptical, but with the promise of a treat from the bakery you are able to persuade them to hand you their prized coin. They stare at you like a hawk as you hold it.

Your playful smile feels genuine as you prepare to toss the coin. “Heads or tails?” you ask its owner.

“You think I’m stupid? Heads!”

You toss the coin into the air, and slap it gracefully against your palm. You hold your breath in anticipation. You reveal the head beneath it, but fail to properly brace yourself for—

—an overwhelming stream of sensations. Static that fills your vision even when you screw your eyes shut, and a tearing noise that makes you want to shut your ears as well. An overwhelming smell of burning sugar. Pins and needles across your body. But before long—

“—did you wish for?”

You and Siffrin are back in front of the Favor Tree, as though nothing has happened. The sun in the sky promises several more hours of daylight than it did seconds ago.

It worked.

Siffrin asks if you are alright again, but only because of your initial disorientation. Whatever dark mood haunted your face the last time is gone, and they quickly return to the subject of your wish.

Which, you now realize, might be an opportunity. There’s one thing you still need out of this conversation.

“My wish was a bit… nontraditional. I suspect you might judge me for it, or worse… laugh.”

As intended, this bait earns you Siffrin’s full attention. “Now I have to know.”

“Very well. I wished to win a coin toss.”

Siffrin does laugh.

“No really,” he asks, still smiling. “What did you wish for?”

“To win a coin toss.”

Now he does look like he’s judging you. The question of “why” is evident on his features even as he remains silent.

“Purely for scientific reasons! Your ritual for wishing is different from the one used by most Vaugardians. I wanted to see if the wish has any more weight. After this, I’ll repeat the test using a Vaugarde-style wish. If I win only one of the coin flips, we’ll know which method is better.”

Siffrin’s judgment intensifies.

“Odile,” they say. “Odile, Odile, Odile. There are… so many things wrong with this experiment.”

“Oh?” you say. “Like what?”

“For one thing, a wish requires strong desire. Something you wish for on a whim isn’t going to hold any weight with the Stars or the Favor Tree or anybody else. And for another thing… you already have a fifty fifty chance of winning each coin flip!”

“I, ah, admit this was not the most carefully planned experiment.”

Siffrin laughs heartily at this, and you do your best not to give them the satisfaction of looking too upset.

“Go ahead,” he taunts. “Flip your coin. Show me the science!”

“If you’re going to be like that, maybe I’ll just keep you in suspense.”

More laughter.

It doesn’t matter. You laid the bait successfully.

“What was that you said about a different method of making wishes?”

“Oh, that. Yes, everyone else I’ve talked to uses a completely different ritual when they visit the Favor Tree. I could show you, if you’d like.”

Siffrin agrees, and you walk him through the more typical Vaugardian ritual of making a wish to the Favor Tree.

The ritual which does not work.

That has to be the answer, doesn’t it? You had plenty of time to think on it while looking for the coin.

If Vaugardian wishes held weight, then an entire country wishing for the King’s downfall surely would have achieved it by now. You’ve made wishes with that method in the past, and nothing came of it. Yesterday (today?) was the first and only time you’ve used Siffrin’s ritual. It produced immediate, undeniable results.

Siffrin’s wish is the only other wish that matters. The only wish that can matter.

You want…

No.

You need a clean playing field. You need an orderly sequence of events which you can easily follow. You need to make sure that yours is the only unpredictable element in this mess of a final battle.

You cannot leave anything to chance.

Which means Siffrin cannot make a wish.

You tell yourself it’s for the best.

Chapter Text

Obtaining your trick coin took hours the first time, but you don’t need to repeat the whole search. You go directly to the child, and ask to buy it off them. The children are perhaps the only people in Dormont who would not give you anything you request for free, on the eve of your final battle. But bribing a child is no great feat, and you walk away with your coin in short order.

You place it in a separate pocket from the rest of your travel funds, for safety. You breathe a little sigh of relief just knowing it’s there.

Your preparations for tomorrow were complete before you met up with Siffrin, so there’s nothing pressing left to do. You could repeat your search for a familytale, but… you’ve already exhausted all the obvious leads. They won’t say anything different if you ask again.

Instead, you while away the hours until Mirabelle’s final “sleepover” in the library, glancing through far more mundane books. You take one with you as you leave, promising the proprietor that you will “Return it before you go to bed tomorrow. As sure as the sun rises.”

A little gallows humor never hurt anyone.

Dinner at the clocktower is the same as yesterday. It’s fine for now, but this could become aggravating if you don’t get in front of it. You make a special point of thanking Bonnie for the food, and resolve to make a special request for your dinner if you loop back again.

Otherwise, you withdraw from the conversation as best you can and feign interest in your book.

When Mirabelle makes her big speech, you still chime in with your support. Even you can tell that she needs this.

Sleep is hard to come by, and pleasant dreams are nowhere to be found. Your subconscious finally has its chance to stew in the images from yesterday, and stew it does. But morning finds you, eventually, and before long you stand before the entrance to the House.

Rather than try to recall your words from last time, you opt to say as little as possible. The door opens just the same.

By the time you enter the Death Corridor, you’re as prepared as you ever will be.

“… I think she called it the Death Corridor,” Mirabelle finishes saying. She’s trembling with well-justified fear.

“Oh that sounds bad!” chimes in Isabeau.

“I think I read about this,” you state. “There’s supposed to be a trap that comes down from the ceiling. Siffrin, can you see anything?”

Siffrin stares upward intensely, scanning the length of the corridor. “I can’t see anything. Mirabelle, can you make some more light?”

Mirabelle perks up and creates a paper lantern using her craft, which she holds above her head. Siffrin’s gaze tracks up and down the corridor as they mutter under their breath. Then they spot it. Their eye traces the mechanism towards a wall, down it, and to a broken pillar.

They experimentally poke the pillar.

With a deafening crash, a boulder drops from the ceiling into the center of the corridor. You don’t have to pretend to be startled.

It landed in a different place than before. You’re certain. The vision is seared in your memory.

“Give me a moment,” you say, as the others begin to file towards the exit. You approach the pillar and examine it from several angles, and try to trace the same path Siffrin followed in reverse.

“Amazing,” you admit out loud. “Even knowing exactly where to look, I can’t see it. You’ve truly got a gift, Siffrin.”

Siffrin beams, and you brace yourself for what you know is coming.

“You’d be hard-pressed to find it without me!”

This one earns groans from everyone, even Isabeau.

Your journey through the House proceeds to the right, and in good spirits. You stop in a dining room for long enough to rifle through every cabinet and chat about the contents. You avoid the sadnesses as best you can, though one catches up to you regardless.

It’s not long until you come across something truly interesting: Several blobs of opaque water, floating in the air. Naturally, your group fans out to stare at the closest cluster.

“I know what those are!” declares Bonnie. “The people in Dormont called them tears. If you touch one, you’ll be frozen in time.”

“Sounds pretty dangerous,” says Isabeau. “Good thing you were here to warn us!”

Bonnie grins at this.

Before you can abandon the tears as a curiosity, tragedy strikes.

“Did that one just move?” asks Siffrin, still staring at the tears.

“Really? Let me see!” cries Bonnie. They put their hand on Siffrin’s arm to try to push their way to the front of the group. Siffrin, predictably, nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact.

Which would be fine, if you all had been standing a bit farther back from the tear.

Instead, their flailing arm brushes against the tear. A moment of contact is all it takes. In less than a second, their entire body has been drained of its warmth and brightness, leaving only a cold statue in their wake.

“Siffrin?” asks Bonnie, voice cracking. But Siffrin is gone.

Faces begin to fall as the reality of the situation sinks in.

You know how this is going to go.

You can’t watch.

“I have an idea,” you say, pulling out your special coin. “Isabeau, heads or heads?”

“Tails,” he replies.

“I didn’t offer tails as an option. I said heads or heads.”

“And I picked tails.”

“You’re useless,” you say, without any venom. “Mirabelle, heads or heads?”

“Heads?” she says, though it sounds like a question. She looks so confused by your display that she’s briefly forgotten Siffrin, which was… the original goal, wasn’t it? The first time you did this, anyways.

You flip your coin, end over end, and let it land in your open palm. You barely have time to declare it “Heads” before—

—you are again thrown into a chaotic stream of sensations. Sight, sound, and touch are too chaotic to interpret, so you focus on smell. On the smell of burning sugar. But almost as soon as it’s started—

“—did you wish for?”

You’re back where this all started, again.

You try your best to repeat everything you said to Siffrin last time, but you’re not sure you really sold the embarrassment when they point out the flaws in your wish. They let you teach them the other ritual all the same.

Retrieving your coin is a simple task. Flagging down Boniface to request a side dish for dinner takes hardly any time at all. And your preparations for the House are already done.

Which leaves you back in the library, with plenty of time to think.

Was that the right call?

Were you right to give up as soon as Siffrin was frozen?

It was the decision that Mirabelle would have made. You’re certain of that. Isabeau too, and Boniface if they get a vote. Siffrin is a little harder to read, but you can’t really see them sitting on this opportunity to revive one of their friends.

Any one of your companions would have done the same thing you just did.

But you’re not here to make the same decisions they would.

If you thought these children could save the world on their own, you wouldn’t have bothered joining Mirabelle. No, your place on this team is to be the voice of reason, the voice of logic. The responsible one.

And what you just did was an unnecessary risk.

It would be nice to believe that this power will last forever, and you have as many tries as you need. But you don’t actually know that. You’ve seen no scholarly literature on wishes, nothing to indicate whether this power is truly infinite or is likely to peter out after a few resets. You probably wouldn’t recognize it running low before it happened.

And even if the magic lasts, if this goes long enough you will eventually get unlucky. Eventually you’ll die first, or be separated from the party, or some other twist of fate will prevent you from flipping that coin.

Even with two heads, even with the odds twisted in your favor, every flip of this coin is a gamble.

So you’ll make the other choice, next time. From now on, you’ll push forward as far as possible on every attempt. Even if something goes wrong, even if you lose someone, you’ll learn as much about the House as you can before you reset.

Only the last attempt needs to be good.

Chapter Text

You remain withdrawn during Mirabelle’s sleepover, just as you did last time.

You’ve certainly considered the possibility of just telling them the truth about your wish, right now. Part of you is tempted to do so on principle. But this early in the process, when you’ve learned so little of value, telling them just seems cruel. You have no expectation that you’ll defeat the King on this attempt, or even see him.

You’ve got this under control. When that changes, or when reaching the King seems like a real possibility, you can tell them then.

But if you can’t tell the truth, what is there to even say? You thank Boniface for the food they set aside for you, and assure Mirabelle that you support her, and you mean it. Beyond that, it’s easier to just pretend to be engrossed in another book.

After another night of troubled sleep, you reenter the House and allow events to play out as before. You again claim a bit of extra knowledge about the Death Corridor, and again this is enough for Siffrin to find it. You watch carefully as Siffrin taps the pillar again, and this time you can tell that they’re looking for and tapping a specific location. Even so, you can’t see what makes it special.

This time, when you encounter the tears, you insist that everyone keep moving and give them as wide a berth as possible. It’s almost frustrating to see that that was all it took, but at least you’re past it.

Straight ahead from there you encounter a sadness which is much stronger than the others. You quickly deduce its craft type and hammer it with effective attacks until it goes down, but need to spend two of your sour tonics to do so. When it vanishes, the sadness leaves behind a strange medallion in the shape of a star.

“Hey Dile,” says Bonnie, “can I be on weird star jewelry duty? Since I did such a good job with the items in that battle?”

“Sure,” you say. “Just don’t lose it.”

Bonnie is still examining it in their hands when you leave the room, so it takes almost no time for them to notice when it starts reacting.

“Look!” they say, as you walk past a set of tears. “It glows the closer it gets to the tear. Neat, huh?”

To demonstrate this fact, they hold it at arm’s length in the direction away from the tear, then in the tear’s direction. It does indeed glow brighter as it gets closer.

“Be careful,” Mirabelle says, as she notices Bonnie getting closer to the tear. “Remember what Madame Odile said about not getting close to the tears.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna touch it. I just wanna see how bright it—ow!”

With a start, Bonnie drops the medallion, which is now glowing with heat. To your horror, rather than fall down, it is pulled the rest of the way to the tear as if by a magnet.

There is a flash of light. When it clears, both the tear and the medallion are gone.

“Ugh, why did we even bring them in here?”

...

Four horrified stares tell you that you probably said that out loud.

“I mean, I… didn’t mean that,” is all you can manage.

“Yes you did,” says Bonnie, flatly.

“It’s not so bad,” says Isabeau, putting a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “At least now we know what those star things do. So we know what to do with the next one. Besides, you were the one who knew what the tears are in the first place. Without you, I probably would have walked right into one.”

Siffrin and Mirabelle back up this claim, and Siffrin makes a comment about the embarrassing pose Isabeau was likely to make. This gets a grin out of Bonnie, who wipes away the tears that were starting to form in their eyes. With the interpersonal crisis averted, you resume your search of the House.

The very next turn shows you why the item would have been valuable. Tears stretch across the width of the hallway, too close together for even Bonnie to squeeze past without touching one.

You explore what little is left of the floor, but your fears are only confirmed. You find a fancy sword for Mirabelle, a few more tonics, and an opportunity to tease Siffrin for forgetting several easy words, but no way forward. There’s a locked door blocking off the west part of the House, and a locked storage room which Mirabelle thinks the shopkeeper in Dormont could help you open, but no key. Isabeau tries his best to force both doors open, but the House was built sturdy even before it was frozen in time.

You spend almost the entire trek wishing you could unsee the solution. Wishing you could turn off the part of yourself which knows what you need to do next. Wishing that responsibility was just a thing that you could stop having when it’s inconvenient.

“We’re stuck,” says Bonnie, as you return to the hallway with the tears and confirm that nothing has changed.

“Looks that way,” agrees Isabeau.

“And it’s my fault.”

“Nobody thinks that,” he replies, then gives you an extremely pointed look. “Right, Madame Odile?”

“Of course not,” you say. “But I’m not sure we are actually stuck.”

“You have an idea?” asks Mirabelle, hopeful.

“I do,” you say. “But it will be risky.”

“For you,” you don’t say.

“It will be risky for you, but not me. For me, this is the safest possible course of action. Safer than doing nothing. I’ll just stand in my designated place in line, here in the back where we keep the child. I’ll be perfectly safe while I ask a girl half my age to risk her life. But you, you very well might die in the next ten minutes.”

You don’t say any of that. If you did, Mirabelle wouldn’t do what you need her to do next.

Instead, you simply tell her the plan.

“The tears will freeze any person who touches them, according to Boniface. This is an extension the same time craft used by the King, and by the strongest of the sadnesses we’ve seen. But there’s one person who’s been proven resistant to that time craft.”

“Me,” she says, and swallows. “You think I can pass through without being frozen?”

“Maybe,” you say.

“What?” cries Bonnie. “No way! Those tears are way too strong! They freeze you for good in, like, one second.”

“I agree with the kid,” says Isabeau. “This is way too risky. We should go back to trying to break down that door instead.”

“I’m not saying it’s safe,” you say. “But we have to do something. We can’t leave the House to regroup, and if we wait here long enough we’ll all be frozen anyways. At least this way we have a chance.”

“Besides,” you finish. “What do you think the Change God blessed her for, if not for this?”

Mirabelle looks like she swallowed a whole lemon when you mention the Change God, but she hides it quickly. Schooling her expression back to one of mere nervousness, she finally speaks up.

“I’ll do it.”

This is met by the expected protests, but she holds up a hand.

“Madame Odile is right. I have to do whatever I can to defeat the King. If that means taking a risk, then I’ll have to take that risk.”

That shuts them up, at least. But there’s one person you haven’t heard from.

“Not that I think it’s appropriate to put this up to a vote,” you say, “but Siffrin. You’ve been awfully quiet.”

All eyes turn to Siffrin. He shrinks behind his hat and takes a few more seconds to think. Then he lifts it to give Mirabelle an extremely forced smile.

“I believe in you, Mira,” he says. “Good luck.”

And with that, it’s decided. You all watch in dread as Mirabelle reaches out her hand to poke the tears—no point in exposing herself to more than that on the first attempt.

Even that light tap produces immediate results. But it’s not the same as it was for Siffrin.

The darkness rushes to fill her hand but then slows to a crawl. It creeps its way past her wrist and towards the elbow in fits and starts, fighting for every inch. Her face screws up in concentration, and the darkness recedes an inch. It regains the ground, then loses it, then loses another inch.

And then, with a grunt of pain, she loses the battle.

Mirabelle flinches, and the darkness surges forward to claim the rest of her arm. She manages to hold it again just below the shoulder, but this time there is no back and forth. Just a steady progression. When it passes the shoulder and begins to spread in many directions at once, Mirabelle seems to realize it’s over.

“I’m sorry,” she says, then stops resisting. The rest of her body is turned to stone within a second.

For a few moments, you are all frozen in place.

Then Bonnie punches you.

“She trusted you!” they shout. “She trusted you and now she’s gone and it’s your fault.”

Their fists slam against your stomach a few more times to little effect, until Isabeau grabs their shoulders and pulls them away.

“Nobody knew what would happen,” Isabeau insists. “Mirabelle agreed that it was worth the risk. That was her choice, not ours.”

“But she only did it ‘cause Dile said to. And, and Dile always has good ideas. So why wasn’t this one good?”

Nobody has a good answer to that question, but Bonnie isn’t really looking for one. Instead they bury their face in Isabeau’s side and cry.

With nothing else left to do, you pull out your coin and turn to Siffrin.

“Heads or heads?” you ask them.

It takes him a moment to realize what you’re asking, and when he does his face takes on a scowl. Not the amusing one he reserves for foods he dislikes, but something far darker. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen this expression on him before, and you hope to never see it again.

“This is really not the right time, Odile.”

“Siffrin, I need you to say heads. Now.”

“Nobody cares about your stupid bet! Mirabelle’s gone.”

“This isn’t about a bet. I can still fix this!”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later. Just call it, heads or heads.”

After a moment more hesitation, they say it. “Heads.”

You toss the coin end over end, and don’t bother to look at it. You know it’ll land on a head, and then you’ll be return to—

—the chaos which greets you after every attempt. The endless stream of sights and sounds are too much to bear, but infinitely better than what you left behind. You can only wait until the moment that—

“—did you wish for?”

“Nothing important,” you say, earning a boo from Siffrin.

“Listen, Siffrin, I need a favor. Whatever you do, don’t make a wish at the Favor Tree today.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” you say, then hurry off.

You’ll explain later. What a wonderful lie. Why didn’t you think of this sooner?

Later never needs to happen.

You can take these secrets to your grave.

Chapter Text

Your errands at the beginning of this loop are frustratingly short. Obtain the coin, ask the shopkeeper about their openphrase, and then… what? You don’t dare approach the library again, not while Mirabelle is stationed outside its entrance. You can’t even meet Bonnie’s gaze when you remake a request for tonight’s dinner. There’s no way you can talk to Mirabelle right now.

You already have your supplies for tomorrow, and have already pursued every lead on locating a familytale. There’s nothing to distract you from what you just saw.

No, don’t lie to yourself. There’s nothing to distract you from what you just did.

You settle for sitting by the river, pretending to read one of the few books you already had with you. There’s only thirty pages left for the author to reiterate her thesis, but that’s no problem. You spend most of the remaining daylight attempting to read the next paragraph anyways.

Evening comes, and with it the clocktower. When the time comes, you look directly at Mirabelle and tell her with a straight face that she can count on you.

You beg off to bed early, despite knowing what unpleasant dreams await you.

Things in the House proceed exactly the same as last time, until you defeat the strong sadness at the end of the corridor.

“Hey Dile,” says Bonnie, “can I be on weird star jewelry duty? Since I did such a good job with the items in that battle?”

“No,” you say, picking up the object in question. “I’m on weird star jewelry duty.”

Bonnie looks a little grumpy, but you ignore it. They’re still one mistake away from being left behind in Dormont. You’ll do it, even if you have to contradict a plan that you’d announced hours earlier.

You present the medallion to the wall of tears and are relieved to see it vanish entirely.

The tears were only guarding a kitchen.

Bonnie finds a wok, which they insist on taking with them. You allow it, but you can’t imagine they’ll find much time to cook while you’re inside the House. By the time they can use it properly, its owner will want it back. Though at that point they’ll probably just give the kid anything they ask for.

More importantly, Siffrin locates a key shaped like an egg. They ask about its design, earning a brief discussion on the Change belief from the Vaugardian members of your party. On any other day you would gladly join in, but right now you just… can’t.

It’s fine. You’ll have plenty of chances to hear this same conversation.

The storage room is more of a disappointment. All it contains are a handful of tonics and a cluttered bookshelf. You give the books a once-over and find a mess of loosely-related titles in a variety of languages.

You’re about to dismiss it all as unimportant when one book catches your attention. Not because of anything on the cover exactly, but rather a sort of… sixth sense telling you it must be important. Its title is unreadable, but not just because of the language it’s written in. Your eyes seem to slide right off of it. When you look at it you want to dismiss it as unimportant, but as soon as you look away you feel the urge to go back.

It’s extremely disconcerting.

You open it to where there should be a table of contents and try to focus on it. Try to commit what you can see to memory.

You don’t notice at first as your vision starts to grow fuzzy around the edges. You don’t notice as the sounds of your party become muted by a dull static. But when you begin to smell burnt sugar, that you notice.

You throw the book away as if it bit you, earning several curious stares.

Being the fastest to react of your group, Siffrin snatches the book up from where it landed. He looks at the cover for a few seconds, then winces and sets it down.

“What is it?” asks Mirabelle.

“Something bad,” you reply. “We should speak to the Head Housemaiden about it if… when we see her. For now, don’t touch it.”

You have no idea what this book is, but it’s dangerous. Likely dangerous in a way that your newfound blessing cannot protect you from. You shouldn’t mess with it except as a last resort.

The rest of the floor is mercifully uneventful. You retrieve Mirabelle’s new sword without incident. The egg-shaped key grants you access to a pair of bedrooms. In them you find more tonics, plenty of light reading material (including some “reading material” which a flustered Mirabelle must scramble to hide from Boniface), and the final egg-themed key.

The group makes some commentary on what they find, as always. But they sense your impatience and move on quickly.

The passage between the first floor and the second is guarded by a sadness much stronger than any of the ones before, even stronger than the one guarding the tear-banishing medallion. But not strong enough. By dipping into Bonnie’s growing stockpile of spices and tonics, you emerge victorious.

With that sadness gone, the climb to the second floor is oddly peaceful. Isabeau comments on this when you reach the landing.

“Shall we take a little break, then?” you ask.

“No!” insists Mirabelle. “We should keep going.”

But her grumbling stomach betrays her.

Boniface excitedly steps into their role as “snack leader”, espousing the importance of eating well to a hesitant house maiden. Isabeau backs them up.

You throw in your thoughts while Bonnie roots through their bags for appropriate food.

“We have plenty of time,” you say. “The curse spreads over days, not minutes. Besides, we’re not going to catch him by surprise if we’re just a bit faster. Either the King already knows we’re here, or he doesn’t.”

“But what if we’re too late? We have to do whatever it takes to defeat the king!”

Your response dies on your tongue when you recognize the same words from yesterday. Between that terrifying book and the rush of combat, you’d managed to put it out of your mind. You’d managed to forget that this is the same girl you allowed to endanger herself for the sake of progress. The girl who was so eager to let you do so. Who still is.

And there, in the corner, is the same child you snapped at over a simple mistake. The child who snapped at you in turn over a much more sinister one.

You almost forgot how little you belong here.

Bonnie returns with food and asks everyone else what they want, but they hand you an onigiri without even asking.

“Here,” they say. “I made this one E-special-ly for you.”

“Does it have peppers in it?” asks Siffrin, mouth already full of plantain chips.

“No!” snaps Bonnie. “It’s just, Dile seemed really upset yesterday. So I remembered how she made hers before, and I made this one the same way! To cheer her up.”

“You made this one for me… because I was upset?”

“Yeah! I wanted to try using other fruits in some of the others, but not that one. Because that one had to be perfect.”

You’re at a loss for words.

“So you should eat it,” they insist, when they notice you are not eating it.

You lift the onigiri to your mouth and take a hesitant bite. Then another.

It is… exactly how you would have made it.

“Uh, guys? Is it good or bad if someone starts crying when they eat your food?”

“That depends,” says Siffrin. “Did you actually put peppers in it?”

“No!”

Crying?

You’re crying?

You lift a hand to your face and confirm that you were, in fact, crying.

Of course.

You’ve watched a friend die three times in the last week, and this is the moment you chose to cry.

“It’s… good,” you reply. You’ve retained enough composure to talk, at least.

It doesn’t erase anyone’s concern.

Isabeau is the one to speak up, once you’re done wiping your eyes.

“Is everything alright, Madame?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. Then, after a few moments. “No. Maybe?”

“That’s a lot of answers,” says Isabeau. “Do you maybe want to talk about one of them?”

“No,” you say, without any waffling.

Mirabelle speaks up next. “We can’t help if you don’t tell us what’s wrong. If something’s been bothering you since yesterday, shouldn’t we talk about it?”

You shake your head.

“Is it something to do with the Favor Tree?” asks Siffrin. “You still owe me an explanation.”

“Yes I do but… not now. We can talk about it after we beat the King. I promise.”

As if your promises are worth anything.

Everyone hesitates for a few seconds, but it’s Bonnie who says what they’re all thinking.

“What if we don’t beat the King?”

Then it won’t matter what any of them say.

“Then it won’t matter.”

Nobody seems fully convinced, but nobody seems ready to force the issue.

“You kids have enough on your plate already,” you say. “Just worry about yourselves for the next few hours, and let an old woman deal with her own problems.”

Because you can deal with your own problems. You can, and you will. It’s your wish and your responsibility. If you have to tear yourself to shreds to see it through… better you than them.

Chapter Text

You finish the remainder of your snack in uneasy silence, then set out into the second floor of the House. A sign on the door in front of you helpfully declares that the key is in the trap-making room, but with the House in its current state not even Mirabelle knows where that is. It doesn’t matter; you’ll search the whole floor if you have to.

But your journey very quickly takes you to a sight that no one wanted to see.

Another Housemaiden, frozen in time.

You make the mistake of looking at her for a little too long, long enough to see a different face in the stone. You look away quickly.

With a little prompting from Isabeau, Mirabelle tells everyone about her fallen friend. She knew the girl well and thought highly of her. Isabeau and Siffrin offer her some sympathy, but you can’t bring yourself to join in. That’s fine though. Nobody here is counting on you for emotional support.

They’re counting on you to keep an eye on the big picture.

“The sadnesses are getting stronger with each floor,” you say. “We already know that the strongest of them can mimic the King’s power of time freezing. Mirabelle, if one of us is frozen in battle, is there anything you can do?”

“No,” she says, still teary eyed. “I can’t help you. I can’t help her. I can’t help anyone.”

“But you’ve been working on a method of extending your blessing to others. Didn’t you say you were close?”

She shakes her head. “I was ‘close’ a week ago and I’m still just ‘close’ now. It feels like my blessing only responds if I’m fighting sadnesses, and we barely saw any the last few days. We’re already here, I’m already out of time, and I’m still… useless.”

“Well, keep at it. There’s plenty of sadnesses to practice against here in the House. I’m sure you’ll get it right before long.”

“Yeah,” chimes in Bonnie. “And then you can fix your friend!”

Whatever hope was starting to blossom on Mirabelle’s face vanishes.

“No,” she says. “Even if I manage what I’ve been trying, it’ll only work on people who have been frozen for a few minutes. Everyone in the House… it’s been months. I can’t do anything here.”

Bonnie thinks hard. “But… she’ll be fixed when we beat the King. Right? And we’re totally going to beat the King.”

The looks exchanged after this comment suggest that nobody really believes that.

A detour to a greenhouse reveals a second frozen woman. This one is not a Housemaiden, but Mirabelle speaks of her just as fondly. She must have known almost every person in this House.

You consider steering the group away from this room on your next attempt, for Mirabelle’s sake. But the room contains some useful tonics, so it’s not really in question. You know you’ll always put the mission first.

The mood lifts only briefly when Mirabelle spots the Head Housemaiden’s office, and you all agree to search it next. Mirabelle sings the woman’s praises while you pick over her bookshelf and Siffrin searches the other furniture. But she’s quickly reminded that this woman is almost certainly frozen as well.

You find no objects of value in the room, and no words of value for Mirabelle.

A trap triggers as you leave the room, a rude reminder that you are still in hostile territory. A huge block of stone falls from the ceiling, poised to crush anyone still in the doorway. Thankfully the trap’s timing is abysmal, and you’re all well clear of the doorway by then. It’s frustrating knowing you risked your lives in that room only to emerge empty-handed, but you’ll cope.

That frustration turns to dread when you see the next doorway, and Mirabelle realizes that the key was in the office you just left.

Isabeau shoves and heaves and struggles to move the rock, but you already know it’s no use.

“It’s… okay” he says, panting for breath after his last attempt. “Maybe we don’t need to go there anyways. The other half of the floor wasn’t locked. And maybe she left the key somewhere else that day.”

You search the rest of the floor, but his optimism proves misplaced. You find a sadness almost identical to the one which dropped the medallion on the first floor, and retrieve another medallion from it. But you’re left with two locked doors, no keys, and no tears on which to use it.

You convene in an empty classroom once you’ve acknowledged defeat, since it’s the only room you can reach with five chairs.

Just like before, Bonnie is the one to address the fact that you’re stuck. At least they don’t blame themself this time.

Unlike before, you have no clever plan. No way to keep pushing forward. No final opportunity to hurt everyone further.

It’s… not better this way. You can’t let yourself think that. But it is easier.

Isabeau has a final gambit of his own, at least.

“Odile,” he says. “You wanna reconsider telling us what was bothering you earlier? I know you wanted to focus on the House, but we’re stuck. If we don’t talk about it now, you might not have any time later.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

This earns you only looks of confusion.

Gems, you didn’t really think that comment through. But this close to the end, it doesn’t really matter.

You pull out your coin.

“Maybe it’s better if I demonstrate instead. Isabeau… no, Mirabelle. Heads or heads?”

Mirabelle looks mildly amused. “Shouldn’t one of the choices be tails?”

“Not this time. Heads or heads?”

“Heads?”

You toss the coin and catch it in your palm. Might as well give them the full dramatics. You press it against the back of your other hand, reveal the coin, and are about to declare her victory when—

—you return once again to chaos. It feels easier, this time. The overwhelming sights and sounds wash over you. The smell of sugar and the tingling in your limbs is bearable. And before long—

“—did you wish for?”

You’re outside again, in front of the favor tree.

You return to your original strategy of teaching Siffrin the Vaugardian method of wishing. Not because you expect to beat the King on this attempt, but to make sure you don’t forget what to say when that time comes.

This time you are able to approach the library and make small talk with Mirabelle before entering. In hindsight it’s rather pathetic that you couldn’t before. You choose a new book to skim while you’re there and yet another to take with you, but you’re already running out of books that look interesting. This is a very small library, and you’ve been here for days.

You go through the motions at the clocktower, in the Death Corridor, when clearing the tears, when facing the stronger sadnesses. It’s… slow. Painfully slow. You’re getting plenty of practice at hitting things with your craft, at least.

At snack time, Bonnie surprises you by presenting the same onigiri as before. However, this time there is no insistence that you pick it. Merely an assumption that you will. Even without feeling sorry for you, Bonnie guessed you would want this.

It’s hard to decide if that makes it better or worse as a grand gesture.

You decide to experiment with one of the other onigiri instead. You then immediately regret your decision. Apple slices? Well, they have to learn somehow.

You try your best to offer constructive feedback without offending Bonnie, then realize what you’re doing and barely restrain yourself from facepalming. What’s the point in giving feedback? They’re not going to remember this conversation. They’ll just make the same thing tomorrow.

You held yourself together much better this loop, so there’s no pressure to talk about your feelings. You simply finish eating and proceed to the second floor.

You want to steer the group down the hallway to the left, to avoid seeing Mirabelle’s frozen friend. But what you want is irrelevant, because Siffrin is in the lead. Their eagle eye spots her in the distance and they naturally choose to investigate.

You keep silent as Mirabelle describes this statue, and the one in the greenhouse. Your input only made things worse last time.

In the Head Housemaiden’s office, you take charge immediately. “Mirabelle, do you know if the Head Housemaiden kept any keys in this office?”

Mirabelle thinks for a moment, then brightens. “She did! She was responsible for the key to the library. I think she kept it in her desk? She didn’t lock it very often, so I only saw her get the key out once.”

Siffrin goes to the desk and begins rifling through it while the rest of you talk.

“Why would she lock it at all?” asks Bonnie. “They’re just books. Who would steal a book?”

“Old books can be very expensive,” you reply. “You shouldn’t underestimate the library of a House this big.”

But Mirabelle agrees with Bonnie. “I think the really valuable books were kept somewhere else. The library didn’t have anything we couldn’t replace.”

“So why lock it?” asks Bonnie.

“The only times she locked it were when we had a valuable book on loan from another House. She only did it to make the owners feel safer. After all, who would steal from a House of Change?”

“You’d be surprised,” says Isabeau. “There was a break-in at one of the Houses in Jouvente, about… two years ago. They didn’t steal any books though. Mostly just jewelry and silverware. We never caught the thief either. Scary stuff.”

Mirabelle shudders. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Beats me,” replies Isabeau. “Can’t imagine how they’d fence stuff stolen from a House, either. It was real high-profile. They probably melted it all down. A real shame.”

You can’t help but rib him a little. “Are you an expert on fencing jewelry now, Isabeau?”

“No!” he insists. “I just read a lot. And anyways, um… Sif, how’s that desk looking?”

Siffrin stopped searching a while ago, though you didn’t notice. They were watching your conversation with that relaxed look they sometimes get, but straighten up like they were just called on by a teacher.

“No keys in here,” they say. “Just a lot of junk. Are you sure she kept it here?”

You realize you’ve you lost sight of the goal.

“It has to be in this office somewhere,” you say. “Perhaps we should all get looking for it. Without the talking, this time.”

“It has a rock symbol on it,” Mirabelle chimes in. “If that helps.”

You spend the next few minutes turning over everything in the office, much to Mirabelle’s distress. Siffrin is the one to eventually find the key, which is not surprising. What is surprising is where he found it.

“Siffrin,” you say, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Was that desk not the very first place you searched? Did you not tell us already that it was bereft of keys?”

“She taped it to the bottom of the drawer,” he protests. “Who does that?”

You roll your eyes. “Someone worried about book thieves, apparently.”

Perhaps you need to put a damper on group discussions while Siffrin is searching for keys, moving forward. Gems only know what else he might miss.

But on the other hand, this was an improvement. Wasn’t it? Instead of dwelling on her frozen mentor, you got Mirabelle talking about libraries, locks, and abstract godless thieves. Maybe this is worth repeating in future attempts, even though you know where to find the key.

It’s food for thought.

Chapter Text

With the Head Housemaiden’s key in hand, you do everything short of shoving your party to get them out the door and into the hallway as quickly as possible. You’re not sure it actually made a difference; you made it roughly the same distance away before the rock fell.

At least, you think this is the same distance. It’s hard to tell.

No one was in a big hurry the first time, and the trap has failed to kill anyone twice in a row. You’re tentatively willing to skip worrying about this trap in future attempts, so long as the group doesn’t split up.

You encounter yet another frozen person in the hallway leading to the library. Mirabelle does not recognize this person, but she and Isabeau become fixated on their bonding earrings and amuse themselves by imagining what they’ll do when unfrozen.

The library itself holds a frozen librarian, unsurprisingly, and you’re back to hearing Mirabelle spout glowing compliments.

You and Siffrin both listen respectfully before you begin your searches.

You easily find a catalog of books which were checked out in the last few weeks before disaster struck. For lack of anything better to do, and trusting that Siffrin is better at finding keys than yourself, you steal a moment to peruse that list.

You don’t find what you were looking for. But the disappointment feels… numbed.

Your search for a Familytale is already feeling like a relic of another life. You’ve only been doing this for… how long? A week? You stop and do some rough math. One, two… if each loop was roughly a day, not counting the first time you got the coin, and you went back four times, this is only your… sixth day in Dormont.

So why is something which was so important to you before a mere afterthought now? It feels… unfair, somehow. Like you’ve been cheated out of having your own goals.

While you’ve been contemplating this, and the children have been clustered around a gaudy old diary, the other responsible adult in the room found another key. You congratulate him on redeeming himself from his earlier failure, and shoo the party out the door.

You already know where this key will take you.

When leading the party, Siffrin always checks each side-room as you pass it unless someone suggests otherwise. So you visit the classroom and re-fight the medallion-holding sadness before reaching the locked door. This is just as well, because the hallway past that door is mostly blocked by tears.

In fact, it contains two passages blocked by tears.

You really, really hope you do not have to waste a reset on a fifty-fifty chance.

Isabeau immediately declares that his intuition tells him to turn right, only for Bonnie to declare that their intuition is to disagree with him.

Mirabelle and Siffrin both look terrified at the prospect of choosing a side.

“Mira,” pleads Isabeau. “Mirabelle, my friend, my sister from another mother! Please!”

Her willpower melts under the display.

“Um!” she declares. “I-I’m with Isabeau!”

“Yes!” he declares. “Belle and Beau! Beauty Alliance!”

If the side with more votes has the key you need, that may save you a headache in the future. It’s as good a method as any of choosing.

You approach the pair on the right. “Is there room in the Beauty Alliance for an old hag?”

“Always,” says Isabeau.

“Traitors!” shouts Bonnie. “Both of you are traitors.”

“Oh,” says Mirabelle, her face melting. “Now Bonnie is all by themself. I… I switch sides!”

“You have made a wise choice,” says Bonnie, nodding as Mirabelle walks over to join them. “Odile, Isabeau, you will come to regret siding against me.”

Isabeau smirks. “You chose to be on the opposite side from me.”

“Only cause you were being stupid.”

This is taking too long.

“Can we just pick one already?” you ask. “I literally only chose this side because it already had two votes.”

“Aw,” says Isabeau. “Don’t you want to force Siffrin to break the tie? It’s fun watching them panic about it.”

“No. This isn’t a game, and we especially shouldn’t horse around this close to the tears.”

Everyone takes a large, guilty step towards the middle of the corridor at this reminder.

Good.

“Now unless someone has an actual reason to pick one side over the other, I am going to use this thing on the path to the right.”

Nobody speaks up.

“Mirabelle, any insights about the layout of the House?”

She shakes her head, and you toss the medallion at the tears on the right.

To your relief, you immediately recognize this as the trap-building room described by the earlier sign. Even better, a key is sitting out in the open.

In an even bigger reversal of your luck so far, the Housemaiden in this room is one that Mirabelle does not like.

She tries to brush it off. But when pressed, Mirabelle admits that she suspects (and only suspects) that he stole a book from her.

“A thief!” cries Bonnie. “Not just any thief, but a book thief! They do exist!”

Mirabelle continues trying to deflect the group’s hostility, until Siffrin puts their skills to use and finds the book on the suspect’s person. This feat achieves the seemingly-impossible: It persuades Mirabelle to say something negative about a frozen person.

She immediately regrets it and tries to backtrack, but you all heard her.

Before leaving, you notice a book on the table which appears to be about traps within the House. You’re gripped by hope. Could this be the key to preventing further defeats?

The answer is no.

You realize quite quickly that most of the traps described in this book do not exist, and have likely never existed. Several purport to be in rooms you’ve already seen. Consulting with Mirabelle, you reach the conclusion that this book describes only plans, not reality. The King arrived before most of them could be implemented.

Since the room is only missing two of its boulders, it’s possible that you’ve already seen every trap in the House.

That knowledge, and the sight of Mirabelle standing up to the frozen book thief, has the party in high spirits as you approach the end of the floor. The sight of two strong sadnesses guarding the stairs does little to change this, especially when it becomes apparent that only the paper-type sadness is attacking. You throw everything you have at it, and things are going well.

Right up to the moment where it all falls apart.

A strong attack from the sadness knocks Isabeau out cold. It’s not surprising against such a strong paper type, and hardly the first knockout you’ve seen this week.

But as you turn to Boniface for a crafted water to revive him, a terrible chill spreads through your body. In less than a second, the magic takes its course and your body is frozen in time.

Stupid.

Turned the way you are, you can’t even see the battle. All you can see is Bonnie, who wastes precious seconds trying to wrench the crafted water out of your hand. Don’t they realize that it’s also frozen?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You can hear just fine, though. Siffrin and Mirabelle both call out scissors crafts, and sound like they’re fighting their hardest. But with half the team taken out in a few seconds, you can tell they’re losing.

How could you be so stupid?

Siffrin calls out for Bonnie, and the kid abandons you to run to the front. You hear Isabeau’s voice rejoin the fight a few moments later, and what sounds like Mirabelle’s healing craft. But Siffrin’s voice vanishes from the fray. You can’t tell if they’ve been frozen or simply beaten into submission.

Mirabelle told you she wasn’t ready. She told you! And you didn’t listen! No, worse than that. You avoided even having that conversation this time around. To spare her feelings.

More shouting, more impacts. Isabeau has the good sense to use a battle cry on the enemy rather than attempt an attack, but it’s not enough. You hear a terrible impact and a cry as he goes down again.

You spared her feelings, but now she’s going to die. You’re all going to die.

Mirabelle shouts for Bonnie to flee, to save themself. They shout in protest, but she shouts over them and they obey.

You hear footsteps retreat the way you came from, back into the second floor of the House.

But there’s nowhere to run, is there? Even if Bonnie could avoid the other sadnesses, the House is sealed. Even if they could leave the House, they could never outrun the curse on foot.

The fleeing child takes with them your remaining supply of tonics, and your only real hope of victory. But victory was already well out of reach.

You’ve already doomed them. No matter what happens, Bonnie will be frozen in time. Here, over a hundred miles from their home, from their sister. Alone and scared, forever.

Mirabelle attempts what sounds like a regular scissors-type attack. Not a craft skill. Maybe she’s trying to complete a combo attack. Does that put you at three or four marks? Regardless, there’s one last sickening impact and a pained cry from Mirabelle.

Even if you could reach your coin, even if flipping it can rewind time without an audience (which you still haven’t tested five resets in), you won’t be able to save Bonnie. If the time to win this battle was twenty minutes ago, the time to save Bonnie was over two months ago. It doesn’t even matter if they enter the House.

The hallway is filled with deafening silence. Your entire party lies defeated, one way or another. All you can do is wait.

You can’t even claim you didn’t think of it. Of course you did. You voted on this. Isabeau wanted to seek out one of the caravans fleeing Vaugarde and leave the kid in their care. You argued that there was no time. You argued against it, and the others agreed, and now Boniface—

You’re not ready when the time freeze wears off, but the sadness clearly is. You scarcely have time to suck in a breath before a blow from behind knocks you to the ground. The crafted water you held for so long shatters as you land, sending painful shards of glass into your hand.

You fumble for the coin with your left hand, but there’s no time. Another blow comes too quickly, as if the sadness has run out of patience.

Your head slams against stone.

The world spins and your mind goes fuzzy. It takes you precious seconds to remember what you’re supposed to do with this coin. You mumble “heads,” because that’s what you always say, but that feels like a mistake. Were you supposed to say “tails” instead? Yes, that’s right, you—

—almost don’t notice the transition from one state of confusion to another. The fog gripping your mind only worsens as a swirling nightmare of foreign sensations drowns you. It lasts longer this time, longer than it ever had before. Or does it? There’s no way to judge time in this chaos. But just as you become certain that you’ve made your last mistake, that this will truly last forever—

“—did you wish for?”

You’re back.

It didn’t matter.

The worst happened, and it didn’t matter.

You died, you all died, and it didn’t. Even. Matter.

You laugh.

You laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Chapter Text

The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, a single bird is singing, and Siffrin is looking at you like you’ve completely lost your mind. In their defense, from any outside perspective you would assume the same.

You take a deep breath and try to control yourself. You manage to reel in the laughter, at least, but you still feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a dozen different emotions.

Siffrin raises an arm with a look of concern, but stops just shy of touching you. The arm hangs useless in the air for a few seconds, then returns to their side. But that’s fine. You’re only marginally better with the touchy-feely stuff than Siffrin.

“Madame Odile, are you… okay?”

“Yes,” you say. “I think so. I just… realized something. Something good, I think.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I figured something out? I’m a smart woman!”

“I don’t believe you that it’s good. You look… bad. And that was not a good laugh.”

“What, are you a connoisseur of laughs now?”

“Of course. I’m the keeper of the official one-to-ten rating scale. And that laugh was a solid zero. I might even need to add some negative numbers.”

“Where do I normally fall on this scale of yours?”

“Seven. Sometimes eight when you’re drunk.”

“What would I need to do to score a solid ten?”

“Be Isabeau.”

You laugh, and try to make it sound natural, because it’s obviously the correct move. It still sounds forced. Siffrin accepts it anyways.

“There,” he says. “You’re back up to a four. We’re making progress!”

Their genuine smile when they say that is infectious.

“But seriously,” they say, expression dropping. “What is this about?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say. “Not until after we’ve beaten the King. But I do need something from you now.”

It’s better to establish an end time than just a vague “later,” right? That’s one thing you did wrong last time, letting Siffrin choose when “later” was for himself. Beating the King is probably going to work in place of “never” for quite a while yet.

Siffrin looks as attentive as you’ve ever seen them, so you make your request. “Don’t make a wish today. Just trust me on this.”

Siffrin nods, but looks at you with worry again.

“I’ll do it, but… you still look pretty off. Are you really okay?”

“I will be.”

Ha.

Look at that, you told Siffrin the secret after all.

You will be.

No matter what happens, you will be okay.

…

It takes quite a bit of walking to get far enough from the village that you feel safe screaming your lungs out, but you do it. It doesn’t really help much to calm you down, not right after the novel experience of dying horribly. Or hearing your companions picked off one by one due to your own mistakes. Or discovering you’re effectively immortal. But tiring yourself out is… almost like being calm. Right?

It takes the edge off, at least.

The children playing by the river are scared of you now. You’re not sure if they saw you stalking past right after your talk with Siffrin, or if you still look scary even after your private tantrum, or if you just didn’t walk far enough away to not be heard. But even the bravest one can barely manage two word sentences when speaking to you, and all three sprint off as soon as you look away.

That’s a problem. Even if you don’t need the coin, you really do need the coin. You are not doing this the hard way every time.

Backup plan, then.

Tracking down Siffrin again isn’t hard. They’re seated next to Mirabelle outside the library, talking quietly. The way they both clam up when they see you coming leaves little doubt what the conversation was about.

“Madame Odile,” says Mirabelle, nervously. “Siffrin was just, ah, telling me about, ah… are you doing okay?”

Siffrin gives Mirabelle a dirty look, but says nothing.

“Nobody here is doing okay,” you say, trying to let your usual cynicism drown out whatever emotions would otherwise slip into your voice. “The world is about to end for every person in Vaugarde. My agenda for tomorrow is to throw myself into the heart of the curse in hopes of maybe stopping it. If any person in Dormont tells you they’re doing okay, they’re a liar. But given the circumstances, I’m fine. I’m as fine as I could be.”

Mirabelle looks disheartened to hear this, but it’s nothing she didn’t already knew.

She tries her best to sound positive. “Well, if you ever decide that you’re… not fine, please know that I’m willing to talk. All of us are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But for now I need to borrow Siffrin for a favor. A secret favor.”

“Oh!” cries Mirabelle. “Two secret quests in one day? At least you two are getting along well. Don’t let me get in your way!”

She returns to her papers, and you step away with Siffrin.

“Siffrin, there’s something else I need you to do that you absolutely can not ask questions about.” You pause to make sure they’re listening carefully, then proceed. “There’s three children who were playing near the river earlier, though I may have scared them off. The talkative one has a trick coin with two heads. I need that coin before we enter the House.”

“Why?”

“What did I just say about questions?”

Siffrin looks embarrassed.

You hand Siffrin some money from your pouch, about twice what you’ve actually been spending to bribe the kid.

“This should be enough to convince them to give it up. You can keep whatever is left over. Just give me the coin when we meet at the clocktower.”

“Am I allowed to ask why I’m the one running this errand?”

“I think we both know you’re better with children than I am.”

“Tell that to Bonnie,” Siffrin mumbles, though you probably weren’t meant to hear it. Either way, you have no intention of trying to unravel that mess now. Not when they’re both going to forget whatever you say.

“Just… make a joke. Use your natural charisma. Do whatever. You’re good at this.”

Siffrin looks unsure.

“If it helps, I only need the coin for one day. You can have it when we’re done. I’m sure you, of all people, can find a use for a trick coin.”

That, at least, earns you a mischievous smile and a nod. Siffrin accepts your money and sets off, eager to trade it for a much smaller quantity of money.

You waste your remaining daylight in the library yet again. You find a pair of history books written by the same wildly-misinformed author, and you entertain yourself by annotating every mistake you can find. The librarian protests, of course, but he’s not willing to stand up to a Savior of Vaugarde. It takes him the better part of an hour to give up and fetch Mirabelle.

Mirabelle, unsurprisingly, is not moved by your insistence that the original text was wrong. When she’s done scolding you, she finds you a stack of blank paper and does not leave until she sees you using it.

You don’t bring any books with you to the clocktower. This library has already run out of books worth taking with you, and the librarian would probably have an aneurysm if you tried.

Dinner is… off. That smell of burnt sugar hasn’t left you since you died, and it tinges the simple one-serving pasta dish that Bonnie prepared at your request.

You’re certain that nothing on your plate is burned. There’s no way Bonnie could have missed it in this dish. But your taste buds insist otherwise.

Beyond that, you simply tune out the evening’s events. You even miss your cue at the end of Mirabelle’s speech, only chiming in with your support when you notice all eyes upon you.

You don’t have any nightmares, for once. You don’t recall having any dreams at all.

…

Things proceed as normal until the Death Corridor. You didn’t dare deviate from the script here, not when mortal peril meant something to you. But with the need for caution removed…

“I read about this one,” you say, once Mirabelle’s done warning the group. “Everyone stay by the entrance.”

Seeing them do so, you approach the pillar with the switch. “It should be right… here? Here? Maybe here?”

A deafening crash and several startled cries inform you that your third try was successful. Even having watched Siffrin do this several times, the switch may as well be invisible to you. You run your hand over it again to help remember the location.

The rock landed in the exact same spot it has every time since the first. Did it really land somewhere else when it crushed Siffrin? You’re sure they were farther into the corridor, the aftermath would have played out differently if they hadn’t been. But that horrible image has already grown blurry in your mind. You have so many to choose from, now.

“How did you do that?” asks Mirabelle, once she’s recovered her wits.

“One of the books in Dormont’s library was about the House,” you lie. “It spoke about this room by name.”

Mirabelle looks skeptical. “And did you find this book before or after you vandalized two limited-edition textbooks?”

You don’t have to fake your embarrassment as you hesitate before saying “After.” In hindsight, making a scene like that was not a good move if you wanted to maintain cover. But you’re starting to doubt that maintaining cover really matters.

To the extent that anything you do still matters.

You keep everyone out of trouble when dealing with tears for the remainder of the first floor. You remain silent as the others comment on every object you encounter, and pretend not to notice their worried looks. You make quick work of the “strong” sadness guarding the stairs.

Boniface, unsurprisingly, insists yet again that you take the onigiri prepared E-special-ly for you. There’s no way to turn it down without hurting their feelings.

It tastes… fine. It tastes fine. A little burnt, but that’s probably the lingering effects of time travel and not a problem with the food itself.

“So?” Bonnie asks. “How was it?”

“It’s good,” you claim. Everyone else chimes in with their own thanks, and Bonnie beams.

In spite of everything, you’re glad.

They can have this, at least. They may be doomed to die or freeze within this House, they may all be doomed, but they can at least have this moment.

Chapter Text

Snacks finished, you enter the second floor of the House for your third time.

The first change you make is by far the most important. When Mirabelle finds the first frozen person, you wait patiently as she repeats the same anecdote you’ve heard before. Then you make your move.

“Mirabelle,” you say. “The sadnesses are getting stronger with each floor. Soon we’ll be meeting ones which can mimic the King’s power of time freezing. Have you been working on a method of extending your blessing to others?”

“I’ve been trying, but… I just can’t do it. I’m sorry. I feel like it’s been just out of reach for weeks. If one of you is frozen, there’s nothing I can do.”

“If you’re so close, what do you think you need to get it working?”

“The blessing only seems to respond if I’m fighting sadnessess, so… maybe if we just keep doing that? But we’re already here. I’m already out of time, and I’m still… useless.”

Good. That’s the answer you were hoping for, minus the self-flagellation.

“If you think more combat will help,” you say with confidence, “then that’s just what we’ll do. Siffrin, you can stop skirting us around the sadnesses and start hunting them down. We won’t leave this floor until Mirabelle’s finished her technique.”

“Are you sure?” asks Mirabelle. “I don’t want us to slow down just because of me.”

“This isn’t optional,” you say. “We’re likely to face time craft as we proceed further in the House, and we know the King himself can do it. We need you ready to bring us back when that happens. We can afford the delay if it means our safety.”

Despite this resolution, there’s not much to fight on the next leg of your journey.

When you reach the Head Housemaiden’s office, you make a beeline for her desk before Siffrin can attempt to search it. They told you where the key is, after all. You’ve already found it by the time Mirabelle has finished talking about how great this woman is.

No such luck in the library, of course.

You surreptitiously watch Siffrin as they scan the bookshelves, muttering under their breath. You see the moment that their eyes light up and they single out one book among so many others. As they open it directly to the middle, a key falls out from between the pages.

Did… did Siffrin just find the key in one try?

Siffrin doesn’t announce when they find the key. They instead pretend to search other books at random while clearly listening as the others again pore over the donated diary.

At conveniently the exact moment that their friends finish discussing the chosen entry, Siffrin cheerfully announces that they found the key.

Gems, has he been doing this the whole time you traveled together? You should have kept a closer eye on him. Although… maybe it’s fine to allow everyone these little indulgences. You’re not usually under much of a time limit.

“Good work Siffrin,” you say. “Where was it anyways?”

“In a book,” they reply. But their smile clearly suggests that they’re eager to announce which book. That, and the way they inch back towards the bookshelf.

“Dare I ask you the title of this book?”

They present it for everyone to see.

You read the title aloud. “Effort: The Key to Meaningful Change. Gems alive, Siffrin, did you put it there yourself?”

“Nope!” they say. “But I respect whoever did. Way to go the extra mile for a joke!”

Bonnie’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be the King?”

“Huh?” Siffrin looks a bit caught off guard. “Well, no, obviously if the King did it it’s a yucky stupid joke. But… did he?”

“That… doesn’t seem right,” says Isabeau, deep in thought. “Mirabelle, didn’t you say the key to get in here was hidden where the Head Housemaiden usually hides it?”

Did she say that this time? You’ve lost track. You didn’t listen to a word Mirabelle said in that room, this time.

“I did,” she confirms. “But if the King wasn’t the one who hid that key, then he couldn’t have entered this room to hide this key.” Mirabelle’s expression darkens. “Have we been fighting our own defenses this whole time?”

“It looks that way,” you agree. You’re almost ashamed you didn’t realize it earlier.

Isabeau sighs. “When the House was attacked, no one knew what the King’s powers were. So they must’ve thought locking him in would have been enough to stop him. But by that time he’d already made sure Vaugarde would start slowly freezing in time.”

There’s tears in Mirabelle’s eyes. But as she turns to look at the frozen librarian again, her expression morphs from despair to rage. “All those people… my friends… they risked their lives to protect Vaugarde. And it was all for nothing! They tried their best, and it didn’t even help!”

“They couldn’t have known,” you say, but she brushes you off.

“When I get my hands on that once-changed King, I’ll… I’ll…”

She trails off, but she’s gripping her sword hard enough that you expect it to leave a mark.

This would be a good conversation to avoid next time, you think. For now, you can only try to get things back on track.

“I don’t know about the King,” you say, “but there’s a lot of sadnesses between us and anywhere this key might fit. Maybe you can channel some of that anger into slicing them to ribbons?”

Mirabelle pauses for a deep breath before nodding.

“Just don’t get so wrapped up in stabbing things that you forget about your anti-timecraft technique.”

This earns you only an affirmative grunt.

The sadnesses on the second floor prove surprisingly dangerous, now that you’re not avoiding them. None pose a dire threat individually, but they are a drain on your supplies. Even with Mirabelle’s healing craft, you need to give a sour tonic to somebody after every other battle. Worse, you’re forced to use up three of them after a strange spiky sadness explodes in your faces. You take a vote and agree to run from any more of that type, for safety, but that just drags things out even further.

The resource expenditure is worrying, as is the lost time. But there’s no way around it if you want Mirabelle’s protection.

On the plus side, all this fighting practice is doing you some real good. You feel stronger than you were before. Better yet, you put the final touch on a new craft technique of your own: A powerful paper-type attack to rival the one that brought you down in the last attempt.

You can hardly wait to return the favor.

It takes about thirty minutes of fighting before Mirabelle announces that she’s ready to use her craft to heal frozen teammates. She practices the skill once on Siffrin, but there’s no way to tell if it worked. By this point you’ve already retrieved the next key and Mirabelle has calmed down slightly, so you’re ready for your rematch.

The strong sadnesses await.

Things start off the same as before, with the party throwing everything they have at the paper-type sadness. Its attacks begin manageable but become much more dangerous as its ally works its support craft. A wide-area attack leaves the whole party winded and Isabeau barely on his feet.

As Siffrin rushes to his side with a sweet tonic in hand, the moment you were waiting for arrives. The sadness uses its timecraft…

… to freeze Isabeau in place.

What? Was that a mistake? Isabeau was already teetering on the edge, and would have gone down to another attack like the last. His rock-type crafts also pose the least threat to this sadness, while Siffrin and Mirabelle are cutting it to ribbons. Isabeau was, unquestionably, the least useful person to use that ability on.

Not that it matters. Mirabelle quickly unfreezes him, and the tonic offered by Siffrin puts him back in fighting condition. The battle rages on, your team’s momentum restored.

When the enemy is looking fairly beat up, the duo attempt what could generously be described as “a new tactic.” The sadness which had been providing support throws itself in front of the more aggressive one, which… bites into it, consuming almost half of its body in one gulp.

Battle or no, you can’t help but gape for a moment at this revolting display. The sadness has your full attention when it attempts its timecraft again.

But nothing happens.

The sadness lashes out at random targets with renewed vigor, but it’s on its own now. A few support crafts from yourself and Isabeau sap whatever advantage it gained from this maneuver, and there’s no more ally to help it recover.

You have it on the ropes now, and you press the attack. Just before it goes down, it attempts timecraft one last time… and again nothing happens.

Siffrin strikes a decisive blow, and the sadness is gone.

You won.

As the adrenaline wears off, you can’t help but wonder about what just happened. Why was the sadness so ineffective with its timecraft this time?

You mull it over as the group proceeds upstairs, and find another relatively safe room at the top. You settle in to wait while Bonnie prepares food, and decide to voice your concern.

“Something is bothering me about that sadness,” you say. “It had timecraft like we feared, and we all saw the effect it had on Isabeau. But I saw it try the same craft twice later in the fight, and nothing happened. Mirabelle, do you have any idea why?”

“Oh, that.” Mirabelle thinks. “It didn’t work because it tried to use its time freeze on me. It felt pretty weird, like my whole body went numb for a few seconds. But my blessing kept me safe.”

“It tried to use timecraft on you… twice? Even after the first time failed?”

“Yup!” she exclaims. “Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Why would it try that twice?”

“Well they are pretty stupid.”

“Yeah,” Isabeau chimes in. “Weren’t you the one who said that they’re mostly mindless? Something about being representations of strong emotion given form, without any higher faculties.”

“I… did say that, yes.”

You did say that. You did know that. Sadnesses are mindless. They attack anyone they see, and when surrounded they attack at random. And yet…

You didn’t want to believe that about the one that killed you. Who would? If it was able to defeat you, to defeat all of you, when you were trying your best… surely that makes it special, right?

Of course not.

You built it up so much in your head, because you didn’t want to acknowledge the alternative. But the truth is simple.

The first time you fought it, it got lucky. It tried the right craft at the right time and caught you all off guard.

The second time you fought it, it got unlucky. It used its timecraft on the least threatening opponent, then used it on the one person with immunity twice in a row. You went out of your way to prepare better, to avoid the same fate as last time… but you would have won if you’d done the exact same thing.

Because it just.

Got.

Lucky.

“Are you okay, Madame Odile?”

Isabeau is the one who spoke, but all three of the older party members are looking at you with worry. Right, focus on the present. You don’t want to derail this timeline with worry about you. You’ve done enough of that already.

“I’m fine,” you say, willing that truth into existence. “I’m fine. Really. I guess I just needed that reminder, is all. That fight left me a bit rattled.”

Isabeau nods in agreement. “Yeah, that bit where it ate its friend was disturbing. If these things are physical representations of someone’s subconscious or whatever, I do not want to meet that couple. Or… do you think they might have been two parts of the same person?”

You’re saved from more discussion on this subject by Bonnie’s return.

“Who cares about that?” they say. “It’s snack time, baby!”

Bonnie presents the group with several choices of food, and for once you’re free to choose without upsetting them. You graciously accept a helping of madelines, and try to ignore the fact that they taste burnt (because they clearly aren’t).

Mirabelle and Isabeau move off to one side for a private conversation, but take a worrying number of glances your way. Bonnie and Siffrin talk excitedly about food, specifically about pineapples and where they come from. You eat your own food in silence.

Everything is peaceful.

Until Siffrin starts choking.

Then everything happens very fast.

Isabeau springs into action in seconds, almost knocking Bonnie over in his haste. He lies Siffrin down, checks his breathing, and begins some kind of chest compression. His Defender training at work, it seems.

Mirabelle tries to contribute with her healing craft, but Isabeau yells for her to back off. Whatever this is, generic healing craft would only make it worse.

For yourself, you can only watch in horror. Watch as Isabeau’s attempts to force Siffrin to breathe become more and more desperate, until they eventually stop.

And then Siffrin is gone.

Again.

…

It’s almost funny, the way that everyone was so worried about you. About how you were doing.

Because of all the people here, you’re not the one who’s made out of glass.

Chapter Text

If anyone was watching you as closely as you’re watching them, they’d probably think you’re in shock.

That’s the charitable explanation, right? For why you aren’t a sobbing mess like Mirabelle and Bonnie. For why you’re able to just sit here and guard the door, with dry eyes.

You’re pretty sure you’re not in shock. You might have been in shock the first time this happened, the first time Siffrin died. It’s hard to say in retrospect. But your lack of reaction now, that’s genuine.

You couldn’t even summon tears when you thought Siffrin was really gone. Why would you have any now, when you can get him back any time you want? When you’ve done that several times already? That would just be silly.

You can fix this any time you want.

…

Isabeau is in shock, just like the first time. He’s seated with his hand on Siffrin’s, staring at (or possibly through) what’s left of his friend. He hasn’t moved or spoken for… a while.

Boniface is also faring no better than the first time, sobbing to themself in a corner. They’ve situated themself as far as possible from anyone's sight-line, and you’re mostly respecting that decision.

Mirabelle is… better? The same? It’s awful that you even have another scene to compare this to, but the memories are a week old. Last time, when she ran out of tears she fixated her attention on one of the symbols of her faith. This time, she seems fixated on the design of the sword she found earlier today. You don’t want to know what’s going through her head.

Only one thought has been going through your own head. Over and over, on repeat.

You don’t have to do this.

You don’t have to do this.

You don’t have to do this, but you’re doing it anyways.

The idea that your wish is going to run out on you unexpectedly has been getting less plausible with every iteration. And after your last failure, you no longer have anything to fear from mistakes or attrition. So long as your wish remains unfulfilled, you truly have as many tries as you need. There’s no moral or practical obligation to keep going with a doomed timeline. There’s nothing stopping you from fixing this.

All it’ll cost you is another day.

One day.

And that’s too much.

They say every person has their price. And you’ve finally learned what your price is. It’s another twenty-four hours of this. To avoid paying that price even one more time than is needed, you’ll subject your so-called friends to this.

And you don’t have to do this.

…

You didn’t check a clock when you started waiting. It seemed disrespectful. The part of you that you wish you could silence is regretting that decision.

After a wait that was probably somewhere between twenty and sixty minutes, you notice that Mirabelle’s behavior has shifted. She’s studying the rest of you now, the same way you were studying her.

When she meets your gaze, Mirabelle approaches you.

“We need to keep moving,” she says. She sounds… determined. Angry. The look she had in the library is back, though she’s making an effort to keep her voice low.

“I agree,” you say. “The King is still ahead and this… can’t be for nothing.”

She looks towards Isabeau, and a bit of concern pierces her firm expression. “Do you think Bonnie and Isabeau are… ready to move?”

“No,” you state. “But another few minutes isn’t going to change that. If we had days, maybe, but we don’t. There will be time for grieving later.”

There won’t, of course. By this time tomorrow there will be nothing to grieve. There could be nothing to grieve now, if you were a better person. But you keep that to yourself.

Instead, you lead Mirabelle over to Isabeau and… what remains of Siffrin.

“Isabeau,” she says, earning no response. Then, louder: “Isabeau. Isabeau!”

The third time, almost a shout, draws him out of his daze. All he manages is a confused “Huh?”, but at least he’s paying attention.

“We need to go,” says Mirabelle. “We need to kill the King. Are you ready to move?”

Isabeau needs a moment to think before he says “yes.”

“Good,” says Mirabelle with a nod. That sorted, she turns and begins walking toward Bonnie.

“Wait!” you almost shout, moving in front of her. “Maybe I should talk to Bonnie.”

Mirabelle thinks for a moment, then gives another nod. Isabeau says nothing.

Seems it’s all up to you.

Bonnie refuses to look up at you as you approach. They say something into their arms that’s too muffled to make out.

“Pardon?”

“Go away,” they repeat, still speaking into their arms but a bit louder. There is a pause in which they seemingly expect that to work, before they follow up with “Just leave me here.”

“You know we’re not going to leave you alone in here, Bonnie.”

“You should.”

“That would be cruel, irresponsible, and a tactical mistake.”

“I’m a tac-ic-al mistake.”

“Perhaps, but we’re still taking you with us.”

“I’m gonna get you hurt too.”

Oh. You were hoping they hadn’t made the connection between the food and Siffrin’s death, but of course you’re not that lucky.

Gems, why are you the only one available to do this? What was it Isabeau said earlier, when Siffrin was only frozen?

“Nobody thinks this was your fault.”

“I do.”

“Well I’m much older and I don’t.”

They finally look up at you with their tear-stained face. “But this always happens! I got Nille frozen, and then I made Frin lose their eye, and now I… Frin…”

They trail off, unable to say it out loud.

“If you hadn’t been here, I’m quite certain that either Siffrin or Isabeau would have walked directly into a tear. Possibly both.”

“Better than this.”

“Is it?”

Bonnie gives it a second’s thought before they answer “Yes.”

You… really don’t know how to make things okay for Boniface. The idea that you even could seems laughable. Nothing you could say would make this okay.

(That’s a lie, of course. You could challenge them a coin toss. You could. But you won’t.)

Maybe you don’t need to fix everything? Maybe you can do what you’ve been doing with all your other difficult conversations: Defer it to later. A “later” which will never exist. All you really need them to do is agree to come with you.

“Fine, Bonnie. You win. You’re a terrible monster. But even so, we are not leaving you alone in such a dangerous place. So your only choices are to be here with us in this room, or to follow us and hand us tonics while we climb the rest of the House.”

“You… still want me on tonic duty after that?”

“Of course we do.”

“But I’m just going to screw it up.”

“You haven’t screwed it up yet.”

Bonnie is silent.

“Tell you what. If you’re really worried, you don’t have to be on tonic duty. We can just split the supplies between the three of us. But we’re short-handed enough as it is, so we really could use the help.”

Bonnie is silent again, thinking this over. You’re starting to worry that this is their new tactic for winning the argument when they finally speak again.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll give back our supplies, or…”

“No, I’ll… keep being on tonic duty. If you promise that it’s a good idea.”

“I promise.”

A ghost of a smile finds its way to their face. “Do you… super promise?”

“Yes. I super promise, and super duper promise, and however many layers of promise you need. Now come on, Mirabelle is looking impatient. All her friends are still waiting on us to save the day.”

“And Nille.”

“And Nille too. You’ll see her soon.”

That’s a lie, you think. But next to everything else you’ve done, lying to Boniface seems like a small crime.

It’ll all be worth it. You’re going to push forward and it will be worth it. If you learn enough to save yourself another trip, this will all be worth it.

It has to be.

Chapter Text

The third floor feels far more oppressive than the first two. Strange threads twist and flow across the floors and walls with no direction, making the House feel even more alien than it did before. Despite the threads being frozen in time, their shade is so bright that it almost hurts to look at next to the darkened, frozen stone around it. A low, ominous moan breaks the silence at frequent intervals, and you can hardly imagine how large the source must be to make that noise.

You’d like to spend as little time here as possible. And for a brief moment, at the beginning, you think that prayer might be answered. A key is here, sitting out in the open.

“Another key,” you declare, picking it up to examine it. The design of the key is strange, showing a mask with a blank face. “Mirabelle, any idea where this one goes?”

Mirabelle only needs a glance, before her frown turns upward slightly. “Stairs to the next floor. Good.”

Good indeed.

Bonnie disagrees, looking nervous. “If it’s so important, why was this one just sitting in the open? Shouldn’t this be the most guarded key?”

“Why not?” you reply. “The better question is, why weren’t all the other keys just sitting out? As long as it’s on this side of the door, any—”

“Can we not talk about this?” demands Mirabelle. Whatever light had pierced her expression is gone.

Shards. You should have known better than to discuss that topic. You need to be more careful with your words. This team is already close to falling apart. The last thing they need is a callous remark providing the extra push.

“Can… can we talk about that noise instead?” asks Bonnie, in a transparent bid to change the subject.

You had been doing your best to tune the noise out, but pause to listen. Now that you’re paying more attention, you realize something. “It sounds like… crying. But why would the King be crying?”

“He should be,” says Mirabelle. “Maybe he knows we’re coming.”

“I hope not,” you say. “But we’ll find out soon enough. Lead the way, Mirabelle.”

But your hopes are dashed when you get a closer look at the door. Because a key is far from sufficient this time.

That strange thread absolutely covers the door, almost obscuring it from view. The handle and the keyhole remain exposed, and the key does indeed fit the lock, but it does you no good. The door itself won’t budge with all that frozen material in the way.

“What even is this?” asks Bonnie, trying and failing to shove a some of the thread aside. “It looks like it should be weak, but it won’t move no matter how hard I push.”

“It seems to be frozen,” you say, feeling it under your finger. “Even if it was just thread before, it’s effectively solid rock now. Did the King do this on purpose?”

“Of course he did,” says Mirabelle. “He’s scared of us.”

Is he? you almost ask, but manage to hold yourself back.

“Everyone stand back,” orders Mirabelle, and you all comply. With a shout, she unleashes a fearsome slash against the thread with her scissors Craft.

Nothing happens.

She tries again, though with a little less vigor, to similar lack of effect. She tires one last time using her paper Craft instead, then steps aside with a frustrated grunt. You give it a go with your own most potent paper Craft, and for the sake of completeness you let Isabeau try once with his rock Craft (though you sincerely doubt this thread is scissors-type).

At first glance, it appears that all of your efforts accomplished nothing. But on further review…

“Look here,” you say, pointing at a spot on the thread. The others gather close. “We managed to take a chunk out of it. That was where Mirabelle hit it with her first attack, I think. And… here’s her second attack, though it didn’t go quite as deep.”

“That’s so small,” laments Bonnie. “It’d take us forever to get rid of all this thread like that. Tell me that’s not the plan!”

“That’s not the plan,” you agree. “There’s no way we could sustain that level of force for very long without dropping from exhaustion. But it does mean that the thread is not invincible. Perhaps if we explore the rest of the floor we’ll find something that can deal with it.”

“Like… a really sharp knife?” asks Bonnie.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a sledgehammer, but that could work.”

Bonnie’s face drops. “Frin… had a really sharp knife. They could have done it.”

I sincerely doubt that, you almost say, but that’s not what Bonnie needs to hear. You settle on “It’s not your fault” again, though it lands on deaf ears.

Siffrin and their knife are lost to you now. The House won’t allow you to go back. The only way to go is forward.

Mirabelle makes no effort to avoid the sadness lurking near the door to the east, a strange creature whose head looks like a misshapen heart. Instead, she charges it while its back is turned. Her sword sinks deep, but one cheap hit is not enough to bring it down. You’re plunged into battle.

Almost as soon as the fight has begun, the sadness begins applying timecraft to defend itself. You feel yourself slowing down, but unlike before you are not frozen entirely. Bonnie and Isabeau are faring no better, though Isabeau’s muted responses run deeper than mere timecraft. He takes a nasty hit early in the fight, but barely even grunts. Bonnie has to shout his name when handing him a tonic before he takes notice.

You also take a punch to the face, your movements too slow to dodge. But it’s fine. You grit your teeth and ignore the taste of blood. The pain doesn’t bother you the way it might have a week ago.

Only Mirabelle is unaffected by the enemy’s timecraft. But she easily fights hard enough for three people. Her sword is a blur. You can only struggle to keep up with her assault.

Before long the sliced-up remains of a sadness sink into the ground, and the numbness gripping your limbs vanishes.

You want to consider this a clean victory, to congratulate Mirabelle on how she handled herself. But…

“Mirabelle,” you say. “You didn’t use your healing craft during that battle.”

Mirabelle looks at you and only now seems to notice your injury.

“Sorry,” she says, and you feel her warm healing craft wash over you. “But we won, didn’t we?”

“Not without cost. Bonnie had to use a tonic to keep Isabeau in the fight, and I’m guessing we don’t have many of those left. Do we?”

“No,” they reply, digging through their pockets for a quick inventory. “We’ve only got… three of the regular size tonics left. And one crafted water. But… but I’ve been saving up the super sour tonics 'cause Dile wanted to have those for the King, so we’ve also got three of those. And we still have a bunch of spices because, well, we didn’t really need those during all the short fights on the last floor.”

“We do need them now. Don’t be afraid to use them at the start of every battle from here on out. We’re more likely to find a stockpile of tonics than an extra person. But as for you, Mirabelle, if you don’t want us dying to attrition you need to do more than just attack.”

“I healed you, didn’t I?”

“The time for healing craft is during a battle, not after it. And frankly, I think we could have avoided that battle altogether if…”

If Siffrin were here is clearly the wrong thing to say. If you’d tried is no better. You can’t think of a natural way to finish that sentence, so you give up and ask her to “Just try to use stealth, please?”

“Wasn’t it your idea to go picking fights?”

“That was to help you finish your cure for time craft. It works. There’s nothing left to be gained from fighting.”

There’s a pause while you suspect she is searching for a hole in your logic, but apparently she can’t find one.

“Fine,” she says. “No needless fighting. We save our strength for the King.”

“That’s all I ask.”

You should probably say something to Isabeau too, but… What? And to what end? At this point, “on task” is about the most you can ask of anyone. And he is, at least, on task.

Miraculously, you manage to avoid further combat until you reach a strange room dominated by a single, giant mirror. Still pictures litter the ground, discarded at random. Each one shows one or several people, most of them happy.

Isabeau identifies the mirror as a device designed to take the photograph of whoever stands in front of it. Clever, but useless to you. Nobody is in a hurry to immortalize this moment.

Another wall of tears blocks the hallway beyond the mirror room, and a door you had to hurry past to avoid a nearby sadness turns out to be locked. There’s nothing else to find in the northeast wing of the floor.

The hallway further to the south is much more heavily guarded. You’re forced to destroy multiple sadnesses to get through (bringing you down to one sweet tonic by your count). At the other end you find a storeroom with another Housemaiden, this one frozen alongside their dog.

“Not them too,” is all Mirabelle has to say on the matter. Nobody is brave enough to ask for more details.

You search the room from top to bottom, but find almost nothing of value. No keys, no tonics, and nothing capable of destroying solid rock. A single pepper juice is all you’re able to salvage.

The sadnesses in the hallway have already regrouped, but you manage to avoid consuming your last single-dose tonic while fighting your way back to the main hall.

The west wing is not much better. Another wall of tears and another locked door block off two of the passages, leaving only one room accessible.

This last room turns out to be a pottery classroom. A woman Mirabelle identifies as the teacher is frozen inside. There’s lots of places to search in this room, but most of it simply turns up amateur pottery and crafts projects. You do find a few useful tonics and broths to prop up your dwindling supply, but no keys and no tools for demolition.

Eventually, when you’ve run out of places to search, Bonnie is the one to say it. “We’re stuck, right? We looked every place we can reach.”

“It appears so,” you agree. “Much as I dislike it, we may have to revert to the earlier plan. Which is to say, keep hacking away at those threads with our Craft attacks until they break.”

“Will that even work?” they ask?

Probably not is probably not the right thing to say. You settle for “It might.”

But you never get to test that theory. What little luck you still have runs out on your way back to the main hall.

You’re forced to confront another sadness. This one consists of a gigantic pair of thorny hands supporting a tiny body. It forgoes timecraft entirely in favor of devastating paper attacks.

You try your best to keep it on the defensive, to manage its attacks, but there’s not enough of you.

And then you see it. The moment that it breaks through your line and winds up for an attack against Bonnie.

Time slows to a crawl despite the lack of Craft.

You don’t think. In one movement, you shove Bonnie out of the way, raising your other arm in a vain attempt to protect your head. A shadow looms over you, and—

—you’re back in the swirling chaos. This place, if you can even can even call it a place, is already so familiar to you. The overwhelming sensory input doesn’t even faze you.

You think at first that this is fine. You didn’t even feel anything when you died, that time. But as the seconds stretch to minutes stretch to hours stretch to years (or at least you think it’s been years), you realize that you’re never going back this time. You were reckless, and your luck ran out.

You have time to question every decision you’ve made that led you to this point. The decision to keep your wish a secret from your allies. The decision to push forward with a party at less than full strength (and isn’t it just so funny that you thought that was a good idea even before you thought you were immortal). The decision to ignore your allies’ pain. The decision to brush off Bonnie’s worries, when they thought they might get you hurt. The decision to keep reentering the House at all.

It’s only when you get to the last decision, the decision to protect Boniface from that attack, that you feel a shift in the chaos around you. You have only seconds to prepare yourself before—

“—did you wish for?”

“Nothing.”

Siffrin—a living, breathing Siffrin—looks at you quizzically. “You wished for nothing?”

“Nothing that I’m willing to talk about.”

They deflate slightly, but admit that “That’s fair.”

“Please don’t wish for anything yourself. I need… I need some time.”

You excuse yourself at just under a run, and don’t stop until you’re far away from Dormont. Far away from other people. Somewhere you can think.

It was worth it, right? It… it was worth it. It was. You learned something important, after all.

You learned a whole day ahead of schedule that the third floor is impossible.

Chapter Text

It takes a long time to collect yourself, after everything that just happened. Too long. Every minute you spend trying to steady your breathing and your shaking hands, trying to just stop thinking about it, is a minute of daylight lost. And you need those minutes. If you’re going back to the House, you have a lot of work ahead of you.

When. When you go back to the House. It’s not an if. It’s never been an if. It can’t be an if.

…

Is it an if?

You’ll never be able to convince Mirabelle to back down from this fight. That’s a fact of reality, as undeniable as gravity. Everything she values, everything she wants to be, everything she is demands she see this through. Even if you told her outright that failure is guaranteed, told her why failure is guaranteed, even if she believed you, she would still go to the House tomorrow.

If you flee, you’d have to leave her behind.

Isabeau won’t back down either. He’s defending his homeland as well, every friend and every place he’s ever known. Not to mention Mirabelle herself.

If you flee, you’d have to leave him behind.

Siffrin… his ties to this quest are much weaker. This isn’t his home, his people, or his fight. Once, behind his back and three glasses deep, you accused Siffrin of joining your crusade on a whim. Nothing they’ve said or done has convinced you that wasn’t true at the time.

Now, though, Siffrin is fighting for their friends. Not a whole country of them, no, just four. So what would Siffrin do if you asked them to choose? If you went one way, while Mirabelle went another? Who would they follow?

It’s not much of a competition, is it? Mirabelle has the greater need, and even without it she’s always been the lovable face of the group. What kind of person would actually choose you over her?

If you flee, you’d have to leave him behind.

But Boniface…

You could save Boniface.

If fleeing is even still possible, if you can even save yourself, you could take Bonnie with you. That child has no business in the House, no business in harm’s way, no business in this far-off village which is doomed to be frozen. If you tried to take them away, no-one would argue against it.

If you flee, you could save them.

You can’t flee, of course. The wagon which carried you to Dormont has already fled. Every horse and every vehicle fast enough to outrun the curse has surely been commandeered by anyone with more sense than your party. You would be fleeing on foot, and you would never reach Vaugarde’s border in time.

You believe this is true because you have to believe it is true.

You can’t verify it. You can’t ask around. You have to accept that fleeing is impossible, because if you stop to check you might find out it isn’t.

And you don’t know what you’ll do then.

…

You’ve wasted enough precious daylight moping. There’s work to be done before you visit the House tomorrow.

Your first and most important (well, perhaps second most important after the coin) order of business is to prevent Siffrin’s death by food allergy. At least, you assume that’s what happened. You’re pretty sure Bonnie ate the same food as them, so it probably wasn’t poison. The solution is the same either way.

Fortunately, Boniface is not hard to find. They’re leaned over a fence at the east end of town, looking out over a field of mercifully unfrozen crops. It’s hard to tell if they’re surveying it for ripe produce, or merely lost in thought.

Either way, they notice your approach and perk up a bit.

“Hey Dile,” they call, then do a double take when they get a better look at you. “You look, uh, really bad. Did you have trouble with shopping?”

“It went… fine,” you insist. “I’m fine. I think I’m going to do another pass through town. But first, I wanted to check in on you. Have you found all the food we’ll need?”

“Yup!” they say, grin returning. “Everyone in town has been super nice. When I told them it was for Belle, they gave me all sorts of stuff. Not even Frin and Za can eat this much food!”

“Would you mind showing me?”

“Sure!” they say, then lead you over to a large bag which they open to reveal several smaller bags and a handful of miscellaneous items.

“The blind one who owns this field gave me these and these,” they say, pointing to a bag of potatoes and a bundle of carrots. “The potatoes are going to be real important to tonight’s dinner. The fishing one gave me these,” they say, opening up a bag with two severed fish heads buried in ice, minus the rest of the fish. “He wanted to give me more, but he said there’s not many fish left ‘cause of the curse. The boulanger gave me this big bag of flour, ‘cause he didn’t think he’ll have time to use it all.”

This continues for some time, with Bonnie listing people from across the village and their contributions to the food hoard. You’re honestly impressed. Bonnie has been resting here each time you’ve come looking for them, but they were apparently quite busy earlier in the day. They’ll be even busier over the next few hours, if all these raw ingredients are to become the food you remember eating in the clocktower and the House.

Regrettably, you don’t have all day. Better cut to the chase. You locate a single, whole pineapple among the clutter and hold it up. “Where did you get this? They’re not common this far inland.”

Bonnie tilts their head to the side and looks at you suspiciously. “You… bought it for me. Don’t you remember?”

You did? When? You cast your mind back to before the loops, to a time that was barely more than a week ago but already feels like a different lifetime (and arguably is).

You remember…

“Right, from that wagon traveling the other way,” you say at last. This was probably only a day or two ago, from Bonnie’s perspective, but you can’t say for sure. “You said that you were sad you hadn’t been able to find any pineapples since you left home.”

“Yeah, and they’re so good!” Bonnie insists. “They’re one of my three favorite foods. Especially when you prepare them right. I’m gonna prepare it for the House tomorrow. You should totally try some!”

“About that…” you say, and Bonnie’s smile drops as they notice your tone. “Since purchasing it, I’ve learned that our friend Siffrin is allergic to pineapple. Very allergic.”

“Oh,” says Bonnie. “So I guess we can’t let them eat any. That stinks.”

“It’s a bit worse than that,” you say. “It’s okay when it’s whole like that, but once you cut it open the juice could get everywhere. I’m not comfortable preparing it in the same kitchen as food Siffrin will eat, or carrying it in the same bag.”

Bonnie’s face pales a bit and their eyes widen. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s that bad,” you confirm, nodding.

“That’s… that’s fine,” Bonnie says, and tosses the pineapple away from them. “Maybe pineapple isn’t one of my favorite foods anymore. I’ll just have to pick a new favorite food.”

“I’m not sure you need to go that far,” you say with a chuckle. “You just can’t eat this one. Perhaps you could give it to one someone in Dormont instead? As a thank-you for all the food they gave you.”

“Right,” Bonnie says, and runs over to retrieve the pineapple off the ground. The impact didn’t break it open, thankfully. They set it back down a good distance away from the other food.

“One more thing,” you say. “Please don’t mention this to Siffrin. They might feel bad if they learn they’re the reason you had to give up one of your three favorite foods.” Or they might ask how you knew about an allergy they didn’t know about themself.

“You really think they’d care?”

“Of course. Have you met Siffrin?”

Bonnie frowns at this, and becomes lost in thought.

You should leave it at that. You’ve accomplished your mission here, and there’s still tasks left to do. But standing here in front of Bonnie, talking to them like this… you can’t help but return to your earlier thoughts. To your earlier failures. To their likely fate in every one of those attempts.

“Bonnie. Have you considered… not entering the House tomorrow?”

“What?” Bonnie looks confused for a moment, then betrayed. “But I always come with you! If I’m not there, what if you forget to stop and eat? Will there even be any snacks? You might run out of key-lo-ries in the middle of the House!”

“You’re more than capable of preparing food for the road, Boniface.”

“But… but why?”

“I’m just worried about you,” you admit. “The House is going to be very dangerous.”

“I’m not a baby!” Bonnie insists. “I can take it.”

“Are you sure? The sadnesses in the House will be much stronger than anything we’ve seen before, not to mention the King himself. Anything could happen to you if you go in there. I’d just… breathe easier if I knew you were waiting safe outside. Just this once.”

“But. But you’re going in there. You could get hurt too!”

“Someone has to do it.”

“But what if you get hurt because I’m not there?”

“What if we get hurt because you are there?”

You regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth, but they certainly silence any argument from Bonnie.

“I’m… sorry to put it so bluntly, but it’s true. If you’re there, we have to protect you. I don’t want… a repeat of what happened to Siffrin.”

A long, long silence hangs between you after you say that.

“Go away,” Bonnie says, eventually.

“I only want what’s—”

“Go away!” they shout. They look like they could break into tears at any moment.

You leave. There’s little left to be said.

With the food situation taken care of, you set your sights on the people of Dormont. You’ve already spoken to almost every adult in the village at least once by now, between one loop and another. But each time you were looking for something specific. Your queries today will be a bit broader.

Tools that could be used for demolition, or the location of such within the House. The openphrase for the remaining door on the second floor. Likely locations for the remaining keys. Information about the House’s construction, not that its layout has survived the King’s residence.

In short, anything that could be used to enter even a single room you haven’t already searched.

Siffrin is yet again conferring with Mirabelle about your earlier panic attack, which you choose to view as convenient rather than annoying. It’ll help with delegation. You brush off Mirabelle’s concerns as quickly as you can, then explain the information you’re hoping to gather. You assign each person a portion of the village, giving yourself the largest portion.

Mirabelle will go north, and will team up with Isabeau if (when) she finds him. You will go west. Siffrin, of course, gets the eastern end of Dormont, along with the request to obtain your coin. He’ll certainly run into Boniface there, but they’d probably rather talk to Siffrin than you right now.

The search for information is… slow. Exhausting. And almost entirely fruitless.

You learn of a studio for teaching sculpture, which would have several sets of hammers and chisels. Not the fastest way of destroying the frozen threads, but it would have been sufficient. Sadly, the studio was on the first floor and you’ve seen no sign of it. It’s likely in one of the many rooms that’s completely inaccessible in the rearranged House.

Mirabelle comes back with quite a bit of information. She learned the openphrase for the storage room on the second floor, for starters. There’s also rumored to be a hidden passage in a storage room on floor three. Sadly, no one she spoke to had actually used it or could explain how to find it.

Isabeau learns that in the weeks between the King’s appearance and his attack on Dormont’s House, one of the Housemaidens had ordered materials which could be used to make a bomb. This alarms Mirabelle, especially when the two realize that this Housemaiden was her roommate. You agree to keep an eye out for these materials inside the House, but you know you haven't seen them yet.

Siffrin… doesn’t learn anything of note. They do obtain your coin, at least. They also claim to have had a long conversation with Bonnie, but refuse to elaborate on it.

Your companions treat this fact-finding mission as a rousing success, and carry their good spirits into dinner at the clocktower. You’re less optimistic. You already know that your lead and Isabeau’s are both dead ends.

At dinner, the only person who looks as troubled as you feel is Bonnie.

You carefully wait until no one is looking to take the first bite of your samosa. It tastes like ash. You force it down anyways, but eat only when Bonnie can’t see your face.

Siffrin notices, you’re sure, but they don’t comment on it.

Eventually, the food runs out and the conversation winds down. Mirabelle gives her speech, the speech you could probably recite by heart.

“B-but if you don’t want to come, if you want to go home, I would understand.”

“Of course we’re with you!” says Isabeau. When you’re late on your own cue, he continues. “Did you really think we’d leave you behind? Let you go alone?”

“We’ll stay with you, Mira,” says Siffrin.

Bonnie… also missed their cue. They're fidgeting with their hands. They try to look anywhere except your faces, eventually settling on their empty plate.

“I’m… Frin and Dile said I shouldn’t come.”

“WHAT?” shout Mirabelle, Isabeau and yourself. Even if you were having those thoughts, you never expected Siffrin to agree with you.

You look to Siffrin for an answer, but they’re looking right back at you. As are the others. Which is… fair. This was your idea. You should be the one to defend it.

Besides, practice makes perfect.

“The sadnesses in the House will be much stronger than any we’ve seen so far, not to mention the King himself. There may be traps as well. It’s no place for a child. They could get hurt, or we could get hurt defending them. We… I will rest much easier if I know they’re cheering us on from somewhere safe. I’m sure you all feel the same.”

This is met by grudging nods and yeses. You didn’t really leave them an out.

“But where will Bonnie go?” asks Isabeau. “We can’t leave them all alone.”

“It’s only for one day,” you remind him. “And they have plenty of food. They’re generally the one who feeds us.”

“There’s lots of nice people in Dormont,” says Mirabelle, then turns Bonnie. “Did you meet Mister Choquette?”

“That’s the boulanger, right? He’s really nice.”

“He is!” Mirabelle agrees. “I’m sure if you ask him to look after you until we get back, he’ll be happy to do it.”

“Don’t forget there’s going to be a party,” says Isabeau. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to do.”

Bonnie smiles and nods. “I’m going to be the best at parties.”

“So it’s agreed,” you say, eager to wrap things up. “Bonnie will stay in Dormont and join in their end-of-the-world party while we fight the King.”

Mirabelle speaks up again. “Odile, you… didn’t actually say if you’re coming.”

You didn’t? No, you didn’t.

But there’s only one answer.

“I’m coming. I’m with you until the bitter end, Mirabelle. You shouldn’t even need to ask.”

She sighs with relief, but the words are as much for your own benefit as hers.

You’re with her until the bitter end.

You shouldn’t even need to ask.

Chapter Text

Entering the House without Boniface feels… odd. Disorienting. You’ve gotten so used to their presence that every point where you know they should say something feels like a note played on the wrong beat in a familiar song.

Still, when Mirabelle presents Bonnie’s orb to the door it accepts it just as readily as ever.

The first floor is a routine by now. You visit each storage room in turn, dividing the tonics evenly since there’s no longer a party member who is expected to remain out of harm’s way. You disarm the death corridor on your own, this time playing it off as something you learned in your research yesterday (which goes over much better than the previous lie). You warn everyone of the tears, and have no need to worry about horseplay this time. You crush the strong sadness in record time.

You were expecting the lack of Bonnie to put a damper on everyone’s spirits, but if anything the opposite is true. Your fact-finding efforts yesterday granted everyone an unwarranted level of confidence, which is only bolstered every time you demonstrate foreknowledge. Mirabelle and Isabeau chatter animatedly about the contents of each room, with frequent additions and questions from Siffrin. If anyone notices you failing to hold up your end of the conversation, they don’t mention it.

At snack time, Isabeau is in charge of distributing the snacks which Boniface prepared. To your surprise (although you should have seen it coming), he does not choose the same options which Bonnie would on this floor. The plantain chips you were expecting are joined by the fish heads from the second floor and a strange foreign dish which makes Siffrin’s eyes bulge and mouth water.

Freed from the obligation to accept your personalized snack, you take the opportunity to try the plantain chips.

You needn’t have bothered. You may as well be biting into crunchy sticks of charcoal. It’s all you can do to not gag.

…

You forgot. How could you forget that? The whole world has tasted like ash and smelled like smoke for days now. Your burned-out senses are a constant reminder that you’ve been stuck in this loop for far too long. But apparently that reminder was not constant enough.

…

On to the second floor.

You still have no way to steer the group away from the first frozen Housemaiden, so there’s no way to spare Mirabelle that sight. Not that it matters; this will not be the only frozen friend she sees.

This is the point where you should suggest some last minute training for Mirabelle.

You say nothing.

You… aren’t certain that you’ll progress far enough in the House today for Mirabelle’s timecraft cure to matter. The time it would take to hunt down sadnesses could be better spent elsewhere. If it looks like it will actually matter, you can just suggest it before facing the next strong sadnesses.

In the Head Housemaiden’s office, you go straight for the desk and the key within. You pretend to rummage around for a few minutes anyways, since there’s no way to pass this off as something you learned in Dormont. You completely tune out yet another discussion about how great this woman must be.

Next up is the library. You have to move quickly to claim the correct shelf as yours to search before Siffrin can, since you both mysteriously know exactly where to look. The book, Effort: The Key to Meaningful Change, is easy to spot, and the key is exactly where it should be.

You’re about to announce the find when the sound of laughter stops you short. You turn to watch.

“It’s not funny,” insists Siffrin, pulling his hat down over his face. Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s faces suggest the contrary.

“Don’t worry, Sif,” says Isabeau. “I’m happy to remind you of tricky words as many times as you need. Even if it’s the same word you forgot last week.”

Siffrin tries to shrink even further. “Just… keep reading.”

“Okay, okay,” says Mirabelle. “Where was I… Dad was so mad that he sentenced her to a whole month without dessert. Scary! Real lucky for me though, because he let me have her slice of the pie! I don’t think he’s going to remember for a whole month. Gotta enjoy my double desserts while I can!”

“Did he?” Isabeau asks. “Forget about the punishment early I mean.”

“Maybe?” says Mirabelle. “She wouldn’t know that yet in this entry.”

“So skip ahead a few pages. Come on, we gotta know.”

“Fine,” Mirabelle says, skipping forward half a dozen pages. “One more entry. But if it doesn’t say anything about the desserts, we’re moving on anyways.”

You should let them have this.

You wait patiently as Mirabelle reads a second page from the diary (one which does not shed any light on the dessert question). Only when she’s finished do you cough to get everyone’s attention.

“If you’re all quite finished with your light reading, I’ve found a key. Let’s finish searching this room and move on.”

Without Bonnie here to ask unfortunate questions, there’s no need to examine the issue of who hid these keys and why. No need to upset Mirabelle again. You just lead a cursory search for further keys which you know don’t exist, and move on.

Siffrin leads you without incident to the strong sadness guarding the next star medallion, and you take it down with little trouble. With that in hand, you proceed to the moment you’ve been dreading.

The crossroads.

You shut down the discussion about which tears to banish almost as soon as it begins. “Before we go looking down either of those paths, let’s try that room up ahead. It might render them both moot.”

It won’t, you know. But you need to see what’s in there before you make a decision out here.

Mirabelle recites the openphrase she learned yesterday, “Openphrase123.” You fail to suppress a groan.

This earns a chuckle from Isabeau. “What’s that, Madame? Do you have something to say about this door?”

“That is quite possibly the laziest possible choice of words. I’m skeptical of these openphrases as a security measure even in the best of cases, but this… I could have guessed that.”

“But you didn’t,” points out Isabeau.

You raise a finger to protest this, but stop short. It’s a frustratingly good point. You’ve been wandering around here for days, desperate to open any door, and even in that circumstance you didn’t try blindly guessing. Perhaps you should have.

“At least the first one had an actual secret phrase,” you mutter, unwilling to concede the point.

Mirabelle rushes to the House’s defense. “It’s not like we were really worried about people breaking in. They’re mostly locked to keep any students from wandering in on accident. After all, who would steal from a House of Change?”

“You’d be surprised,” says Isabeau. He then launches into the same story you’ve already heard about a break-in at another House.

But you’re not listening. His words become background noise as you’re gripped by a terrible realization.

Did you actually visit the other storage room this loop?

You’re not sure, and that’s terrifying. These loops are starting to blend together, yes, and you could be forgiven for having trouble keeping them straight. But that was today. That was less than an hour ago. Already, you can only try to puzzle it out. Try to work backwards from what you or Siffrin “would” have done. Surely you would have taken those extra few minutes to gather those tonics, surely Siffrin would have visited every room in order and asked if anyone knew the openphrase… but you don’t know.

Nobody reacted oddly when you said that, so you probably did go in there. But that doesn’t tell you anything for sure. You’ll have to watch your tongue from now on.

…

Isabeau wraps up his story, and it’s time to enter.

Hidden inside the storage room are not one but two students, yet more victims of the false hope that a locked door could protect them from the King. One of them Mirabelle recognizes from a class they shared together. The other…

“I don’t know them personally, but I’ve seen them around… They… I… I don’t know anything about them!”

“Mira,” says Isabeau, placing a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m trying so hard to remember something, anything, about each person I see, but… but there’s so many people I know nothing about…”

There’s really no avoiding this, is there? However bad it is for you, this House must be a living nightmare for Mirabelle. It’s a wonder you’ve been able to distract her with food and pointless asides even as much as you have.

You need to say something.

“They’re not dead, you know,” you try. “All we need to do is beat the King to break the Curse, and you’ll be able to get to know each of them as much as you want.”

All we need to do. Ha! You make it sound so easy. This Mirabelle is never going to reach the King and you know it.

Mirabelle doesn’t say anything in response to your words, but she does seem to calm down a little. Enough to participate in the search, at least.

The search turns up nothing of note.

That’s not quite true. There are a few useful tonics scattered around the room, which you gladly split among yourselves. That’s enough reason to visit on future loops, if you’re willing to subject Mirabelle to that conversation again. But there’s no keys, no star medallions, and nothing which could help you break down a door. Nothing that solves the real problem.

Which means there’s only one place left to look.

When you return to the crossroads, you toss the star medallion into the wrong set of tears. The ones which do not lead to the needed key.

On the other side is a small infirmary, with only two beds. There’s a patient in one of the beds, who appears to have been asleep when the curse took them. Mirabelle doesn’t recognize them, but their clothing marks them as a visitor to the House so this doesn’t bother her as much as last time. Nor does the frozen dog waiting outside the room, unsettling as it is.

What the infirmary does not contain is anything of value.

You turn the whole room over twice, since you have no intention of seeing this room in any future loop. By the time you’re done, you’re confident that you won’t need to.

And with that, this timeline is doomed. Or at least, probably doomed. You might as well take advantage of this dead end.

You regroup in the classroom for a strategy session.

“We’re stuck, right?” asks Mirabelle. “Siffrin, we didn’t miss any rooms. Did we?”

“No,” says Siffrin. “We went everywhere on this floor except past the other row of tears. But… maybe we can search everything again for keys?”

“There’s no point,” you say. “The sign on the door upstairs says that the key is in the trap-making room, and we haven’t been there.”

“What sign?” asks Mirabelle. “I didn’t see a sign.”

Oh right, you only discussed that sign the first time. Best bet is to pass this off as her mistake.

“You didn’t?” you ask. “We went past it several times. We can go look again, but that’s what it said.”

“If you say so,” Mirabelle says. “But if that’s true, aren’t we stuck?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Maybe not. I’m getting pretty tired of being pushed around by locked doors and blocked-off hallways. Now might be a good time to stop playing by the rules and start applying some brute force.”

Everyone looks intrigued, but Isabeau is the one to speak. “What do you mean, ‘brute force’?”

“We have no keys and precious few tools, but what we do have is access to a library. A library with shelves dedicated to craft. I’m saying we all hit the books, and don’t stop until at least one of us has come up with a craft skill that can unlock or break down a door.”

Isabeau thinks. “That’s… pretty last minute, isn’t it?”

“True,” you say. “We should have done this earlier. But just because we could have done it earlier, that’s no excuse for not doing it now.”

Nobody has any better ideas, so you all agree to the plan. You head to the library and each throw yourself into a line of research.

Mirabelle, after a little thought, decides to focus her efforts on the tears rather than the doors. Specifically, trying to find a way to shove the tears away without being frozen. You can’t fault this as an angle of attack; if successful, it will get you to the key on this floor and opens up two paths on the next floor. And it’s an angle that only she can approach.

It’s a tall order, though. When practicing on the tears near the library, any object she tries to shove them with becomes frozen. Nothing she does with her craft seems to change this fact. She doesn’t dare touch them herself, and you’re not about to ask her to. Not again.

Siffrin’s idea seems… less well-reasoned. As best you can tell, they’re trying to use their piercing craft to reinvent lock picking from first principles. A fascinating idea, but probably not the work of one afternoon.

Isabeau’s plan is much more straightforward. Using the hallway outside for practice and a few books for reference, he’s adapting his rock craft into a single attack which strikes with the maximum possible force, never mind the windup time. The early results take a good thirty seconds to set up (which would be beyond useless in a fight), but it leaves a sizable dent in the wall. He immediately stammers out an apology to Mirabelle, but continues practicing.

For your own efforts, you decide to complement Isabeau’s approach with some support craft. A craft skill to strengthen an ally’s craft, and another to weaken the target’s defense. The ideas have been percolating for a while, since before you reached the House, and now seems like the perfect time to put the finishing touches on both. The books at your disposal certainly don’t hurt.

You’re all at this for hours, long enough to finish off all the remaining snacks that Boniface prepared for you.

It’s about the two hour mark when you realize that you can no longer move or feel your toes. When you bring this up, Isabeau and Siffrin realize the same is true for themselves. Only Mirabelle is untouched.

Things only get worse as time progresses. Mirabelle quickly abandons her research (still unsuccessful) to devote her full efforts to keeping the King’s curse at bay. She begins feeling it herself around the three hour mark.

At four hours, you can no longer bend your fingers unless Mirabelle focuses her full attention on you. You take this as your signal to call it quits. If you can’t demolish the door now, you never will.

You can’t demolish the door now.

Only you and Isabeau came away from this with a working craft skill, so you combine your efforts for a decisive strike against the door leading to the third floor. Then another. Then a third. Your craft buff works exactly as intended, as does Isabeau’s attack, but your craft break seems to slide off of the frozen door without effect. And the strengthening effect of being frozen in time is simply too much to overcome.

By the time Isabeau is too tired to keep attacking, the door has buckled slightly but remains closed.

“Sorry guys,” says Isabeau, breathing heavy and sitting with his back against a wall. “We really tried but… I think we lost. Maybe now’s a good time to start thinking about where you want to be frozen.”

Mirabelle and Siffrin look like they want to protest, but there’s no arguing with reality. If they had another ace up their sleeves, they would have played it by now.

But you do.

“I do have one plan left,” you say. “Bear with me for a moment.”

You fumble for the coin in your pocket, but your frozen fingers lack the dexterity.

“A little help, Mirabelle?” you ask, and feel her soothing craft push away the numbness in your hands. She’s looking as tired as Isabeau by now, but you only need her to keep this up for another few minutes.

Siffrin perks up when he sees the coin. “Isn’t that the coin you had me looking for earlier?”

“Indeed it is, Siffrin. Now, I’m going to toss this coin in the air. Which side do you think it’ll fall on?”

Siffrin looks at you suspiciously. “Uh, it’s probably going to land on heads. Since it has heads on both sides.”

“Spoilers!” you say, earning a weak smile from everyone. “But that’s a good guess. If you’re taking heads, I suppose I’ll take tails. Good luck!”

With that, you toss the coin in the air. It’s not a good toss, with the current state of your fingers. But it does turn over once before it lands and—

—you find yourself back in that dreamlike place of swirling chaos. Hmm. Dreamlike? You wonder…

Shutting out as much of the sensory overload as you can, you begin to count. Slowly, carefully, as close as you can get to an even once per second. If this place is messing with your senses, why not your sense of time?

You’re proven right.

It feels like you’ve been here for hours, like you’ve been counting forever, but you’re only up to one-hundred sixteen before—

“—did you wish for?”

“Nothing important.”

You repeat your two vital requests of Siffrin by rote, and calmly excuse yourself to go think. To go brainstorm.

That loop… you managed to cram every good idea you had left into it. Since none of that worked, it’s back to the drawing board.

At this point even bad ideas will do.

Chapter Text

You are getting so, so tired of this half-formed excuse for a library. But it’s still objectively the best place in Dormont to think.

After close to an hour’s work, you have two sheets of paper in front of you. They are titled “Last Resorts” and “Terrible Ideas” respectively. They bear these titles because half an hour ago you thought writing a derisive name on the second list might help the brainstorming process.

It did not.

Oh, you came up with a good handful of ideas right off the bat. Clever, obvious angles of attack which would surely yield progress. It was easy! If you had cut your brainstorming session off after the first ten minutes, that list might have lasted you the rest of your life.

Because if you had stopped there, the rest of your life might not be very long.

That original list became the “Last Resorts” list, because these have to be your last resorts. You still don’t know how this shattering wish actually works. And you can’t risk disrupting it. Any plan that involves yourself or anyone else making another “real” wish might solve all your problems in one go. Or it might siphon power away from the original wish. Or make the results unpredictable. Or do nothing at all. You don’t know, you can’t know, and that means every one of those ideas is off-limits.

By all appearances, you still have an unlimited number of tries. Doing what you’re doing right now is safe. So you’ll keep doing it. You will bash your head against a wall a hundred times before you even consider taking the easy way out. You have to.

Because… that’s your responsibility. Your role. Isn’t that why you’re here?

If you can’t keep that focus on the big picture, what are you even bringing to this team?

The real brainstorming session was long, painstaking, and yielded almost nothing. Your best idea is speculative and won’t take a whole loop. Your second-best idea could be summarized as “The same thing you just tried, but done earlier and better.”

For that, you’ll be talking to everyone again this loop. You can’t afford to wait much longer.

Mirabelle comes first, being the easiest to find and by far the closest. She’s done an admirable job staying put in nearly every loop so far, picking through her pile of papers.

“Madame Odile!” she greets you with a smile as you exit the building. The papers in her lap are forgotten as soon as she sees you. “Are you all done with… whatever it was that you didn’t want me to see?”

Despite the implied question, her tone is cheerful. Oddly cheerful, even.

It takes a few moments to realize why this feels wrong, but when you do it’s obvious. You’ve hardly had a single loop where Mirabelle and Siffrin weren’t worried about you by this point. You kept your composure at the favor tree today, but that’s been a rarity.

Does that make things easier or harder? You probably need to revise your plan for how this conversation will go.

“Madame?” she asks again, now a little worried.

“Yes!” you say, and scramble to remember her question. “Yes, I’ve finished, and no, you still can’t see it. But I did want to talk about something else. When I was shopping earlier, I spoke to some of the people around Dormont. Some of the things they told me are… worrying.”

“Worrying how?” asks Mirabelle.

“If you go wandering outside Dormont, you’ll find patches of floating water scattered in a few places. The villagers call them ‘tears’. Any person who touches one is frozen in time immediately.”

Mirabelle frowns pensively. “That does sound worrying but… are they moving? Spreading?”

“No, they’re stationary. Unmovable, even.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that they become more common the closer you get to the House.”

Mirabelle takes a second to process this before the realization becomes evident on her face.

“You’re worried we’re going to encounter tears in the House.”

“Yes. And with our luck, potentially a lot of them. If any tears happen to be blocking the way to the King, that could be… bad.”

“That’s a pretty big ‘if’. And what would we even do about that?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. The tears float because the water is frozen in time, and that makes them difficult to move. But your blessing from the Change God counteracts timecraft. It might be possible for you to move them with your own craft, somehow.”

“I guess it’s worth a try, if the situation comes up.”

“I’m not sure I want to wait. Experimental craft usually takes some trial and error. The kind we really don’t want to be doing in hostile territory.”

Mirabelle considers this for a bit, and you’re worried she isn’t convinced. But a glance back at her papers seems to make make up her mind.

“Do you know where to find one of these tears?”

You give her directions to a spot outside the village with two tears. You saw them when returning to the village, after your panic attack a few days ago.

Mirabelle looks worried. “That’s… pretty far outside town, Madame Odile. You didn’t go there by yourself, did you?”

“I… did, yes.” Not today, not in this timeline, but you did.

“You need to be more careful!” she scolds you. “You could have run into a sadness, all by yourself.”

Oh.

“You’re right, Mirabelle. I… wasn’t thinking.”

You truly weren’t thinking. In your blind panic you needed space so badly that you charged into danger without thinking. It wasn’t really dangerous, your wish would have protected you if you ran into trouble, but… that wasn’t a calculated decision. You hadn’t internalized that protection, weighed the risks. You just… did it.

Yet another snap decision, and another terrible one. You’re better than this. You need to be better than this.

“It’s okay,” says Mirabelle, clearly reading your thoughts on your face. She places a hand over yours. “We just need to be more careful. Especially this close to the King. Tomorrow we’ll be seeing more sadnesses than ever, and stronger ones too. We need to stick together.”

If only it were as easy as sticking together.

You sit together in silence for a few moments. Her, probably looking for something comforting to say. You, trying to rearrange your plans for the loop around this obvious new concern.

“You should take Isabeau with you to see the tears,” you say at length. “Some last minute training might not be the worst choice for him either.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“I can’t. I still have things to take care of in town. But I can at least help you look for Isabeau.”

Mirabelle agrees, and you’re off.

Isabeau is a bit harder to find than Mirabelle, but not too hard. You find him chatting with an old woman on a bench near the north end of town. You give him a very similar pitch to the one you gave Mirabelle, but replace tears with locked doors.

Isabeau agrees quickly that a dedicated door-busting craft skill is a great idea. That’s unsurprising, since it was originally his idea.

Plans settled, you wave the two youngsters off to go practice their craft.

Two down, two to go.

Siffrin could be anywhere, so you decide to seek out Boniface next. It’s a good thing you did, because for once they’re not just resting. You arrive to see them wrapping up a conversation with the Blind One who owns the nearby field. Their bag of collected ingredients is close by.

They wave eagerly when they see you. “Hey Dile! You all done shopping?”

“Yes, I found everything we need. Did you have any luck procuring food?”

“Yup!” they say. “Everyone in town has been super nice. When I told them it was for Belle, they gave me all sorts of stuff. Especially this one here!”

The man in question chuckles. “I just couldn’t say no to such an adorable child.” At this, Bonnie somehow grins even harder than they already were.

“I was just about to head over to the clocktower to start cooking. Do you have anything special you want?”

“How about you show me what you’ve gathered first? Ah, but perhaps we can do this somewhere else? I think we’ve taken up enough of this nice man’s time.”

He insists that it’s no bother, but you lead Bonnie to privacy anyways. You do not need an eavesdropper for this conversation.

You adhere as closely as you can remember to the first half of your conversation from yesterday. You cut Bonnie off a little earlier to ask about the pineapple, and avoid looking like you’ve forgotten about it, but the end result is the same.

Things aren’t quite as smooth when you reach the topic of Bonnie’s safety. You try to skew closer to your arguments at dinner than your initial one, and are careful not to mention Siffrin’s eye. But Bonnie still becomes incensed, and tells you to leave in no uncertain terms.

That’s… fine. It’s not good, it’s not what you wanted, but it’s… fine. This is just how it went the first time. You’ll just ask Siffrin to smooth things over again.

Now where is he?

You spend quite some time hunting for Siffrin, looking in every place you’ve seen him before and several you haven’t. It’s nearing sunset when you find him.

Siffrin is sitting in the shade of a tree, engaged in a complex card game with the children you sent them to find. Two of them, anyways. The shy one is nowhere to be seen.

You clear your throat loudly to get their attention. “Having fun, Siffrin?”

“Not really,” they say. “These kids won’t let me cheat at all!”

“That’s ‘cause you’re not supposed to cheat!” says the talkative one. “Maybe you’d win if you weren’t so bad at math.”

“I’m plenty good at math,” insists Siffrin, convincing nobody.

“Sure you are,” you say, filling your voice with as much doubt as possible. “Now, can I assume you’ve already completed your important secret mission?”

Siffrin nods, and the children roll their eyes. Apparently it wasn’t kept very secret.

“Then I’m afraid I need to borrow you for the rest of the day,” you say. “Please finish your current hand or… however this game works, and say goodbye to your new friends.”

The game wraps up after a few minutes, with Siffrin overacting upon their defeat (much to the children’s delight). You lead them away in the direction of the Favor Tree, because that seems like an appropriate place for the discussion you’re about to have.

You need Siffrin to talk to Bonnie, yes. But that’s just treading water. If you really want to make progress, to crack this shattering puzzle wide open… you need information. Information only Siffrin can provide.

Siffrin takes a seat on a large root, and gestures you to sit on another root across from them. You do. It’s not very comfortable, and you’ll probably be sore if you sit here too long. But it’s not like that soreness can follow you for long.

“What’s this about, Madame?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about that wishing technique you showed me earlier. It seems fascinating.”

“Questions like what?”

“For one, who taught you to do it like that? Nobody I’ve met does it your way.”

“I dunno,” they say with a shrug. “I’ve always done it this way.”

“But did you get it from a book? A friend? A parent?”

Siffrin is lost in thought for a several moments. You’re beginning to get your hopes up that maybe, just maybe, today will be the day you learn a bit more about Siffrin’s past (not to mention this mysterious wish magic).

Instead he gives up with another shrug. “I can’t remember. I just… always did it this way. It makes sense, you know?”

You don’t know. Their wishing technique seems like complete nonsense, and only just shy of complete randomness. You only gave it the attention you did because it was coming from your mysterious friend Siffrin. You’re only giving it your attention now because it produced results.

“What’s the significance of the numbers? How do you know which ones are right? Is it just any prime number?”

“No, it’s not prime numbers. It wouldn’t work very well if you picked, like, seventeen. Or five. I think six works, but I don’t like to use it. It’s just… those numbers feel right?”

That’s twice now they’ve cited intuition. If there’s one conclusion you can draw at this point, it’s that Siffrin never received a formal education on this subject (if such a thing even exists).

“Did you figure it out via trial and error? Make a wish that you said three times, then another wish that you said six times, and see which one works?”

“No!” says Siffrin, giving you a slightly offended look. “You can’t just make a wish that you don’t really mean. If you did that, it wouldn’t come true even if you did everything else right.”

But it did. Yours did. Siffrin’s understanding of wish magic is wrong. On top of not knowing much, even the things they think they know are unreliable.

So what would they know for sure?

“Have you… noticed your wishes coming true? In general?”

“Well yeah, usually. They’re supposed to, right?”

Siffrin notices you staring at him slack-jawed and gets nervous. “Right?”

“N-no?” you stammer out.

“What do you mean, no?” they ask. “Isn’t that the whole point of making a wish?”

“The point of making a wish is to make people feel better. To feel like you’re doing something in a situation that’s beyond your control. At least, that’s the way it’s done in Vaugarde and Ka Bue.”

“Things you can’t control? Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“It’s not supposed to do anything!”

“But… why do it if it doesn’t work?”

“It’s a superstition! Most superstitions don’t work. At least, not reliably enough that someone would readily answer ‘yes’ to the question of whether they work.”

“Huh. Vaugarde is weird.”

There’s an awkward silence as you both try to grapple with the implications of this vast difference in expectations.

“Let’s back up a step,” you say, eventually. “Make sure we’re talking about the same thing. What’s the last thing you wished for, before today?”

“Hmm… I wished for that carving I gave you the other day to turn out well. And I think it did!”

“We weren’t anywhere near a Favor Tree when you made that.”

“No, but I really wanted it to turn out well. Isn’t wanting something the same as wishing for it?”

You want to say no. Of course it’s not the same. But you don’t, because you remember something. Something you heard when Siffrin was making that carving, and when sharpening their knife, and on so many occasions before.

“Please look good, please look good, please look good.”

“Please be sharp, please be sharp, please be sharp.”

“Please taste good, please taste good, please taste good.”

Repeated three times, or six, or seven, or thirteen.

And the statue did look good. And the knife was sharp. And the soup did taste good.

Siffrin has always been lucky, blessed with a keen eye and nimble feet. In hostile territory, he always knows exactly where to look and exactly when to move. But maybe, just maybe… he’s never been lucky at all.

Siffrin hasn’t been lucky in the House.

Is it true, then? Did your wish suck up all the magic in the room, so to speak? Has Siffrin been dying because you literally stole their luck?

Siffrin resumes speaking before you can follow this train of thought further. “If you really do think it’s something special, maybe I should make a wish to defeat the king. I could—Oh! Was that why you told me not to make a wish earlier?”

“No!” you shout, loud enough to make Siffrin flinch.

“No,” you repeat, at a more normal volume. “You don’t have to make any wish on the tree today. In fact, you can’t. It’s… covered, okay? We’ve got it covered.”

“Did… you make a wish to defeat the King?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to add on to it? Just in case you made a mistake. I mean—of course you wouldn’t make a mistake! But in case I forgot to tell you something. Or even just to double up on it.”

“No,” you insist. “But on the subject of forgotten details, is there anything else you can remember about wish magic? Anything? Like… earlier you said something about certain wishes being dangerous. Why is that?”

Siffrin thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I can’t remember.”

“Siffrin, I cannot overstate how important this is. Was there something you learned, or were told, about dangers when making wishes?”

Seeing how serious you are, Siffrin scrunches up their face in concentration. You wait.

Siffrin speaks slowly, as the thoughts come. “It was… my cousin, I think. I was… young. She said, she said...”

With your attention fully glued to Siffrin, you don’t notice when your vision begins to blur. You don’t notice the dull static that’s replaced the sounds of nature around you. You don’t notice the feeling of pins and needles that spreads across your body.

Just like before, just like when you tried to read that book, the first thing you do notice is the smell. Having smelled nothing but smoke for days on end, the sweet scent of caramel seeping past that is impossible to miss. Only then do you notice all the other signs.

Only then do you notice how much danger you are in.

Of course this is dangerous. You’re not stupid. It was dangerous before, and it’s still dangerous now. Whatever this is, whatever it’s doing to the world and to your wish, is dangerous in a way no sadness could be.

But not hearing hearing it is dangerous too.

You urge Siffrin to keep going.

“My cousin, she said, she said to never… AH!”

The world seems to twist around you, and Siffrin’s speech is cut off by a cry of pain.

“Why… why can’t I remember her voice? I… wasn’t that young. She said that… she said that… AH!”

This time you both cry out, and what little of your vision is left is briefly consumed by something indescribable.

“She… was my cousin, and she… AH!”

“Stop!” you shout, blinking away the spots from your vision. “Just… stop! It’s not worth it.”

Siffrin stops.

He’s panting. You’re panting. You’re both sweating and breathing like you ran a marathon sitting down.

That was… another snap decision. Another one you’re sure to regret. But the alternative was just as reckless, if not more. You can come back to this later, if you need to.

A feeling in your gut tells you you won’t be able to come back to this later, even if you try.

You wait in silence for about a minute as the world fades back into normality. The static in your vision fades to reveal what could have been a beautiful sunset, under better circumstances. The sounds of nature return to your ears. Your breathing returns to normal.

“What’s this about, Madame?” asks Siffrin, voice cheerful.

“What?” you exclaim, before you can help it.

“Uh, you led me out here to talk about something. Didn’t you?”

Thinking fast, you remember the other thing you wanted from Siffrin. “Earlier, I said something to Bonnie which really upset them. I think you should go talk to them. It might make them feel better.”

“You brought me out here to tell me that?”

“Yes. No. There, ah, was something else, but it’s not important. Just go talk to Bonnie.”

“Are you sure? Bonnie doesn’t want to talk to me very much lately.”

“I promise you that right now they want to talk to you a lot more than to me. Just… try, okay?”

Siffrin agrees, and you send them off to the clocktower. You need to go there too, but you can afford to give them a bit of a head start.

You’re going to need some time to process that.

Chapter Text

The sun has fully set by the time you reach the clocktower.

The darkness gives the countryside an eerie quality, which is only made worse by the recent decrease in local wildlife. You’ve little cause to fear for your own safety, but it still sets your every nerve on edge. It feels like you’ve already lost, like the country has already been frozen. It feels like being in the House. You flex your fingers several times as you walk, just to remind yourself they’re not frozen.

Uncomfortable as the night may be, you still give Siffrin a ten minute head start. You hope he uses it to talk to Bonnie.

Everyone is waiting for you when you arrive. Dinner, it seems, was postponed on your account. Bonnie grumbles about letting the food get cold, but you know it won’t make a difference to your ruined palate.

It doesn’t.

Mirabelle’s speech is the same as it’s ever been, and you take your place in the chorus of reassurances at the end. To your dismay, however, Bonnie joins in too.

“No way I’m letting you fight the King without me!” they say.

“Bonnie,” you ask, “are you sure? The House is—”

“I know it’s dangerous!” they shout over you. “I know you’re just scared I’m gonna get hurt, but… you might get hurt too! At least let me help.”

“We already talked about this, didn’t we?” asks Isabeau. “If Bonnie wants to help out, they can! Just… not with fighting.”

Mirabelle, for her part, is trying her best not to cry. “Of course you can come, Bonnie. I’m just so, so grateful that all of you would stick by me tomorrow. In fact, I think this calls for a group hug!”

You opt out of the hug. Instead, while the others are distracted, you take the opportunity to shoot a questioning look at Siffrin. He shrugs sheepishly and mouths “I tried”.

Did he?

What even went wrong?

You didn’t do the same thing as last time, but you were certainly close. What was the defining factor? Did you need to be harsher, to directly mention Siffrin’s eye? Did you give Bonnie too long to stew before talking to Siffrin? Did you not give them enough time to talk in private?

There’s too many variables. You didn’t listen to either conversation, the one that worked or the one that didn’t. If you’re going to keep Bonnie out of danger, you need to be more attentive. More rigorous. More… more.

Before turning in for bed, you pull Mirabelle aside to ask about the results of her training.

“Oh that,” Mirabelle says, face dropping. “I tried but I couldn’t get it to work. We’ll just have to hope we don’t run into any tears inside the House.”

“What exactly did you try?”

“Well, mostly I just tried to affect it with my blessing without touching it. Except it doesn’t really… work without touching the subject. I tried poking it with a stick and channeling through that, but the best I could do was keeping the stick unfrozen. Even that took a couple tries!”

You’re almost afraid of the answer, but you have to ask. “How long were you at it?”

“About… forty minutes maybe? By then Isabeau was satisfied with his new ‘Battering Ram’ craft, and we were both feeling tired. By the time we got back to town it had been about an hour.”

Forty minutes.

Of course.

Isabeau spent hours on that technique in the last loop, while surrounded by reference materials, and it wasn’t up to the task. Mirabelle, too, spent twice as long on her research last time.

But why would you expect any different? Yesterday, your whole team knew they had hit a dead end. This craft research was their only way out. Why would a casual suggestion produce better results?

This entire day has been a failure. Of all your preparations, the attempt to learn more about wish magic was the most successful—and the main thing you learned is that the magic will viciously defend itself against further inquiry.

You’d pull out your coin and reset the whole day right now if you actually had any ideas for what to try next time.

Instead, you settle in to bed and wait for morning. What little sleep you do get is plagued by dreams of dying and frozen allies.

Entering the House has become so routine you could do it with your eyes closed. You’re feeling so tired that you almost do. Nothing unexpected happens until you reach the Death Corridor.

You decide to let Siffrin take the lead this time. Once again, you claim to have heard of this room already. Once again, Siffrin complains about the lack of light. Once again, Mirabelle provides it with her craft. Once again, Siffrin turns his eyes to the ceiling…

…and mutters to himself.

You are suddenly at full attention.

You can’t make out what he’s saying exactly. He’s too quiet. But his mouth forms the word “please”, and you fill in the rest yourself.

A wish.

Part of you wants to stop them right now, but you hold yourself back. If they’re doing this now, they’ve been doing it the whole time.

Even so: Is this safe?

You’ve seen them complete this wish and find the trap. You’ve also seen a few timelines where they never tried. Which turned out better?

Poring over events in your head, trying to keep everything in order… you must have seen Siffrin die both ways. The chronology wouldn’t line up if you haven’t. You’ve also seen them survive both ways.

You yourself died both ways, and came back both ways, which is probably the bigger concern.

The whole party had to die before you were willing to disarm the trap yourself, which makes things easier to keep straight. Should that loop count as a strike against Siffrin? Perhaps not. Did they die before that? Yes, in one of the early loops they—

A deafening crash interrupts your thoughts, along with the assorted gasps and shrieks of four people. The boulder now rests exactly where it always does.

“Wow, Madame,” says Isabeau, once the dust has cleared. “You didn’t even flinch. I wish I had that kind of poise!”

You shrug off the unearned praise.

This is probably safe. The only variation you haven’t seen is interrupting Siffrin partway through a wish. So long as you don’t do that… you can at least expect that there will be no obvious repercussions from these mid-dungeon wishes.

You hope.

You watch Siffrin like a hawk for the remainder of the first floor, but they don’t attempt another wish. Not before combat, or after (though their post-combat breathing exercise is so consistent that you can’t help but be suspicious). The keys on this floor are in obvious locations where they don’t need the help.

This floor’s “strong” sadness crumbles before the craft break technique you developed in the last loop.

Before long, you find yourself at the snack break again. You accept your onigiri, everyone else claims their food of choice, and the group settles in for a brief respite.

There’s… no way Siffrin could make a wish in this room, right? What would he even wish for? This is probably the one room in the House where you can let your guard down a bit.

You absently bite into your food.

You gag.

Bonnie gives a startled cry and rushes forward in some vague attempt to help. But you don’t need help, so they’re left hovering awkwardly in front of you. It’s all you can do to avoid them as you spit out the remaining bits of ash and grit that cling to your throat.

You regain your wits just in time to watch their look of horror melt into mere disappointment.

“You hated it,” they state. It’s not a question.

Siffrin, bless his soul, cannot let this stand. At the top of his lungs, he shouts “I thought the food was great! THANK YOU SNACK LEADER FOR THIS DELICIOUS MEAL!”

Mirabelle and Isabeau chime in with their own equally exaggerated praise, but Bonnie ignores them. The only opinion they’re interested is yours, and you’ve made it abundantly clear.

“It’s fine,” you try to say, but they ignore you.

“Don’t lie! You hated it. You couldn’t even eat one bite. And… and I made that one special for you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the food,” you try again. When you’re not interrupted, you continue. “It’s me. I didn’t want to bother anyone but I… haven’t been able to smell or taste anything properly since late yesterday.”

No point digging yourself in further with more lies. That much truth is, frankly, the only answer which would spare Bonnie’s feelings.

Of course, nobody will just leave things at that.

Isabeau is the first to speak up. “You can’t smell or taste… like you’re sick?”

“… Yes.”

Nearly everyone cries out with some exclamation of shock.

“Madame!” Isabeau insists. “You should have told someone! You can’t go fight the King if you’re not at your best. We would have waited, or looked for a doctor.”

“I didn’t say anything because we can’t wait,” you retort. “Dormont won’t last another two days before being frozen. It’s probably already frozen as we speak. And we need all hands on deck if we want to fight the King.”

“And if you suddenly faint in the middle of battle?”

“It’s not that bad,” you insist. “I’m not tired or dizzy. I just can’t smell or taste anything.”

“For now. But It could get worse if you ignore it and don’t rest.”

“I dunno,” interrupts Siffrin. “It doesn’t sound that serious. Like, can you not smell anything or does everything just smell wrong?”

“Everything smells like smoke,” you clarify.

“Well there you go!” he insists. “That kinda thing happens all the time. It usually doesn’t get any worse.”

Isabeau looks unmoved. “Since when does a loss of two senses happen ‘all the time’?”

“Since always?” Siffrin replies. “Like, one time as a kid I couldn’t smell anything except caramel for over two weeks. And it was fine! My parents didn’t even let me skip school or any chores.”

This… could be important.

“Do you know what it was you caught?” you ask, trying hard to keep the urgency out of your voice.

“No, but my mom said it was my own fault anyways. Because I, uh…”

Siffrin trails off, and a somewhat dazed look comes over their face.

Just like you thought. This information is wish-related, and you need to make a choice. Press forward, or back off.

Last time you pressed Siffrin for information about wishes, the magic retaliated with a very broad brush. It defended its secrets by attacking the memories of a family member. Can you really do that again? When this memory concerns not just a cousin, but his own mother?

…

Yes. You can, and you almost certainly will. You can’t just back down every time this happens. You have no other way forward. The same determination that prevents you from abandoning this quest will force you to hurt Siffrin.

But not here. Not now. Not in front of all his friends.

This conversation should be easy to revisit in private, next loop.

Isn’t that cowardly? That you can bring yourself to do that to Siffrin, but only if you can avoid the brief judgment of his friends?

…

The conversation moves on, and the opportunity slips away. You wave off a few more concerns about your health, and some concerns about your general well-being. It’s ultimately not very different than the snack-time discussions you’ve already grown used to.

Boniface wisely insists that you eat something despite your illness. Considering the options carefully, you decide that plantain chips will be the easiest to stomach (and the least waste of their efforts). Eating them is still unpleasant, but at least you don’t have to hide it this time.

Despite everything, you do feel better with a full stomach.

Chapter Text

When you find the first frozen Housemaiden, you say the words you need to say. The conversation goes exactly as expected, almost on autopilot. You’re only snapped back to reality when Mirabelle considers your suggestion of extra practice.

“Okay,” she says after a long pause. “You’ve been right about everything in the House so far.”

“What does that mean?” you think.

“What does that mean?” you ask aloud.

Mirabelle, of course, grows nervous at your tone. “It’s just that, well, everything else you guessed about what we’d find in the House was right. You knew we would see lots of tears, even some in our path. You knew where the trap was in the Death Corridor, and even I didn’t know that! You knew what that weird star necklace would do to the tears. And… it kind of looked like you were expecting both of the strong sadnesses we met so far.”

“Locked doors too!” adds Isabeau. “You’re the one who suggested I work on the Battering Ram technique! Though, I guess locked doors wasn’t too hard to guess if the King’s trying to keep us out.”

Mirabelle continues. “The point is, you’ve made a lot of good guesses yesterday and today. So if you think we need this… I’ll do my best.”

“Please do,” you reply, and manage to keep the worry out of your voice. Not worry for her abilities, but for your own terrible attempts at keeping a low profile. Not that your success or failure in that regard seems to matter very much.

Hunting sadnesses, at least, is much easier now than it was before. The bomb-like sadnesses which you previously had to flee can now be decisively defeated with a combination of your Craft Break and Craft Boost skills, exposing each one to powerful scissors attacks and an eventual team attack. Each one is a free chance to heal, and the drain on your resources is reduced to almost nothing.

There’s more to do than just combat, though.

In the Head Housemaiden’s office, you refrain from finding the key yourself and opt to watch Siffrin instead. You’ve honestly lost track of whether or not you’ve seen him search this room after using his wish magic in the Death Corridor, and you need to establish a baseline.

His performance is… what you expected. He searches halfheartedly while the rest of the group talks, and finds nothing. Once you demand a more thorough investigation, he finds the key readily. You can see on his face the moment he thinks to check the underside of the drawer, but it’s difficult to tell if this burst of inspiration is anything unnatural. From where you’re pretending to search, you cannot see if his lips are moving.

Things are much more obvious in the library. Siffrin visibly mutters to themself while searching, and picks out the correct book without checking any of the ones around it.

Breaking the pattern from all previous loops, Siffrin does not stall upon finding it. They steal a glance your way, forcing you to hastily pretend you were searching your own bookshelf. You must not be very convincing, as they immediately turn to the others and announce that “I found the next key!”

“That was very fast!” replies Mirabelle. “We barely even had time to pick an entry. Where was it?”

“In a book,” replies Siffrin, and you brace yourself. You brace yourself for the inevitable line of questions. The questions which will lead to the group realizing just who locked all these doors. The questions which will only stir up Mirabelle’s emotional turmoil.

Those questions do not come.

Instead, there’s some pleasant banter about the diary Mirabelle was trying to read from and a request (which you distractedly agree to) to stick around long enough for her to finish the first entry. This leads again to Siffrin being teased for forgetting a Vaugardian word, though their reaction is muted compared to the last time. By the time Mirabelle is done reading, any questions about the key are forgotten.

Except by you.

What did you do differently this time? Or perhaps the better question, what did you do differently when you did trigger that conversation? You… think it was a natural consequence of someone asking Siffrin where they key was, but it only happened once before.

You just… don’t know. In your haste to make progress you’ve let these timelines splinter so far that it’s all-but-impossible to trace cause and effect, even for the bits which you do remember clearly. And the longer this goes, the fewer of those there will be.

Are you willing to spend a whole loop playing dumb to establish a new baseline? What’s the most you even can “play dumb” while still reaching the third floor?

These questions haunt you as you make your way between the notable rooms on the east half of the floor. First the classroom (useless, but Siffrin doesn’t know this). Then the sadness guarding a star medallion (now a trivial obstacle). Then the openphase-locked storage room, which you unlock (ignoring the knowing look that the others share). Finally the trap room, with its key sitting in plain sight.

The team babbles about one subject or another as you go, but you tune them out. None of that really matters.

Mirabelle has long since mastered her timecraft cure by the time you return to the stairway. There’s no need to dawdle. Siffrin unlocks the door and you proceed to face two strong sadnesses.

Those two strong sadnesses.

This obstacle, at least, you know how to deal with.

You instruct the team to focus their scissors-type attacks on the paper-type sadness, and join in with your new support crafts and your own scissors attack. It freezes you once again, rubbing your face in that memory of your first encounter, but Mirabelle has you back in action in no time.

You know better than to focus fully on the primary threat, however. You keep one eye fixed on the other sadness. You notice the exact moment that it moves to switch tactics, and you’re ready for it.

“Isabeau!” you shout. “Get between them. Don’t let the supporting sadness reach its ally!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a shout of acknowledgment he throws himself between the two, and devotes his full attention to the weaker sadness. It tries to dart around him, but he matches its movements and wards it off.

Which leaves the rest of you to finish the job as quickly as possible.

With the supporting sadness distracted, there’s no risk of it disrupting your own support skills. You call for Boniface to dip into the spice supply, first for speed and then for attack, and renew each of your own support crafts in turn. Mirabelle and Siffrin tear into it while the momentum is yours.

In a burst of insight (no, not insight—dumb luck), your foe lands a devastating attack against Isabeau’s backside. He drops to his knees. You fear its ally is about break through, but Siffrin is at Isabeau’s side in moments with a tonic. He’s back on his feet before your foes can rally.

Its next attack is against you, and accomplishes next-to-nothing. This sadness wouldn’t recognize a winning strategy if it tripped over it. It never could.

Another stab of Mirabelle’s rapier sets you up for a team attack, which you perform with gusto. When the dust clears, the paper-type sadness is no longer moving.

Leaving only its partner.

You smirk as you stride towards it. “Not so lucky now, are you?”

It darts past Isabeau to the remains of its fallen ally, and prods at it. But you have no interest in seeing what kind of aid it can provide postmortem. You rush forward, book in hand, and strike.

It staggers back under the force of the blow.

“Not so tough now,” you taunt, smacking it again. “Not so easy when it’s five-on-one.”

You strike again.

You taunt again.

You strike again.

Again and again you lash out. Your words become less and less coherent and devolve into frenzied grunts. The spine of your book snaps in half, and you discard the smaller piece to keep going with the larger half.

Only when two firm hands grip your shoulders from behind do you begin to slow. Only then do you take in Isabeau’s voice, shouting for you to calm down. Only then does the ache in your every muscle begin to register.

Only then do you remember your situation.

You jerk away from Isabeau with a start, and spin to face him. His arms are still outstretched, paralyzed. His rambling words halt abruptly.

His face is filled with concern. But deeper than that, far too deep to hide, is another emotion: Fear.

Behind him, the others are no better. Mirabelle is finally frozen in place, too terrified to move. Siffrin covers Bonnie’s face (and most of their body) with his cloak while staring at you with one wide eye.

The tattered remains of a book drop from your hands.

When it’s clear that your rampage is not about to resume, motion returns. Siffrin slowly lowers his cloak from Bonnie’s eyes, though the child is in no hurry to look at you. Mirabelle stumbles towards a corner and struggles not to vomit. Isabeau takes a hesitant step forward, but stops short of touching you again.

A wave of exhaustion hits you.

Hesitantly, Siffrin makes a valiant attempt to imitate their normal lighthearted tone. “I think… I think you got it, Odile.”

As if on cue, your legs give out. You collapse to your knees, then the floor, and remain there.

Chapter Text

Time has passed. How much time? Twenty, maybe thirty minutes? More? It doesn’t really matter. If there’s one fact you’ve internalized by this point, it’s that none of this matters.

A mis-spent hour here or there does not matter.

A wasted tonic does not matter.

A sadness that would have been insurmountable a few weeks ago does not matter.

Whatever looks the others are giving you do not matter.

“Madame?” comes Isabeau’s voice. “Please talk to us. We’re not upset about… whatever that was back there. We’re all just worried for you.”

You don’t open your eyes. As long as you don’t look at them, as long as you don’t see it, it’s not real. Right? In a few hours, or maybe a few minutes, you’ll be the only one who remembers this. Any detail you don’t see now is a detail that doesn’t exist.

“Please,” comes Mirabelle’s voice. “Just tell us what’s wrong! I don’t… I don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

You keep your eyes shut and your back against the corner.

“This isn’t like you,” comes Siffrin’s voice. “If one of was keeping a secret this big… you would be all over that, right? You wouldn’t let us keep going until you’d heard the truth.”

Is it possible to loop back without looking at them? You’re pretty sure it works even if you can’t see the coin. But you need someone to go along with it. You’ll have to at least pretend to be opening up to them.

“Here,” says Bonnie, as they shove something into your hands. “Eat this.”

Out of surprise more than anything else, your eyes shoot open. In your hand is a madeline. Behind it, Boniface looks more frustrated with you than anything else.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are,” they insist. “You didn’t eat much earlier, ‘cause you were feeling sick. And, sometimes if I’m hungry I get really cranky, even if I don’t think I’m hungry. ‘Specially when I don’t think I’m hungry.”

Your eyes inadvertently flick over to the center of the room, where you attacked the sadness. Its remains have long since dissolved, of course, but just thinking about it makes your stomach lurch.

“That was more than just cranky.”

Isabeau speaks up in Bonnie’s defense. “I’m with the kid on this one. Whatever this is, it’ll be a lot more manageable if you eat something. And maybe then we can talk about what’s wrong.”

There’s no way out of this one, is there?

You take a hesitant bite, and manage to swallow it despite it tasting like ash. Another bite, and then another, until it’s gone.

You don’t feel any better.

Still, they did trick you into opening your eyes and seeing the situation. It is… not as bad as you thought. Whatever horror or disgust your companions may have felt has been dulled by the wait.

Isabeau nods in approval.

You could use the coin now, if you wanted. Just act like it’s the first step in the explanation, a metaphor or demonstration or something. Compared to all the other lies you’ve told in the past week, it would be no challenge.

You’re not really going to do that.

Using the coin now would be childish. Stupid. If you were willing to press forward with Siffrin dead, surely you can press forward when everyone is merely uncomfortable.

Besides, even if you did flee, you’re still stuck. Your only remaining idea is to grill Siffrin for information about wishes again. To hurt them again. To hope that you can squeeze out something useful before the backlash kills them or costs them a memory too precious for you to stomach.

Putting that off wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

“Madame?” asks Isabeau, trying to pull you out of your thoughts. “Are you ready to talk about it now?”

Maybe… that is what you need?

It’s the one thing you haven’t tried. The one thing you haven’t let yourself try. But you were too sloppy, and now your hand is being forced. And the only other path is just as awful.

Besides that, it’s… late. If you tell them now and they hate you, or the revelation saps all their resolve, at least they won’t have to hate you for long. This can be a… trial run.

But even saying that…

“Madame?” asks Mirabelle. “Please tell us what’s wrong.”

“I… don’t know if I can.”

“I promise whatever it is, we’ll understand.”

“No, I literally don’t know if I can tell you. But… I suppose even that is data. Nothing to do but try.”

Everyone looks fairly confused at your words, but they gather around silently. Whatever you have to say, they’re ready to hear it.

“Yesterday, or at least… let’s just call it yesterday. Yesterday, Siffrin showed me the method of wishing that he was taught. It’s very different than the version practiced in Vaugarde. And it is, apparently, backed by real magic. It seems that whatever one wishes for, with or without a favor tree, really does come true.”

Everyone looks skeptical, but they don’t contradict you. You wouldn’t joke at a time like this.

Isabeau is the one to ask the obvious question. “If these wishes are so special, what did you wish for?”

You can’t help but sigh, and put off admitting it for a few seconds.

“I wished to win a coin flip.”

Siffrin is the only one who laughs out loud, but Mirabelle has to stifle a giggle.

“Isn’t that already fifty-fifty?” asks Isabeau. “How are you even sure the wish did anything?”

“Because I didn’t win my coin flip,” you reply. “And then time itself seemed to rewind, and deposited me back in Dormont. Moments after I made the wish. I literally could not have asked for more obvious evidence that the wish was responsible for the outcome.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad,” Mirabelle says, poring over the implications in her head. “If anything, it’s great news! It’s an extra tool we can use to make sure we defeat the King. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Siffrin, being the only person with access to the next puzzle piece, spots the answer first. “Because she didn’t just do it once.”

“Correct.”

“That’s… that’s why it was so important that I fetch you that two-headed coin. Right? You wanted to be sure you’d lose the coin flip. You’ve been forcing it to send you back.”

You nod.

“But if that’s true,” asks Mirabelle, “how many times have we been here?”

You don’t want to answer.

Your silence just turns her worry into panic. “H-how many times?” she repeats.

“In the House? It’s the… eighth time, I think. In this room, having won that battle? The second.”

“We died eight times?” shouts Bonnie, at their fullest volume.

“No!” you assert. “You, Boniface, have not died at all. I don’t know which Expressions I have to thank for that. The rest of us… we’ve gotten stuck far more often than we’ve died.”

“But we did die,” asks Mirabelle. You can only nod and say yes.

Tears fill her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry,” she sobs.

She’s sorry?

The word “Why?” escapes your lips before you can think better of it.

Like a broken dam, the words pour out of her all at once. “ I brought you here, so i t’s my fault. I brought you to the House and I failed, and you died, and we didn’t even get close to the King. And now everyone who was counting on me will just stay frozen. I should have come alone, or given up, or… or… been someone else. It shouldn’t have been me. Anyone else in the House would have been better. If Euphrasie had escaped instead, or Claude, or Adam or Millie or… anyone except me.”

She’s breathing hard by this point, and doesn’t resist when Isabeau and Bonnie move in for a brief hug. You and Siffrin can only sit there awkwardly and watch as Isabeau walks her through a breathing exercise, not even addressing her misplaced guilt until she’s calmed down a little.

Only when she’s ready to talk do you speak again.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mirabelle. The only person here who bears any responsibility for what’s happened in the House is me.”

“You?” asks Mirabelle, with about as much forethought as you yourself showed.

Isabeau gives you a stern look. “None of that, Madame. If this isn’t Mirabelle’s fault, it isn’t yours either. The House is just better guarded than we were prepared for. There’s no need for blame.”

“I’m the only person who’s been in a position to act for the past week. That’s plenty of time to accrue some blame.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t set the traps. You didn’t lock the doors. You didn’t tell those sadnesses to attack.”

“You want to focus on things that I’ve done? Fine.” You begin counting out your sins on your fingers. “In the past seven days, I’ve led this group smack-dab into every trap in the House. I’ve acted impulsively in response to setbacks, giving up too early or forcing you to march forward with fallen comrades on little more than a whim. I’ve lied to you at every turn. I convinced Mirabelle to touch a tear on purpose because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I pressed Siffrin for information about his magic wishes until it looked like the backlash was on the brink of killing him, and I’m actively planning to do that again in the next timeline. I have failed to save anybody more than half a dozen times. And that’s only considering my failures since the wish was made, and not any of the myriad better decisions I could have made in the preceding weeks.”

That’s… most of it, right? Everything that springs to mind, at least. At least no one tried to interrupt you.

In fact, they’re all too stunned to speak for quite a while.

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” says Isabeau eventually, and the others nod.

“Is this the first time you’ve told us?” asks Siffrin.

“Yes. I couldn’t… have this conversation. It was easier to not think about what you all would say.”

Bonnie punches your arm. “You dummy!” they say. “You should have told us! That sounds like way too much for one person, even a super-smart one.”

“We could have helped,” agrees Mirabelle.

“We’re all full of great ideas too,” says Isabeau. “Did you really think none us would be able to help?”

“I… thought I could handle it on my own.”

“Dummy,” repeats Bonnie.

“You’ve been under so much pressure,” Mirabelle says. “I don’t think I could have made it this far if I had to carry all that on my own.”

“You would know a thing or two about pressure,” says Isabeau, chuckling when Mirabelle’s cheeks darken slightly. “But yeah, I don’t think I could have gotten far either. At least, not without help.”

“Amateurs,” says Siffrin with a smirk. “I’m sure I would have handled the pressure perfectly. We’d have already killed the King by now if I was in charge.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “Siffrin, if you’d made the wish we would still be on the ground floor. You’d have reset the timeline every time one of your friends frowned.”

“N-no,” they stammer, hiding their face under their hat. But underneath that, they’re smiling.

“I don’t really understand what’s going on,” says Bonnie. “So, uh, I probably would have just asked you or Belle for help right away.”

“Honestly,” you say, “that would have made you the most effective person here. I have been thoroughly shown up by a child.”

Bonnie grins wide at the praise, barbed as it is. And you smile too.

It’s… okay.

You told everyone, and they were okay. They don’t hate you, even if they probably should. They didn’t lose hope either.

You’re still trapped in this House. You’re still no closer to defeating the King. But the weight that’s been pressing on you for days feels just a bit lighter.

Chapter Text

After that roller coaster of feelings, everyone in your group is feeling hungry enough to demand another break. You fear that someone might try to ask for some grisly details while Boniface is distracted preparing the food, but they all give you your space.

The pineapple slices have been replaced with similarly-prepared apple slices, much to your relief. Less relieving is the fact that Boniface loudly announces Siffrin’s allergy as the reason for the substitution. You’re not sure if they forgot your request to keep it quiet or have simply spotted the ulterior motive, but you’re in no hurry to draw even more attention to it. Siffrin takes the madelines this time, leaving you to share the apple slices with Boniface.

Before long, you’re again faced with the third floor.

Siffrin turns to you as you enter the main hall. “You’ve been here before, Madame. Which way is right?”

“None of them,” you reply. “But we might as well try the exit first.” You lead the group forward, avoiding the attention of the sadnesses wandering the main hall. You collect the key off the ground and stop in front of the door. “The key is right here, but the lock isn’t our problem. Whatever these frozen threads are, they’re completely blocking the door. Our best efforts couldn’t break through before, but we might be better prepared this time.”

Your craft break skill, unsurprisingly, has no effect on the frozen threads. But you still have the craft boost which you didn’t have on the last attempt, along with Isabeau’s “Battering Ram” craft and Siffrin’s… being here at all. You do manage to make a visible dent in the thread, but it’s not enough. You’ll blunt your weapons and exhaust your energy before you clear away enough to open the door. You also don’t have infinite time before the King’s curse claims you.

“This isn’t working,” you declare. “My other idea was to search the rest of the floor for any supplies that might help with the demolition. At the very least, Mirabelle’s roommate was collecting the ingredients for a craft bomb. If we—”

“She did WHAT?” shouts Mirabelle.

“I think you heard me just fine.”

“Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible things she could do, this is… honestly pretty normal for her. But I am still so angry.”

“Be that as it may,” you interrupt, “I haven’t seen any sign of those materials. All we found on our last attempt were locked doors and a few tonics. But perhaps we’ll have better luck with Siffrin leading the search.”

Siffrin looks at you with worry. “Was I not here last time?”

Shards, you didn’t mean to let that slip. Too late now.

“No, you weren’t here last time. But you’re here now, and I’m counting on your keen eye and your cheating magic to see us through.”

A worrying smile creeps across their face, and you realize your mistake. “See us through? Of course, Madame. Eye will not fail you”

You have to shove your face into your palm to avoid letting him see you smile.

You check the western wing first, since there’s less distance to go before you reach a dead end. Mirabelle is sad to see her teacher frozen, even if their relationship was apparently strained. Siffrin lightens the mood a bit by recommending that Isabeau wear some papier-mache gloves, which he gladly does. Otherwise, you find the same tonics—and the same lack of a key—as the last time you were here. Siffrin’s pleas to find something useful have no effect.

The storeroom in the southeast is your next stop, being the only other place that seems promising. And that promise is fulfilled! Midway through their muttering search, Siffrin spots some suspicious bricks next to a crack in the wall and uncovers a secret passage.

This… your interrogation of the townsfolk a few days ago alerted you to this passage’s existence, so it’s possible you would have found it without Siffrin. But you didn’t tell them about that! They found it right away, on their own. All it took was to wish for it.

The room contains an impressive treasure trove of tonics. It’s more than enough to tip the scales in your upcoming confrontation (assuming you ever reach it). There’s nothing which would be obviously useful for excavating the door, but it’s hard to view this as anything other than a win.

There’s also a bookshelf full of literature which would normally be right up Mirabelle’s alley. You try to draw her attention to it, but she ignores them. Mirabelle seems… troubled, since your revelation of the truth. It’s hard to tell though; you’ve only come this far once before, and she was in a much worse state then.

One thing that does inspire a discussion is a letter on the writing desk. It seems some rebellious youth ran away and was writing home. The letter inspires Siffrin to reveal a story from their own youth, which is a rare treat. Hearing anything about their past would be the highlight of your day under normal circumstances.

One day they stole their family’s boat as an act of rebellion. They rowed a short distance from home, and…

They can’t remember what happened after. They very, very abruptly cannot remember what happened next. When pressed, they cannot even remember what they were talking about.

Why?

It’s hard to imagine how this story could somehow relate to secret information about wishes, but there’s no mistaking this effect. It could be a lead to follow up on later, but… something about the situation feels wrong. You’re missing something.

Yet another question in a growing pile of questions.

There’s only one notable room left to search, and you make no secret of your low expectations.

“All that’s in here is this mirror,” you say. “An interesting device, maybe, but hardly useful to us.”

“What’s it do?” asks Bonnie.

You start to answer, but Isabeau shouts over you.

“Don’t tell them!” he says, and you clamp down on your words. “If this is what I think it is, don’t spoil the surprise. Everyone just stand… here is good. Now say ‘Fromage’!”

There’s a blinding flash, and a picture of your whole group is deposited on the ground. Siffrin picks it up and you all crowd around to look.

Isabeau, knowing what to expect, smiles wide in the picture. Mirabelle, Siffrin and Boniface are captured in a moment of wide-eyed wonder. You also knew what to expect, but your own face looks more like a grimace than a smile. Even on the best of days you’d be hard-pressed to smile on demand, and this is hardly your best day.

Your terrible performance isn’t enough to detract from the novelty. You spend a few moments together marveling over the picture, before an odd look passes over Siffrin’s face.

“That’s odd,” they say, quiet enough that you think they may be talking to themself. They’re already the one holding the picture, so they don’t even ask before turning around and examining the ground behind your group. “If it’s here in the picture, it should be right… here!” With a cry of triumph, they grab something off the ground and hold it up high.

“A key?” you exclaim, realizing what you’re looking at. “Why was that out here? And more importantly, how on earth did you find it?”

“It’s in the picture,” he says, holding it out for you to see and pointing. “Look, right here. There’s a glint on the ground, from that flash of light reflecting off the metal.”

“But that’s so tiny,” exclaims Bonnie.

You agree. “I could have looked at this photo for a hundred years,” you say, “and I wouldn’t have noticed that. And in this light, it’s the same shade as the floor. Siffrin, you truly are something special. Or a horrid cheater. Perhaps both.”

Siffrin, as always, beams under the praise.

Key in hand, you’re finally able to explore more of the floor’s west side.

Passing by another wall of tears and yet another door locked with an Openphrase (this one marked with an unreadable inscription), you find two more frozen Housemaidens. Mirabelle describes both fondly, though she has difficulty recognizing the second.

It’s clearly troubling her to see them in this state, but you have nothing helpful to say. Isabeau tries to say something about seeing them after you defeat the King, but… you don’t think she really believes that you will succeed this time. It’s hard to blame her; you don’t either.

There’s plenty of other things to discuss in the room with the second Housemaiden though. Scented candles, books on body craft, Vaugardian fashion, and more. In a better mood you might join in the discussion. Instead, you simply congratulate Siffrin when he finds several tonics and another key.

But upon leaving that room, you finally find the place you’ve been searching for. The one room you were truly hoping to find.

“Oh!” exclaims Mirabelle. “That’s… that’s… that’s my room.”

“Great!” says Isabeau. “Mind if we all snoop around a bit?”

“What?” she cries. “No! Nobody is snooping around my bedroom!”

“We do need to search it,” you point out. “Your roommate was the one trying to assemble a bomb, after all. This is our best shot at opening that door.”

Mirabelle struggles with this for a few moments, before sighing and gesturing to one side of the room. “Fine. But only look on that side. That’s her side, so if she was assembling a bomb in my bedroom it would be over there. I’ll check this side by myself.”

Indeed, she was assembling a bomb in Mirabelle’s bedroom and it was on that side of the room.

Isabeau almost immediately locates most of the needed materials. Sadly, the rogue Housemaiden was still missing a few of the needed items. Isabeau has to dumb down his jargon significantly before you can understand what’s still missing: something that roughly translates to “long thingy-thing”, and a “secret ingredient.” You’re probably going to be reliant upon him to recognize either.

Your do suggest that Mirabelle let Siffrin double-check her side, but she strongly objects. She rightly points out that she is the best qualified to recognize anything out-of-place in her own bedroom. But you suspect there’s things here she just doesn’t want you to see.

Fine by you. You’re all entitled to your secrets.

Your newest key leads you back to the east wing, and into a storage room with another of those difficult-to-read strong sadnesses. This one is even stronger than the first two, perhaps due to proximity to the King. But it’s not strong enough to matter. Your Craft Break skill lets you ignore the guessing game and hammer it with your party’s scissors crafts (and an eventual team attack), and you have more than enough tonics to keep everyone on their feet.

Near the end you realize that its own attacks are rock-type, so you finish it off with a few of your own paper-type crafts. This should be even easier next time, if there is a next time.

Just like the ones before it, the sadness drops exactly one item of star-themed jewelry.

Bonnie looks at it with worry, poking it on the ground.

“Where’s the other ones?” they ask.

You raise your eyebrow. “What do you mean, other ones? There’s just this one. There was only one on the previous floors too.”

“But there’s three places blocked off with tears, right?”

Ah. “That’s correct.”

“So what happens if we guess wrong?”

“Then we’ll be stuck. And I suppose we’ll go back to the original plan: breaking down the door with craft.”

“But… didn’t you try that already?”

“We’re better equipped this time. But yes, assuming there is a ‘correct’ path, we should strive to find it on the first try.”

“By guessing?”

“By guessing.”

You open things up to the group, but nobody has any insights to suggest one door over another. You ultimately agree to just try the closest one.

Everyone holds their breath as the wall of tears is banished.

On the other side is… a room. A small, unimpressive room full of unimpressive things. There’s a couple tonics, a paper revealing the openphrase for the door on the previous floor (which you already know), and a writing desk covered in half-finished poetry.

But there’s no tools for demolition. And there’s no keys.

After all that progress, after everyone’s hopeful words, this room is yet another dead end.

Chapter Text

Options exhausted, you return to the main hall. You dispatch the few sadnesses wandering the hall, earning you some breathing room. Then you all go to work on the door.

It does not go well.

At first, you take turns empowering each of your allies with Craft Boost to attack the threads. But it quickly becomes clear that Isabeau is the only one making headway. It’s hardly surprising, since his Battering Ram craft was purpose-made for this task. But it is quite disheartening.

Mirabelle tries at first, but her attacks quickly grow halfhearted. She gives up entirely before long, simply watching with Bonnie as the three of you work.

Siffrin also gives up on his regular attacks after a while. Rather than quit, though, he begins muttering a wish before each strike.

It doesn’t work. After the third time that this fails to make a difference, they admit that the middle of the House is not a very good place for rituals. There were many steps to what they showed you yesterday, and most are simply not possible here.

Privately, you’re relieved that it did nothing. There’s a reason you wrote off “make more wishes” as a last resort. You’re not willing to shoot down an idea for salvaging this loop, not in front of four people who can’t abandon it. But you’re not eager to tamper with the one thing keeping you alive.

In the end, it’s mostly just you and Isabeau against the frozen threads. The work continues, on and on, until rumbling stomachs demand a snack break.

You don’t want to take a break.

The mere suggestion fills you with dread. You’ve only been here long enough to need a third snack break once, and that was the loop where you ran out of time. The mention of a break makes you realize how far gone you already are. You can’t move your toes, and likely haven’t been able to for some time. The King’s curse is already taking hold.

But you do need to eat. You do need a break. You are short on time. Putting this off won’t change the facts.

While Boniface is busy cooking and the boys are discussing a possible way for Siffrin to mimic the Battering Ram craft, Mirabelle asks if she can speak to you in private. Intrigued, you agree. You follow her to the far end of the main hall, as far as you can go while remaining in sight of your allies.

“Madame Odile,” she begins, once you’re alone. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About those… other Mirabelles, The ones who failed.”

“They… you didn’t fail,” you insist. “If anything, I’m the one who failed you.”

“That’s not true! And also it’s… not the point.”

“The point being?”

“You said that you convinced me to touch a tear. Why?”

Oh. You don’t like where this is going.

“We had wasted our only star medallion,” you say. “I had hoped that your blessing would be enough to let you pass through the tears unharmed. It wasn’t.”

“When did this happen?” she asks. “Which floor?”

“The first floor.”

Mirabelle takes a deep, slow breath, then a second. She closes her eyes, then opens them. And she says the words you’re dreading.

“I’m going to try it again.”

“Mirabelle, it didn’t work,” you insist. “The lightest touch was enough to freeze you completely. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Did you?” she asks. “Did you push me into a tear?”

The question is so out-of-left-field that it takes you a moment to process. “What? No, I didn’t literally push you. But I did convince you to do it.”

“I don’t believe you did.”

If the previous question was unexpected, this statement is just perplexing. “Of course I did! It was my idea. I convinced you and the others to go along with it despite the risk.”

“I don’t think I needed much convincing,” Mirabelle says. “I think as soon as you suggested the idea, I was ready to along with it.”

“You wouldn’t have if you knew about the wish.”

“I would,” she says. “Odile, I’m not… comfortable with the idea of us failing to save Vaugarde, just because you’ll succeed in another loop. What happens to this Vaugarde? Do you know?”

“I… chose not to think about it.”

“I wish I could do that,” she says. “But no. I swore that I would do whatever it takes to stop the King, even if it was risky. And I meant it. If there’s any chance that this will work, that this will let us reach the King, I have to try it.”

“I can’t just stand by—” you begin, but she interrupts you.

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine. Odile, you… like to call us all children, sometimes. You’re joking, or at least I really hope you’re joking. But I think… this wish, this time travel, might have made you forget that it’s a joke. You’re not responsible for everything that happens, and you’re not the only one who can make decisions. I’m a grown-crabbing woman, and if I think it’s worth the risk… you need to respect that. I’m sure I would have made the same decision the last time, if you’d explained the situation.”

There’s a fire in her eyes as she speaks. Not the angry look from when you were here without Siffrin, but a look of pure determination. You aren’t going to talk her out of this.

“If we really were on the first floor when we tried this before, I’m a lot better prepared now. I’ve mastered my Lovely Moving Cure craft, which I wouldn’t have had then. And I practiced my craft on the tears outside yesterday, even if I didn’t get very far. I can do this.”

She’s wrong. One day can’t make that much of a difference. But that’s not the answer she needs to hear. There’s only one thing you can really say at this point.

“Okay. You can do this.”

“Good. I… guess we should go tell the others?”

You turn back to the front of the hall, then stifle a groan. “Unless that pillar was always lumpy, I think they already know.”

Three sheepish figures emerge from hiding.

“We weren’t trying to eavesdrop,” insists Bonnie, only to shrink under several incredulous glares. “Okay we were, but it wasn’t my idea.”

“It’s fine Bonnie,” says Mirabelle. “I was going to tell you anyways. I just… needed to hear the whole story from Madame Odile first.”

That was hardly the whole story. But it was… enough to make an informed decision.

You need to remind yourself that it is an informed decision.

You force yourself to eat a few bites while your companions scarf down what will almost certainly be their last meal. You provide Mirabelle with a bit more detail on how this process looked, the first time. She listens carefully, but does not look scared. No one else is foolish enough interject.

Soon, all too soon, you are gathered in front of a wall of tears.

Mirabelle hesitates, and for a moment you think she’s going to back out. But no, she reaches out her hand and taps the nearest tear with her finger.

Even that light touch is enough to lock her hand in place, forcing her to see this through.

Just as before, a wave of darkness spreads from the point of contact. Darkless gloves and healthy skin both give way to the nearly lightless shade of frozen stone. She catches it partway up her arm, holding the darkness in a tense stalemate for a few seconds. But only for a few seconds.

Slowly, the darkness creeps upward.

As it claims her elbow, she forms a craft sign with her other hand. She grits her teeth, and…

In a single burst, the darkness is pushed all the way down to her wrist.

Mirabelle gasps from the effort and tries to stagger backward. She almost loses her footing when her hand refuses to come with her. The darkness reclaims most of the lost distance in the few seconds before she regains her concentration. But the new equilibrium is still better than it was before.

“Bonnie!” she shouts. “Salty broth, now! And be ready with a second!”

Bonnie scrambles to find the requested items and shoves the first roughly into Mirabelle’s free hand. She downs it in one gulp, lets go of the bottle, and is already forming her craft sign before it shatters against the ground.

This time the light rushes forward to fill half of her hand, leaving only the fingers themselves covered in stone. She’s ready for the effort this time, and does not lose her concentration.

Bonnie tries to hand her the second bottle, but she waves it off. “No, I can… hold it here. Save it.”

Indeed, she does hold the darkness in check for a tense minute while her craft recovers the hard way.

When she makes a craft sign again, it’s over.

The blob of water which ensnared Mirabelle’s hand drops from the air and splatters against the ground. Boniface leaps back in a panic, but not Mirabelle. She just lets it splash harmlessly against her ankles. It’s only water now.

Mirabelle carefully, cautiously pulls her hand back and examines it. She takes a few steps backward, away from the remaining tears. And she leans roughly against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cold floor.

“That was… exhausting,” she says, panting heavily.

“That was awesome!” shouts Boniface, rushing forward to grab Mirabelle by the shoulders. “You did it! You beat the tear!”

“I… did it. Yeah, I did it!”

“Yeah! You showed that water who’s boss.”

She giggles at this, but her smile looks strained.

“I… using craft like that is exhausting. I need a break.”

All eyes turn to you. You’re not sure if it’s your foreknowledge (what little of it remains) or simply your role as the Stern Adult, but if anyone is going to veto a long rest it’s you.

…

You do, in fact, need to veto a long rest.

“I don’t think we can afford to wait very long. The curse is already starting to catch up with us. I haven’t been able to feel my toes since the last snack break. It’s only going to get worse, and we can’t afford for Mirabelle to devote her efforts to keeping it at bay.”

There’s some murmurs from the group as you take stock. Unsurprisingly, everyone except Mirabelle is already feeling the effects.

“Mirabelle, I need an honest assessment. Can you do that again?”

Mirabelle swallows her initial answer and stops to think about it before nodding. “I need to recover a bit but… yes. I know what to be ready for this time. The next one will be easier.”

“Good. That gap isn’t wide enough to pass safely, but if you do it again I think Siffrin can slip through. We can’t afford to wait longer than ten minutes, though. We need to be ready to repeat this whole process in a second corridor if this one doesn’t have what we need.”

It’s an agonizing ten minutes. You mostly spend it flexing your fingers and joints, dreading the moment when you discover you can’t. You curse yourself for all the time you wasted moping like a child. It’s time you can get back, yes, but the others can’t.

When the time comes, Mirabelle has a much easier time fighting the curse. You insist that she use another salty broth to avoid dragging the process out, reasoning that tiring herself out is a bigger risk than wasting the potion. It pays off; the curse is dispelled in under a minute, and never makes it past her wrist.

With that, the gap is wide enough for Siffrin to slip through. You remind him (perhaps unnecessarily) to avoid fighting any sadnesses when cut off from the group. The only other person who could fit through that gap is Boniface, and you’re not about to let them risk it.

It all comes down to Siffrin’s eye, again.

If the wait for Mirabelle to recover her strength was painful, the wait for Siffrin’s return is worse. You can’t even tell if they’re okay. Are they dead, frozen, or just being thorough? An awkward, tense silence fills the air.

After about fifteen minutes, they do return. Empty-handed. The blocked-off hallway led to a huge room dedicated studying stars. You’re sure there’s a special word for this, but for once Siffrin isn’t the only one unable to recall it.

Siffrin says that they’d love to spend some time in that room after you win (“after”?), but there was nothing there which will help you with the door.

In the other blocked corridor, Mirabelle needs to repeat her miracle three times to create a large enough gap for Siffrin to traverse safely. She consumes all of your remaining salty broths to do so, but only needs a minute to catch her breath between each tear. That’s more than worth the cost.

This time, Siffrin is gone for only a few minutes.

“There was almost nothing there. Just a frozen man and another locked door. But this one had a note attached to it!”

Siffrin presents to the group a sheet of paper with a note written in shaky handwriting.

We closed as many doors as we could, but if SOMEHOW you need the key to this one, I hid the key in room 403, in little Marc’s notebook.

The fact that these rooms have numbers is news to you, but not to Mirabelle. She needs a little moment to recall where that room might be, but when she does her expression drops instantly.

“Room 403… is currently on the second floor.”

“The second floor?” cries Bonnie. “But… we can’t go to previous floors, can we? The big doors close behind us, don’t they?”

Nervous glances are shared all around.

“That’s… okay,” says Siffrin, desperate to fill the silence. “It’s fine, right? This just means Odile can get it on the next try.”

“Next… try?” asks Mirabelle. “I don’t even want to think about a next try.”

“There’s not much of a choice,” you say. “Even if we can break down the door by brute force, we’re out of time. The curse is already taking hold. Siffrin is right. The only thing left to do… is prepare for tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The hallway where you stand is cold, dark, and oppressive. A wall of tears still blocks the corridor to the south, and the north feels terribly exposed to attack from the sadnesses you know are still roaming. There’s no chairs, no tables, and no good reason to stay here.

“If we’re going to discuss what comes next,” you announce, “I’d rather not do it in this hallway. Between the tears and the sadnesses, it’s not safe. I suggest we relocate to the pottery classroom.”

Mirabelle frowns. “I’d… rather not spend any longer than we need to in front of my teacher when she’s frozen. It feels disrespectful.”

Bonnie gives her a confused look. “How is that bad? Aren’t we all gonna be frozen too in a little bit?”

“Not helping,” you say.

“Just… can’t we go somewhere without someone who’s frozen?” asks Mirabelle.

“We don’t have that many choices,” you say. “That just leaves us with your bedroom, or that writing room at the far end of the floor.”

“Okay, we’ll go to that writing room.”

“But that’s so far!” complains Bonnie. “And the House is super dangerous right now, so that counts as a real reason.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be frozen in your own room?” asks Isabeau. “If you gotta go, at least it can be in your own space, surrounded by friends.”

Mirabelle thinks for a second, then sighs. “Fine. But no snooping! I mean it!”

And so you relocate to Mirabelle’s bedroom. It’s sort of ironic that her journey would end here of all places, though the sheer number of times you’ve seen her journey end diminishes the poetry a bit.

As a two-person bedroom, there’s barely enough room for five people. There’s certainly not enough furniture. Isabeau and Siffrin are forced to sit on the floor, while Mirabelle claims her bed and you and Boniface claim the chairs. The unnatural shade of the frozen House diminishes whatever comfortable familiarity the room may have had, and the beds are hard as rock, but it beats the hallway.

“Okay,” Mirabelle says. “Enough stalling. What’s our plan?”

Siffrin speaks up. “Odile just has to get that key from the classroom, right? Seems pretty simple.”

“Assuming there’s anything useful in that direction,” you remind them. “After all the other dead ends, that feels like a long-shot. We already have the last key, after all.”

“But what else is there?” he asks.

“The door,” you remind him. “Isabeau was making pretty good progress with his new craft. If we all devote some time tomorrow to learning an equivalent, we might be able to break through.”

“So would we just ignore all the keys?” asks Mirabelle. “That feels…” she starts, but trails off.

“Feels like what?” you push.

“Like, everything we just did was a waste.”

“No,” you say. “It wasn’t a waste. Even if it might not pan out, I… we need to explore the whole floor. No matter what happens, you just saved us two whole trips through the House. Don’t forget that.”

She frowns, but doesn’t argue.

There’s a brief pause, which Isabeau breaks.

“Honestly,” he says, “I’m not really worried about the door.” Four incredulous stares force him to throw up his hands and backpedal. “I mean yeah the door is a problem, but it’s just a door. If we got this far, I’m sure we’ll get past it eventually. I guess the thing I really am worried about is that as soon as you go back to Dormont, you’re gonna start hiding this from us again.”

“What?” cries Bonnie. “No way would Dile do something that stupid. Right?”

Your silence says it all.

“Right?” asks Bonnie, a bit less confidently.

“She already did it once,” points out Isabeau. “Or maybe half a dozen times? Depends on how you count.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you admit. “Knowing all this, knowing how likely you were to fail, that you’d already failed… did this really make it any easier on you? It looked like it just made it worse.”

“It made things a lot easier on you,” says Isabeau.

“I can take it,” you insist.

He shakes his head. “That’s a big fat lie and you know it.”

“Madame Odile,” says Mirabelle. “We can’t help unless you tell us. We really do want to make this easier on you. What you’re going through… I wouldn’t want that for anyone.”

That’s pretty ironic, coming from the ally for whom this trek through the House has been the most painful. But… compared to you, Mirabelle has held up incredibly well.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to make that promise.

“How about this?” says Isabeau when the silence stretches on too long. “We’ll make a trade! Each of us will tell you a secret, but in exchange you have to tell us what’s happening next time.”

“Why would I need a secret?”

“It’ll make it easier to convince us you’re from the future. Plus, if we talk about it like it’s a trade maybe you’ll be more likely to do it.”

You can’t help but smirk at that logic. “Fine. You tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you my secret tomorrow. If nothing else, I’d have a pretty hard time explaining myself if I’m caught in a lie after this.”

“That’s the spirit!” he cries. “So, since it was my idea, I’ll go first.”

Isabeau stands up and walks the short distance to your chair. He leans forward, cups his hand, and whispers…

a name.

“What?” you ask reflexively.

“That’s going to be my new name,” he says, straightening back up. “After the next time I Change. I haven’t told it to anyone yet, so if you tell me I’ll know something’s up.”

“You haven’t told anyone?” you ask, not bothering to hide your surprise. “Wouldn’t you want to tell your friends and family beforehand? If you change your name and your appearance, how would they know it’s you?”

“They’re not supposed to!” he says, cheerily. “Not until I tell them.”

“So until then you’re just some random stranger?”

Bonnie speaks up. “I know if I ran into someone I don’t know and they acted like we’re friends, I wouldn’t think they were a stranger.”

Off to the side, Mirabelle nods her own enthusiastic agreement. At least Siffrin has the decency to look confused.

“Why would you even want that?” you ask.

“It’s about first impressions, you know? A new me needs a fresh start. Nobody can form a new first impression of me if they already know who I am. So we talk for a bit first, then I tell them it’s me.”

“And this is… common?”

“Pretty common,” says Mirabelle. “Not everyone does it that way, but a lot do! It depends on why you Changed, really.”

“Fascinating,” you say. And it is. You have to squash the instinct to pull out your journal and uselessly jot down this new tidbit. Even after all this time, Vaugardian culture still finds new ways to surprise you. In so many ways it still feels so alien.

…

Hold on a moment.

“Do I not count as friends and family?” you ask, with a playful smile. “Does my second first opinion of you not matter?”

“It does!” he insists. “It’s just… what’s happening right now seems more important. And when I tried to think of a secret, that’s the first thing I thought of. It’ll definitely get my attention!”

“Well, thank you. I’m not sure I really understand, but I’m grateful you’d trust me with this secret.”

Isabeau moves to return to his seat on the floor, but trips. Mirabelle rushes to check on him, and you try to join her… only to discover why he fell.

You can’t move your legs at all. Looking down, you discover with horror that everything below your knees is the same unnatural shade you’ve seen on so many statues to get here. Isabeau at least fared a bit better; he’s only frozen below the ankle.

“We’re taking too long” you declare. “No more side discussions. Does anyone else have a secret?”

“I do,” says Bonnie. “But, you have to promise not to tell my sister.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay, so this one time last year, I broke a whole stack of plates. But when Nille heard, I tricked her into thinking the neighbor’s dog knocked them over.”

“Was she angry?” you ask.

“Not really. Mostly she just kicked me out of the kitchen until she could clean up all the glass. Which is… probably what she would’ve done if I hadn’t lied.”

“Well, as juicy gossip goes that’s rather lacking. But it is something I wouldn’t have guessed on my own, so it should work.” You turn your attention to Siffrin, who looks lost in thought. “What about you, Siffrin? Any good secrets?”

Siffrin frowns. “You can skip me. I’ll probably forget whatever I say.”

“That is… literally the entire point. You tell me, and you forget, and then you’re amazed that I know this fact.”

“I just… don’t have one. If everyone else thinks you’re telling the truth I’ll believe you.”

Disappointing as that is, you don’t really have time to argue. “Fine, we’ll skip you. That just leaves Mirabelle. Do you have something to share?”

“I do, but… it’s kind of a big one.”

“We have minutes. Maybe a bit more if you actively use your blessing to buy us time.”

She moves to rest a hand on your shoulder, and you feel a bit of warmth flow back into your body.

She begins to talk while she works. “That’s… what the secret is about. The blessing. I… lied about being blessed by the Change God.”

Four voices cry out with their own exclamations of “What?”

“The Change God rarely does anything. They push us to greater heights, but rarely helps us themselves. I’m… not sure I’ve ever actually felt their help directly. Not in all my time as a Housemaiden.”

“But,” you protest, “you clearly are blessed. What else would you call your immunity to the King’s Curse? Your ability to protect others? You even managed to overcome the tears!”

“The Change God didn’t do that. It was… the Head Housemaiden. She protected me somehow, gave me her blessing… and I don’t understand why. Why she would pick me, and not save Vaugarde herself. Or bless someone more capable. I still don’t understand.”

“And you lied about it?”

“People saw a Housemaiden with protection from the King’s Curse, and they just… assumed. They looked so hopeful, I just couldn’t take that from them.”

Everyone is silent for a moment while they take in this revelation. But… you can’t afford to wait, can you?

“This is a lot to unpack,” you tell her. “And we do not have that kind of time. But I do want to say this: You were plenty capable. If the Head Housemaiden really picked you out of all the people in this House, I can’t say she picked wrong.”

“But I failed. More than once even!”

“There’s not a human being on this planet who could have navigated this House on the first try. But you got us this close. And I promise that on the next try, or the next next try, you are going to save Vaugarde.”

She smiles at this, but it’s strained.

“Anyways,” you say, “we are very much out of time. Siffrin, I think it’s your turn to do the honors.” The fingers of your right hand are stiff and clumsy, even with Mirabelle’s help, but your left hand is still flexible enough to fetch your coin and hold it in position. “I’m about to flip my trick coin. Would you like to call it?”

“Heads.”

You toss the coin end over end, but don’t look at it. Instead you watch the faces around you for the last seconds before—

—you’re back in the swirling chaos. A nauseating sensory overload washes over you again, but you grit your teeth and ignore it. It’s getting easier each time.

The last time you were here, counting the seconds seemed to… force time to advance. Will that work again?

One, two, three, four…

It doesn’t take long to become convinced you were right.

...sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three…

It feels like it’s been hours, perhaps days, but that’s impossible. Objectively, to the extent that anything here can be objective, only a minute has passed. It’s just… a trick. A trick being played on your mind.

…one-hundred-seventeen, one-hundred-eighteen, one—

“—did you wish for?”

You’re back.

“Siffrin, will you help me gather everyone together? I have something important to tell you.”

End of Act 1

Chapter Text

Finding your allies within Dormont is, by this point, a trivial task. Making no secret of your foreknowledge, you send Siffrin to fetch Boniface and the trick coin, as you know both can be found at the East end of the village. Mirabelle is diligently sorting papers in front of the library, and she perks up at the suggestion of doing literally anything else. Only Isabeau needs to be tracked down, and within such a small area that you still beat Siffrin back.

With everyone in tow, you convene in the library for some semblance of privacy. Normally, you would never think to have this discussion in a public library. It's likely to be quite animated. But you know for certain that not one person will come here looking for a book today.

(Also, if someone is looking for a book in this library, the noise level is the least of their problems.)

Once settled in, you explain the basics. The wish, the time travel, the coin toss.

“Does anyone have any questions so far?” you ask.

“Me,” says Bonnie. “I don’t get it.”

“Which part?” you ask.

“The funny part.”

“None of this is funny, Boniface.”

“But you’re making things up, right? Like, is it a big prank? I’m just a kid, and even I know wishes don’t do real magic.”

“Your skepticism is commendable,” you say, then reconsider your words. “That means ‘it’s good that you’re suspicious.’ Fortunately, we did see this coming. Or at least Isabeau did. He had a great idea for how I can prove my story.”

“I did?” asks a surprised Isabeau.

You stand up from your seat, approach him, and whisper something in his ear.

His eyes bulge.

“I… told you that?”

“Indeed. Your future self thought that would get your attention.”

“That, ah… I haven’t told that to anyone yet. So… if you know that, there’s definitely something up.”

“I have a few more too. Boniface, your secret was about a stack of plates.”

Their face screws up in concentration for a moment, before a look of horror comes over it. “You can’t tell my sister!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. As for Siffrin, you refused to give me a secret. You seemed to think that if I convince the others, you’ll believe me too.”

Siffrin looks oddly disappointed, but nods. “Sounds about right.”

“No fair!” shouts Boniface. “I told you about the plates, but Frin didn’t tell you anything?”

You chuckle. “That’s the benefit of going last. As for Mirabelle, your secret was one we should probably discuss as a group. If you’re willing, of course. It was about your blessing.”

Mirabelle’s face falls. “I… you’re right. We can talk about that.”

“But what about your weird time problem?” asks Boniface.

“It can wait,” you say. “This is important.”

And so you explain Mirabelle’s secret again. The initial shock quickly gives way to an outpouring of sympathy and support from her friends. You… don’t join in. It’s dawned on you that whatever is said now, you are doomed to hear over and over again. Best to keep your own involvement to a minimum.

Eventually, that topic reaches its conclusion and you return to your own story.

“So if we’re all accepting that this is real,” asks Mirabelle, “how many times have we done this already?”

Being evasive did you no good last time, even when you were visibly in distress. There’s no chance now. You might as well just admit it.

“Eight,” you say. “We’ve gone into the House eight times so far. We’re yet to reach the King.”

“We died eight times?” Mirabelle’s eyes grow wide, panic starting to take root.

“No,” you say. “We got stuck most times, with no way to progress. And no, that is not your fault. I could make a very good case for it being my fault, but then you’ll all just try to talk me out of it. Bottom line, this planning session can’t move forward until we both agree to ignore the blame game. Understood?”

Mirabelle is silent for a moment, then lets out a sigh. “We really did have this whole conversation before.”

“Parts of it,” you say, hoping to leave it there. You haven’t admitted yet that this is the first time you revealed the truth in Dormont, and with any luck you won’t have to.

“If you know everything that’s going to happen,” Mirabelle asks, “is there anything we can do? To not fail again?”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes there is something we can do. We’re not out of options just yet.

“Our main obstacle,” you explain, “is a door on the third floor. Specifically, it’s the door which leads directly to the next floor. We found the key easily enough, but the door is covered in threads which are frozen in time. They render it impossible to open, and they’ve proven very resistant to physical assault. Resistant, but not invincible.

“In two loops now, Isabeau came up with a craft technique he named ‘Battering Ram’. It’s useless in combat due to the time needed to perform each strike, but it’s… somewhat effective against frozen objects. All our other attacks barely leave a dent. I’m hoping that if he prepares the same technique again, and ideally teaches an equivalent to Siffrin and Mirabelle, we can break through that door with brute force.”

“Why didn’t we do that before?” asks Isabeau.

“We ran out of time,” you reply. “We’ve only reached that point once with you having learned that technique, and we… lost a lot of time getting there. We only have a few hours within the House before the curse begins affecting us, and it’s all downhill from there.”

Isabeau grins. “So your big plan is a last minute training session? I can definitely do that!”

“It’s plan B, anyways. There was a part of the House we couldn’t reach before, but should be able to enter this time. I’m still holding out hope that we’ll find something useful there. You see, Mirabelle’s roommate was trying to assemble a craft bomb in her bedroom—”

“She did WHAT?”

With everyone on the same page, training goes better than it ever has before. You lead the group to a small clearing outside Dormont (without tears this time—no reason to take chances), and spend several hours obliterating any rocks or fallen trees unfortunate enough to be nearby.

Isabeau gets back to his previous level pretty quickly. After a few false starts, Mirabelle works out a similar technique using piercing craft.

Siffrin can’t quite get it to work, even when watching Mirabelle. After a few failures you catch him starting to mutter a wish to himself, because of course he would try that and of course he wouldn’t run it by you first, but you were ready for it.

“If you’re going to try using a wish to attack,” you say, “save it for the real thing. Don’t waste it on a practice target.”

Siffrin’s a little sheepish at being caught, but they don’t try it again. They give up imitating Mirabelle’s technique after a few more attempts. They spend the remaining time a short distance away, fiddling with a silver coin while looking pensive.

For your own part, you do manage to copy Isabeau’s technique after watching it enough times. Sadly, it was a wasted effort. Without his bulk you just can’t put the same force behind the strike. Your efforts are better spent using your craft to enhance their attacks.

Boniface sits the whole affair out, of course. The only contribution you need or want from them is to ensure there’s extra key-lo-ries waiting for you when you return to the clocktower.

Mirabelle’s after-dinner speech is… mostly the same as it’s ever been. After everything you’ve told her she’s more aware than ever of how dangerous the House will be tomorrow. She’s not very surprised when you all refuse her offer to back out, at least.

As everyone begins preparing for bed, Siffrin pulls you aside to speak in private.

“Madame Odile,” they say, “I thought a lot about how you said this happened. Your wish, or just… wishes in general. It does make sense, if wishes are real, but… something seems wrong.”

“What do you mean, ‘wrong’?”

“It’s your wish. It’s just… not how it’s supposed to work, I think? Like, how much you want it is supposed to be really important. But you just picked something at random! It shouldn’t have done anything.”

“It did, though.”

“Did it?” they ask. “Did wishing on a coin flip really do all this?”

“Of course it did,” you say. “Every time I lose that coin toss, time resets to when I made the wish. It literally could not be more obvious that my wish did this.”

They give a noncommittal “hmm”, but still look doubtful.

“Unless,” you prod, “you can think of some specific reason it shouldn’t be. Something you were taught, perhaps?”

Siffrin thinks back, long and hard. You can tell they really are trying their best. But their only reward is a jolt of pain that knocks them clean off their feet, and leaves them clutching their head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Forget I asked. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. You should save your strength.”

You both turn in for bed soon enough. Tomorrow is a big day indeed.

The big day has arrived.

Entering the House is the same as ever, and you traverse first few rooms on autopilot. It’s not until you’re approaching the Death Corridor that you need to truly intervene.

“Wait,” you say as Siffrin’s hand touches the doorknob. “The next room is dangerous. Mirabelle called it the ‘Death Corridor.’ Siffrin found a switch which disarms the trap, but you all should stay in the doorway to be safe.”

“Wow,” says Mirabelle. “It’s so strange, knowing you’ve seen all this before. I guess by now you’ve got most of the traps memorized.”

“Indeed,” you say. “So you just sit tight.”

Seven eyes watch you as you approach the switch, but one is clearly sharper than the others. Only Siffrin’s voice reaches you with a cry of “Look out!” before—

—the pain. Why does it hurt so much? The stinging pain of impact follows you into the non-space between timelines, and does not leave. It hurts, and it keeps hurting, and in this place without time it will hurt for as long as you let it.

You scream. You shout into the void, shout every obscenity you know in two languages, shout until your lungs should be sore. Over the constant background chaos, you can’t even tell if it made a sound.

Why? You did everything right this time, didn’t you?

Didn’t you?

Screaming won’t get you out of here, so eventually you start to count. This pot won’t boil until you watch it, after all. The pain from your death has already faded well before you reach a hundred-and-twenty.

“—did you wish for?” asks Siffrin, yet again.

“I think,” you say, “that that’s a secret. For now.”

Chapter Text

“So that’s more or less the situation,” you conclude. “Any questions?”

Your audience, such as it is, considers this only for a moment before deciding he has many questions indeed.

“My first question,” says Isabeau, “is why are you only telling me? I understand not wanting to tell Bonnie, but Mira and Sif should hear this too! Shouldn’t we go get them?”

“We can’t tell them,” you say, calmly. “In fact, I went out of my way to keep them from overhearing this.”

Indeed, you’ve brought Isabeau out to the base of the favor tree for this conversation. A bit overkill, perhaps, but necessary. Every last resident of this town knows Mirabelle. You cannot afford for anything to be overheard which will filter its way back to her.

“As for why,” you continue, “I tried that first. Or, well, that’s not really true. I tried stubbornly keeping everything to myself first. But I did tell everyone last time! And then I died. When we entered the House, the first trap triggered much earlier than on any previous attempt.”

Isabeau looks skeptical. “You think the trap triggered… because you were honest? A day earlier?”

“It must have,” you insist. “I didn’t do anything in the House that I hadn’t already done successfully. I can only conclude that it was a result of the one thing I did differently that loop. Even if I can’t fathom how.”

“So… why tell me?”

“Two reasons,” you say. “First, I need you to make special preparations before we enter the House. I need to you recreate that craft technique I described. I expect we’ll need this in every loop.”

“For that door, you mean?” Isabeau says. “Yeah, I can do that. I think I can rope in Mirabelle too without telling her why we need it. You said there were two reasons though?”

“Yes,” you say, then hesitate. “The other reason is more… personal. You were the one who was most insistent that I share the truth in future loops. You thought I would drive myself crazy if I hid it again, and you’re probably right. So if I have to risk telling just one person, you seem like a fitting choice.”

“I… see. Thank you, I guess? For the vote of confidence. And, um, listening.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So is it just the two of us against the world, from now on? Secret future knowledge buddies?”

“Hopefully not for long. There is a room in the House with information about the traps. I’m hoping if we just get there, I can find out what went wrong last time.”

Isabeau laughs. “Really? You didn’t already read up on all the traps? That doesn’t sound like you at all, Madame.”

“I… perhaps I should have, but I didn’t. By the time I reached that room we’d already bypassed this trap several times. I was only worried about any traps that were still ahead of us.”

“If you say so. At least we have a plan. We find that room. You read up on the trap. Hopefully you realize some obvious reason that things went wrong, and it’s limited to the one trap. After that, we can fill everyone else in.”

You hesitate a bit too long before responding that “We… could.”

“That’s… not the enthusiastic response I expected.”

You sigh. “This is a bit embarrassing, but…”

You trail off, not sure how to explain the problem without losing face.

“But?” Isabeau prompts, looking expectant.

There’s no avoiding it. “I’ve been having trouble keeping events straight in the last few attempts. What we did or didn’t do. What conversations were held when. Which of my actions actually changed things. It’s… disorienting. So if we’re going to be playing dumb anyways, I was hoping we can use this attempt to form a baseline.”

“Just how many times have we done this?” Isabeau asks.

“This will be the tenth attempt.”

“Ouch,” he says. “So what do you mean when you talk about this… baseline?”

“I won’t intervene in anything that’s not strictly necessary for our safety. Only the things which I need to repeat in every single loop. You can just say and do whatever you think you would have done normally. Once I’ve done that, I’ll know that any deviation is the result of my own actions.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, “but that might just be the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“What?” you ask, a bit too surprised to be properly outraged.

“I’m serious,” he says. “If you do a whole bunch of things differently than you did last time, you’ll make things even more different. And like, maybe different is good! Whatever we did before didn’t work. But it sounds like you already have an idea what you need to change to fix those problems. So if your goal is to make things less confusing, the best thing you can do is… whatever you already did.”

“You want me to repeat exactly what I did last time?”

“It’s just a suggestion,” he says. “Besides, this is hopefully the last time where you don’t tell everyone the truth while we’re still in Dormont. Once that’s done, nobody will care if you remember something wrong.”

“It’s an interesting perspective. May I have a moment to think about this?”

Isabeau nods, and you take a few minutes to gather your thoughts.

Your most recent attempt can be discarded out of hand, since you never made it past the Death Corridor.

The attempt before that, you were too obvious about your foreknowledge. It’s difficult to tell how much difference that made. But trying to replicate the same level of suspicion sounds like a recipe for insanity, so you’ll just try to keep it to minimum.

Beyond that, there’s been two main sources of variance on the first two floors. How worried are the others about your well-being? And do you let Siffrin “find” things or “find” them yourself?

The former question is beyond your ability to control. As for the latter… you might as well just make the most practical option become the baseline. You’ll “find” all the keys because that saves time. Siffrin can disarm the first trap since you don’t know what you did wrong last time. And you’ll visit every storeroom while you’re at it, because more supplies can’t hurt.

The third floor is a moot point. You’ve yet to visit it without the party in a state of extreme distress.

“I’m going take your advice,” you announce. “At least until we reach the trap room. After that, there’s not enough of an established pattern to be worth considering. But… I’d take it as a personal favor if you keep this a secret even past that point. The one thing I can avoid is an extra variation on me trying to convince everyone about time travel.”

“That’s fair,” he says with a nod. “So I can be your secret time travel buddy, just this once.”

“Secret time travel buddies,” you repeat, failing to stifle a grin.

“Yup! Now if that’s settled, we've got some last-minute training to organize.”

Between the two of you, you easily convince Mirabelle to join Isabeau in his last minute training session. You leave Siffrin out of it. You already know who will and won’t walk away with a promising craft skill, so there’s no point wasting Siffrin’s time. Better to let him goof off for a few hours rather than frustrate himself.

As for yourself…

You’ve already exhausted anything that looks useful in the library. You’ve already exhausted all the useful intelligence you can extract from the townsfolk without a specific line of inquiry. You’ve already convinced Bonnie to dispose of the pineapple and you’ve already secured your coin.

You have no pressing tasks and ample time to kill.

You… could question Siffrin about wishes again. Arguably, you should. But… you can’t forget their panic and pain from the last time you tried that. You’re not ready to subject them to that again, not unless you’ve entirely run out of other safe options. Not to mention, fishing for wish information in (hopefully) the very last loop where you can’t explain why it’s important… that would feel a bit dishonest.

So no, you won’t be asking them directly about wishes today.

But there might be a way to skirt around the edges of the issue. The boundaries of what will trigger that… backlash… are confusing.

Twice in the same loop, you asked for information about wishes which came from a family member, with unsurprising results. But later, he tried to recall information which should have been unrelated, about a childish escapade, and he forgot again. Did the earlier questions poison the memory of Siffrin’s parents, or has it always been broader than you thought?

You desperately hope that if your questions are causing damage, it won’t be cumulative between loops. You’re not sure what you’d do with yourself if it was.

But there’s no point dwelling in hypotheticals and worst-case scenarios. You need to know. It's in your nature.

You already did the hard work of tracking Siffrin down in a previous loop. You find him in the same spot as before, but hours earlier. The children (all three are present this time) are just now explaining to Siffrin the rules to their card game. This is probably the best time to interrupt them.

“Hello children,” you say, announcing your presence. “I’m afraid I need to borrow Siffrin for a while. If you’re going to stay near here, I’ll send him back your way when we’re done.”

“Whyyyyy?” whines one of the children, dragging out the word for a good six seconds. “We were just about to start our game!”

“Would you rather I interrupt you in the middle of the game?”

There’s some more grumbling all around, but Siffrin does follow you away from the group. You lead him to the Favor Tree again, mostly to dissuade the children from eavesdropping. Honestly, you’re coming to like this tree as a place to talk in private.

“What’s this about, Madame?” asks Siffrin, once you’re both seated among the tree’s roots.

You don’t have a good lie planned, so you might as well just ask directly.

“I am doing some research which I believe will help us against the King,” you say. “I’m afraid I can’t explain why this is important, but I need to ask you some questions about your past.”

“My past like… before coming to Vaugarde?”

“More like your childhood.”

Siffrin looks away and tries to shrink behind their cloak. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s important,” you say. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I don’t need to go very deep. Just… did you have any siblings growing up?”

Siffrin thinks (for far too long given the question), then shakes their head. “No. It was just me.”

“What about cousins? An older one, perhaps? Female?”

You can’t help but hold your breath as Siffrin pauses, before again answering “No. No cousins either.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, earning a glare and a sarcastic “yes.”

“What about parents?” you ask. “Surely you must have had parents, right? Tell me something about them.”

The edges of your vision blur as Siffrin thinks about their past. Does that mean you’re getting closer, or just tempting fate?

Neither, it seems.

The world returns to sharp focus as his face turns from concentration to frustration. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. Is there a point to all this?”

“Siffrin, the gaps in your memory are the point. Unless you were extremely young when you left, you should be able to remember something about your family. A name, a face, the number of people… something.”

“I don’t,” he insists. “And I don’t want to think about it. You can go ahead and laugh at me for it if you want.”

“What?” you ask, taken aback. “Is that really what you think of me? That I’d make fun of you for this?”

“You make fun of me for forgetting things all the time.”

You open your mouth to rebut this… then close it.

He’s not wrong.

You do make fun of Siffrin for forgetting things. Words, tasks, conversations. It seemed like an amusing quirk of their personality. A minor shortcoming no different from any other. You never considered that it might be a sign of a much deeper problem, a problem whose horrible scale you’re only beginning to fathom.

But moreover, you never considered that those comments might hurt Siffrin. That when they curled up behind their hat and cloak, when their face turned dark, they weren’t just being playful. That your words held weight.

You should have known better.

You’re all guilty, but you especially should have known better. You’re supposed to be the adult in the room, the voice of wisdom. How could you have gone on like this, for months? Blithely unaware of the damage you were causing.

“I’m sorry,” you say out loud. But sorry doesn’t come close to covering it. You don’t have the words to make this right. There probably aren’t any.

Siffrin doesn’t look mollified.

“Please,” you say. “I am not asking this to gain ammunition against you. I am asking you because I genuinely believe that knowing the extent of this problem may save our lives. Is there anything you can remember about your home? Your family? Anything?”

To their credit, they do try. You can tell they’re trying, because your vision blurs again and the noises around you fade into static. For a few moments, nothing in the world exists except for you and Siffrin.

You smell the faintest hint of sugar…

Everything snaps back.

You know before they even open their mouth that you’ve failed. You know even before they ask you “What’s this about, Madame?”

You still need to ask. “Siffrin, what were we just talking about?”

They give you a confused look. “We… just got here. Is this a test?”

“No, it’s… never mind. There’s only one more question I need to ask. Have you always had difficulty remembering your childhood, or is it recent?

Siffrin looks at you, rightly offended. “What kind of question is that?”

“A yes or no question, phrased badly. Let me make it simpler: Were you able to remember your childhood a week ago?”

“No,” he says, seemingly too confused now to be upset. “I’ve… always had a bad memory.”

“In that case, we’re done. Go find your new friends.”

Siffrin is looking at you like you’ve completely lost your mind, but they do leave. Their steps are a bit shaky, and their breath is a bit too ragged for a person who’s been sitting down for the past ten minutes, but they do leave.

You almost, almost stop them as they’re leaving to say “I’m sorry” again.

But you don’t do that . What would it even accomplish?

Chapter Text

Siffrin has completely forgotten your strange behavior by the time you meet for dinner at the clocktower. Isabeau… has not. He doesn’t say anything, but he eats slowly and keeps stealing glances at you. You’re doing much the same, even if your poor appetite has nothing to do with worry.

It’s a bit of a surprise, given how optimistic he seemed earlier. Was that an act? Even if not, he’s had several hours to stew on the knowledge.

When Mirabelle gives her speech, Isabeau misses his cue to reassure her. You jump in with the same words he should have said, and he gives a halfhearted reassurance which roughly matches what you’ve been saying the past few nights.

Mirabelle notices.

As the rest of you are clearing the table, she makes a beeline for Isabeau and pulls him aside for a private conversation.

You can’t eavesdrop without being very obvious to Siffrin and Bonnie. Under normal circumstances, “setting a good example for Boniface” would be an unimpeachable argument for staying put. Given the time loop, it feels more like a sad joke. Still, you’re not confident that either of your allies will keep it secret if you eavesdrop, and you do not want to have an open conversation about what’s wrong. So you let them have their privacy.

By the time she’s done speaking with him, it’s time for bed. You can’t delay it to give him a second “feelings talk” without raising suspicions, and you’re not sure you want to anyways. Keeping your secret for now is not negotiable. There’s no point discussing it if you cannot compromise.

For the first time since you started looping, Isabeau doesn’t try to confess to Siffrin. Your sleep is still plagued by visions of death and failure, but those visions remain uninterrupted.

Morning comes mercifully soon, and quickly finds you entering the House.

At the Death Corridor, you give Siffrin only your customary hint about the trap being in the ceiling. You hold your breath as they approach the pillar, but the boulder drops harmlessly onto an empty floor.

You and Isabeau both try to keep up the friendly conversation as you explore the first two floors of the House. You’re… mostly successful.

Twice, the conversation drifts to Siffrin’s poor memory. First in the weapon-smithing room, when he fails to name any of the tools within. And again in the library, when you let the group read a second passage from the diary while you “find” the key. There’s… no other way to describe it than teasing. Shards, you really have been doing this the whole time.

You say nothing, both times. Perhaps there should be an uncomfortable conversation about this, but it’s a conversation you’re only willing to have once.

You find a key in the shape of a crying mask in the classroom, where it’s been waiting all along. It was hidden inside a child’s notebook explicitly labeled “DO NOT TOUCH!” Apparently, that’s enough to overcome Siffrin’s supernatural key-finding ability.

Not long after, you arrive in the trap-making room. You insist that it’s worth taking the time to read up on these traps, and nobody is in any mood to argue against it. You only really have eyes for one trap, though, and it doesn’t take long to find it.

You begin to read, and… that can’t be right.

“Mirabelle?” you ask. “I usually consider my Vaugardian to be pretty good, but I think I’m reading this wrong. This name here, does that not mean what I think it means?”

Mirabelle looks at it, and immediately grows worried.

“Because,” you continue, “it really looks to me like someone decided to create something called a ‘If-you-feel-safe-it-activates-o-trap’.”

“That… is what it says,” she agrees.

“Why?” you all-but-shout.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “A lot of these traps are just theoretical. Are you sure they even made this one?”

“They did,” you say. “This is the trap that nearly flattened us in the Death Corridor.”

“Oh,” she says.

“‘Oh’ indeed,” you say. “Somebody thought it was a good idea to design a trap which, rather than distinguishing friend from foe in any rational way, slaughters anyone who does not believe they are in a life threatening situation. Am I understanding that correctly?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Maybe they were just showing off?” she offers. “Trying to prove that they can craft a device that detects fear? Nobody ever expected we’d have to turn on the traps.”

“A lethal deathtrap is not the place for ‘just showing off’.”

“Well I didn’t make it!”

“Madame,” interrupts Isabeau. “I do totally agree with you that this is a bad idea for a trap. But maybe it’s not that irresponsible? They did warn the Housemaidens that this hallway has a dangerous trap, so none of them would feel safe there. Mirabelle was terrified, remember? In a crisis where they’d have to turn on the traps, the only people with permission to wander the house would be Housemaidens and people with a Housemaiden. Maybe they were counting on that to be enough?”

You do stop to consider what he said, and it has some merit. But you are in no way ready to concede the point.

“That vague warning,” you say, “was not nearly enough. Not without explaining how to disarm it, or how it worked. It… could have triggered anyways, as soon as they thought they’d taken sufficient precautions.”

You can’t say out loud that it did trigger in that way, that even in the ideal circumstances Isabeau describes it still backfired. But you hope he gets the message.

“They couldn’t do that,” he says. “If they knew how it worked, they wouldn’t be scared enough. In fact, if Mirabelle even thought that somebody with her knew how to disarm it, it could trigger early. Right?”

“...Right,” you say, with only a bit of hesitation.

He may or may not have gotten your meaning, but you certainly get his. This is the reason you died last time, and the thing you must avoid in future attempts. There’s just one highly specific portion of the truth which you cannot tell them too early.

For completeness’ sake, you also read up on the other genuine trap, the one guarding the Head Housemaiden’s office. This one, at least, was designed with some semblance of logic. It was meant to trap thieves inside the room, rather than crush them. There is also supposed to be an openphrase you could announce before entering to disarm it. Sadly, the correct phrase is not written in the book. Anyone who would know it is long since frozen.

There’s no explanation for why it only triggers the second time you pass through the door. You can only assume that was the result of human error.

The strong sadnesses guarding the stairs fall easily enough under your assault. They correctly identify guess you and Siffrin as the best targets for time craft, which could have been dangerous, but Mirabelle is prepared with her craft to unfreeze you. You talked strategy with Isabeau well in advance, so when the time comes to keep them separated while you finish off the first sadness, you only need to shout his name.

With the attacking sadness slain, you’re left to dispatch the supporting one. Mirabelle organizes a team attack among your users of scissors-craft, to get the team back in top shape. If you pull your punches a bit as you finish it off, nobody seems to notice.

During the ensuing snack break, you manage to pull Isabeau aside for a private word.

“So,” you begin awkwardly. “It seems we solved the trap mystery.”

“We did,” he agrees.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” you say. “The part about keeping events straight. But I can tell that this secret is weighing on you. If you want me to explain things to everyone… now is the time.”

Isabeau gives this proper consideration before shaking his head. “It’s not the secret that’s bothering me. It’s the knowing. If we tell everyone, that doesn’t make it easier for me. It’ll just be harder for them.”

You clearly don’t look convinced, because he feels the need to keep talking.

“Besides,” he says, “I only have to put up with this for another hour or two. I can do that. You’re stuck with it for way longer.”

“That hour or two could be your last ones,” you remind him.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s like they didn’t happen at all. Or maybe we’ll win! Just… don’t worry about me, okay? Do whatever makes this easiest on you.”

What’s easiest for you is silence, so you remain silent. You proceed to the third floor, secrets unshared.

It’s strange, being on this floor while everyone is still in high spirits. While everyone is perfectly willing to stop and chatter about any inane thing you find. You’re even able to lose yourself in the moment for a bit.

Siffrin finds the key by the mirror just fine, but he completely misses the secret passage in the storage room. Perhaps they weren’t trying as hard to look, or haven’t had time to use any wish-magic with how fast you’ve been finding the keys. Regardless of the reason, you are forced to “find” it yourself when the group is about to leave.

Unlike last time, Mirabelle is perfectly willing to engage in conversation about the collection of romance novels in this hidden room. In fact, her confusion about certain topics reveals significantly more about herself than she ever meant to share. You refrain from any smug comments, but you’re not able to hide your smile.

More important, perhaps, is the letter to home. Even without any input from you, the conversation naturally steers itself towards Siffrin describing an incident from their childhood.

You won’t learn anything if he tells the same story. Fortunately, you had more than enough time to plan for this.

As soon as Siffrin announces that the reason for their departure was a mere plate of vegetables, you interrupt with a question. “What did your sister think of that?”

It’s a wild guess, but there’s nothing to lose if you guessed wrong.

“Excuse you,” Siffrin says, with an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “I don’t have a sister. My sibling thought I was totally in the right.”

“Really?” you ask. “And just how old was this sibling, to make that call?”

“Two years younger than me,” says Siffrin. “But they knew I didn’t like broccoli.”

“You never mentioned a sibling,” says Mirabelle, brightly. “What was their name?”

Siffrin freezes up, and you immediately know that this question was too direct. It plays out exactly how you’ve come to expect. He realizes that he can’t remember the name, he descends into a panic attack, the edges of your vision begin to blur as he tries harder, then…

“What were we talking about again?”

“Your sibling,” says Mirabelle, looking worried. “I was asking you about your sibling.”

“What sibling?” asks Siffrin.

“You were just talking about them?”

Isabeau and Bonnie look just as confused as Mirabelle. That’s… probably as much data as you can hope to get from this conversation.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, looking directly at Siffrin. Then, looking to the others and raising your voice, you repeat “Don’t.”

They look worried, but back off.

From there, most of the rest of the floor is uneventful. You visit the pottery classroom, Mirabelle’s bedroom, and the third of the obscured sadnesses (which goes down much easier now that you know its craft type). When it comes time to use the tear-banishing medallion, you express a hunch that you should use it on the western-most row of tears. Isabeau enthusiastically agrees, and you proceed to do just that.

Beyond the locked door with its crying-mask key, the first thing you find is a bathroom. Given that this is the first bathroom you’ve encountered since entering the House, you all agree to take a few minutes before you proceed. What anyone does with that time is their business.

Past the bathroom is… a dead end.

Shattering gems.

The only thing of note in the room at the end of this hallway is a single statue of the Change God. It is the first one you’ve encountered which is still intact, but hardly seems useful.

Still, your Vaugardian allies all choose to take this moment to pray. Even Siffrin closes their eyes in deep thought, though their lips aren’t moving and you don’t think they’re making a wish.

As for you…

You haven’t actually prayed to any of the Expressions since the loops started. It wasn’t an intentional choice, not really, just… something that happened. Between the discovery of verifiable magic and the looping time, it felt like your current situation was outside their reach. Each Expression covers a fairly specific domain, and “time travel” certainly isn’t one of them.

Still.

The ones relating directly to battle and victory seem rather… irrelevant by now, however blasphemous that feels to think. But the Expression of Knowledge… they’re the one who saw you through this far. You offer a silent thanks for their support.

You sense a bright flash of light against your closed eyelids. When your eyes open, Siffrin is holding a strange knife.

Your party scarcely has time to speculate on the origins of this knife (seemingly a gift from the Change God) before a second flash of light disorients you. When your vision clears, you’re back in the main hallway.

Everyone offers their assorted thanks, then approaches the door.

Siffrin makes a single wide slash with his new knife. The threads holding the door shut crumble away.

“How did you do that?” you shout, rushing forward and grabbing their shoulders.

“I just… did a normal attack?” says Siffrin, flinching back. “I think it was the knife that did most of the work.”

“But how?” you ask. “None of our other attacks worked.”

You realize your mistake almost as soon as the words are out of your mouth, before you even see the confused stares.

“What… are you talking about?” asks Mirabelle.

“I mean” you say, scrambling for a distraction, “They’re frozen. They might as well be rocks. I wouldn’t expect a normal attack from any of us to make more than a dent.”

Mercifully, Mirabelle doesn’t press your small slip-up. “It was blessed by the change god,” she says. “Maybe that’s why it worked?”

“But Belle is blessed too,” says Bonnie. “Why’d we have to get a whole second blessing?”

Only the immediate proximity to your previous mistake prevents you from blurting out something which Mirabelle would have a much harder time brushing off. Instead, you let her fumble with words and try to deflect with a claim that “That’s… different.”

You’re secretly glad that she didn’t reveal the truth. After all this work keeping things secret, you’re not ready for yet another permutation of that discussion.

Guarding the stairs up is, unsurprisingly, another strong sadness. Six floating hands sporting all three craft symbols surround a central figure, presenting a target rich environment.

You open with all of the wide-area attacks at your disposal, confirming your initial guess that the central figure is fully protected by its hands. Rather than wait out the cooldown, you then band together for a scissors-type team attack (since that is by far the easiest for your group to manage). That proves enough to finish off the paper-type hands, and it doesn’t take much more to pick off the two scissors hands. The rock hands fall last, leaving the central figure with only time craft to defend itself. A few more attacks finish it off.

With that, the way forward is clear.

In the hallway guarded by this sadness is another Housemaiden, who Mirabelle identifies as her roommate. Seeing her in this frozen state is… hard for Mirabelle. You can only stand by helplessly as she works herself into a fit describing the woman, and as Isabeau and Bonnie (mostly the former) talk her out of it.

This feelings stuff… you’ve never been good at it. Even before the loops, you were usually happy to stand aside and let your younger colleagues handle these problems. But recently… you’ve been avoiding it outright. Letting more and more distance form between you and them.

You chose to keep lying an hour ago solely to avoid having a talk about Mirabelle’s emotions.

You can tell yourself it’s logical, that it’s pointless to discuss things they won’t remember, that it would be wrong to know secrets they don’t remember telling… but there’s nothing stopping you from saying the same thing every time. The truth is, it’s easier not to engage. Not to have the conversation.

It’s always been easier. Time travel is just a good excuse.

It’s not like you need to maintain these relationships much longer. Even if you win, your journey together will end today.

…

When Mirabelle has calmed down a bit, Siffrin announces that they found something of note. Mirabelle’s roommate had one of the missing ingredients for the craft bomb on her person, clutched tightly in her hand. It makes some sense to find it here. But it does mean that you never had any prayer of assembling that bomb in time to use against the door.

Beyond the frozen Housemaiden is another safe room. Mirabelle informs you that there’s not much House left for the King to be hiding in. When you leave this room, you will face the king.

Chapter Text

You’re worried that the last of the snack breaks (you desperately don’t want to think of it as anyone’s “last meal”) will be a tense affair. Fortunately, Boniface lifts the mood a bit by presenting that strange foreign dish to Siffrin. “Malanga Fritters.” You’ve already seen their reaction once, but watching them salivate over (and subsequently devour) the dish with the chef present is another matter entirely.

It’s enough of a sight that you don’t even mind your own samosas being tasteless and burnt. Given that this dish is actually burnt (to the apparent shame of the chef), you don’t even have to feel bad about not enjoying it properly.

Eventually, the meal ends. Everyone checks their weapons one last time. You perform a quick stretch. Isabeau asks Mirabelle how she’s doing for the final time. And, with no further excuses to stall, you proceed forward.

The hallway at the top of the stairs is similar in size to the central halls below it, but this one is completely dominated by the presence of the King’s curse. Tears line the walls on all sides except the one you entered from, boxing you in and narrowing the world for this final confrontation. Those white threads, which were found sporadically across the previous floor, are omnipresent here. Except for a few feet near the entrance, the entire floor is coated with them.

Dominating the room is the object of your quest, the King. Even kneeling, sobbing into his fists, he towers over you and your allies. His size seems too great to have possibly entered this room, or to have any hope of leaving it. News reports and Mirabelle’s own testimony had him much smaller than this, though still larger than any human. His body must have grown at least twofold after reaching this place, having decided he had no need to ever leave.

Armor covers his already imposing frame, while his fists block his face. The only thing you can see clearly is the darkless hair which spills from his head onto the surrounding floor. You realize with a start that the hair is the thread covering the floor. There is no difference in shade between the hair on his head and the frozen threads from earlier. Stepping forward onto it with your allies, you realize that none of this hair is frozen, though it still coats the floor so thickly to make footing treacherous.

Neither the hair nor the armor impedes the King’s movement as he stands to his full, towering height. Your arrival has not gone unnoticed.

He speaks directly to Mirabelle. In a booming voice, he declares his desire for an unchanging world and makes an extremely ill-conceived plea for her to join his side. She rebuffs him, of course, and is joined by her two Vaugardian allies. It’s hard to imagine any other way this conversation could have gone.

Until he seems to notice something unexpected .

“Wait,” says the King, then turns. “You, traveler.”

You and Siffrin exchange a confused look, unsure who he’s speaking to, but he clarifies himself soon enough.

“Bright one,” he says. “Do you remember?”

Siffrin can only stare at him in confusion. “Remember what?”

“Oh,” says the King. “It seems you do not.” Then he turns to you, and a note of hope tinges his voice. “But what of you? You, who knows and practices our ways. Surely you must remember?”

“Our ways?” you ask, mind skipping a beat at this unexpected claim. “What are you… talking about?”

“Of course,” he says, and his voice falls. “It was too much to hope. In that case… we shall fight. And we shall see which side the universe favors!”

Even having said that, the King spouts some drivel about giving you time to prepare as an act of mercy. Nobody buys it, but you each spend this moment on support crafts, preparing to strike with vigor when the real fight begins.

“It is time, saviors.”

The King lowers his fists from in front of his face, and—

You are in a grand hallway. You have no memory of how you came here. Stone walls and floors surround you, but vanish from your mind as you look away. The air smells of burnt sugar.

Your head throbs.

You look to your left. Four strangers stand beside you. You look to your right. You are alone. You look forward. A giant stands before you. You hate this man, you think, but you cannot remember why. You cannot remember who he is.

Your head throbs.

You turn and run from the hall. Voices call behind you, although there was no-one in the room with you.

Your head throbs.

You are on a grand staircase. You have no memory of how you came here. You have no memory of what you did before coming here. You have no memory of the last year of your life. You remember a decision to travel, but not a destination or a reason. You remember an ailing father, and the painful absence of something… but not what.

Your head throbs.

You descend the stairs into a grand hall, and immediately forget how you entered it. This… there is something attacking your mind. You know this. You need to leave but can only navigate blindly. You… remember the trick to do this. You place your right hand against the wall. If you follow this wall, you will eventually escape.

Your head throbs.

You are in a narrow hallway. You have no memory of how you came here, but your right hand is pressed against the wall. You must be following this wall to escape the maze. You remember this trick.

Your head throbs.

You are in a room dominated by a huge window. The night sky is visible outside. You cannot remember why that is important. There is a pile of books, but looking at them makes your head hurt worse as the symbols blend together. There is a pile of papers, but looking at them makes your head hurt worse as the symbols blend together. There is a single book on a table, and looking at it does not hurt your head. The book is about colors.

Your head throbs.

There is a globe in the room. You examine it. There is a spot in the ocean where the paint has been worn away. Below that…

Something is missing from this globe. It is not there, but it is supposed to be there, but it was never there, but it was there before. A place is missing. That place is important. You want to remember. You must remember.

The pain in your head grows sharper as you struggle to remember.

You must remember the name. Surely, if you remember the name you can fix this. You just have to remember. You just have to say it.

You open your mouth. Say what feels right. “Vau—”

Pain.

Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain—

You are in a grand hallway. Everything hurts.

A giant of a man stands before you. Your sworn enemy, you think. There may be others beside you, but you cannot move your head.

“Bonnie,” calls a young woman’s voice from beside you. “Just run!”

After a moment of hesitation, footsteps retreat behind you. Whoever this Bonnie is, you hope they make it to safety.

“Please,” says the woman. “Do whatever you want with us. But don’t hurt Bonnie. Please.”

“Ooooooh,” breathes out the man in front of you. “Do not worry. After I take care of you all, the young one will have a wonderful rest.”

He prepares to strike. You cannot move your body, but… with effort, you do find your voice.

“Wait,” you call, ignoring the pain. “What… what was that?”

The man pauses to think.

“That,” he says at length, “was the future. The future which will come if I fail to act. The reason I must do this.”

He raises both fists above his head, and whispers “forgive me” before bringing them down.

You are back in the place of swirling chaos. It hurts, but not nearly so much as the pain you just felt. It is confusing, but not nearly so much as the confusion you just felt.

You remember this place, or at least its existence. Your mind feels like mush, you remember almost nothing, but you know you’ve been here before.

Counting. You’re supposed to count to make it go faster, or to make it… seem faster. You begin to count.

You make it a little past one-hundred before—

“—did you—are you okay?”

Your legs collapse from under you almost as soon as awareness returns.

You’re outside, in daylight. Grassy dirt softened your fall a bit, but whatever damage the fall did to your body is nothing compared to the lingering pain in your head.

A person rushes to aid you, though they seem unsure how to help. They help you into a sitting position with your back against the large tree nearby. They wear a strange darkless cloak and hat which feel familiar.

Siffrin. This person’s name is Siffrin.

“What happened?” asks Siffrin. “Should I get Mira? I… I should find Mira. She’d know what to do.”

Memories are returning, in fits and starts. This Mira… Mirabelle… Yes, you need to speak to her. It’s important. But not just her.

You unsteadily push yourself to your feet, and are relieved to find that your legs still hold you. Siffrin hovers, torn between the need to catch you if you fall and an unwillingness to touch you if you don’t.

“She’s outside the library,” you say. “We do need to speak to her, but not just her. All… four of you need to hear about this.”

“Hear about what?” asks Siffrin.

“Many things,” you say. “We’re not ready for tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Collecting your scattered allies gives you enough time to get your memories in order.

You don’t… think you’ve forgotten anything you knew before. It feels like you have everything. But if you’ve learned one thing from talking to Siffrin these past days, it’s that magically-suppressed memories aren’t clearly visible from the inside. Siffrin naturally avoids thinking about forbidden topics, and when a conversation strays too close anyways they almost always forget it afterwards. If you yourself had such a blind spot, could you even tell?

Perhaps if you write everything down. But what would you even write? Everything that’s happened since you started looping? It could help, in theory, but you could just as easily “forget” the problem areas on a reread. Your notes would only last one day, even in the best case.

You should try it anyways, if you have time later today. But for now, informing your allies of the situation takes priority.

You sit by passively as the others reassure Mirabelle, after hearing the truth about her blessing. You listen, you don’t talk, and it’s… fine. It’s fine.

This is what you chose, and you chose it for a reason. Any alternative would be worse.

That done, you re-explain almost everything you told them last time. You fudge the truth about the first trap, pretending that it fires off early about one time in five for no obvious reason. The alternate methods of breaching the third-floor door are obviously unneeded now, but you still mention the bomb and Isabeau’s craft technique.

Eventually you reach the part with no obvious solution: The King.

“When we fought him,” you say, “he used an attack that… I’m not even sure how to describe it. Attack might not even be the right word. It was more like I was transported to another world. One where I couldn’t remember… pretty much anything that I wasn’t directly looking at. Even trying caused backlash, like what happens to Siffrin.”

“What happens to me?” asks the rogue in question.

Oh right, you didn’t mention that. “Siffrin, when you try too hard to remember details of your past, something… bad happens. The world distorts, and something hurts you. Physically hurts you. The time we pushed hardest, it hurt me as well. You almost always forget the event as soon as it’s over. I… don’t know why this happens, but I’m almost positive that was happening to me in that vision.”

Siffrin falls silent, and looks pensive. You can only hope that they’re trying to compare this knowledge against events they remember. If so, they don’t reach any conclusion they’re willing to say out loud.

“Hold on,” says Mirabelle. “Siffrin forgets the whole thing happened, but you’re telling us about it now. Is it really the same thing?”

“That’s… a very good question,” you admit. “At the time I couldn’t even remember Siffrin existed, so I definitely couldn’t make that connection. Looking back now… it’s a bit fuzzy, but I remember most of what happened. Whatever was forcing me to forget was doing so in the moment, and it’s gone now.”

There’s a few moments of silent thought before Boniface voices the obvious question.

“So how do we not get our brains exploded?”

“Maybe a shield?” says Siffrin. “Like, a craft shield. If the problem is one devastating attack, we need something to stop him from hitting us with that attack.”

Bonnie is unimpressed. “We don’t have a craft shield, stupid.”

“I-I was thinking about learning!” says Mirabelle. “And I feel like I'm close to getting it! But... I'm not there yet. Sorry.”

“Would that even work?” asks Isabeau. “It doesn’t sound like any craft I’ve heard of.”

Could it work?

“Maybe,” you say. “Before he killed us, the King called whatever he did ‘a vision of the future’. And Mirabelle seemed a lot less affected than me. She still couldn’t defend herself afterward, but she was at least lucid. She had enough presence of mind to tell Bonnie to flee, and to convince the King to spare them.”

You try to ignore the way Bonnie’s face falls at this revelation.

Mirabelle gives you a worried look of her own. “That’s less affected?”

“I couldn’t even remember who you were at that moment,” you admit. “The point is, Mirabelle is resistant to the King’s curse and may have been resistant to that attack. It’s possible that a shield crafted by Mirabelle, and only a shield crafted by Mirabelle, would protect us.”

“But I can’t craft a shield,” she says. “And I’ve been working on it for weeks. It’s not going to come to me in one afternoon.”

“Then we’ll give you as many afternoons as it takes,” you say. “I can report back to you each day what did and didn’t work. Better yet, I’ll help with the research. It sounds like you’ve been working on this by yourself. Two heads might be better than one.”

“What about three heads?” asks Isabeau. “I know lots about using craft for defense. That’s what protector craft is best at!”

“Belle doesn’t do protector craft,” points out Bonnie.

“I’d still love the help,” she says. “From all of you!”

Siffrin shifts a bit and tries to hide under his hat. This does not go unnoticed.

“It’s okay if you sit this one out, Sif,” says Isabeau. “There were other loose threads in Madame Odile’s story. I’m sure there’s some other way you can help out.”

“Or you can just relax,” you suggest. “Enjoy this afternoon. You might not get another chance.”

Siffrin mumbles some kind of assent, before they and Boniface leave in separate directions. The three of you who agreed to do research break out the blank paper and get to work.

When the setting sun and rumbling bellies force you to abandon the library, you feel like you’re further from an answer than you started.

Mirabelle has introductory-level knowledge of every type of craft you’ve heard of, but advanced knowledge of only a few. Shields are not one of them. Her half-finished shield spell is based on what she can remember from a four-week course she attended almost three years ago. It’s a wonder she remembers anything at all.

Isabeau has a surprisingly good grasp of the theory behind craft in general and defensive craft in particular. But everything he knows is rooted in a type of craft which Mirabelle cannot perform. It would probably be easier to teach him a new shield craft than Mirabelle, but you have no reason to think that would protect you from the King’s attack. As is, all he can do is correct her mistakes.

Your own performance is the most disappointing. You like to think of yourself as versatile, having taught yourself to use craft skills from all three categories, but the truth is that those are all offensive. Defensive craft, whether it’s the type Isabeau uses or the type you’re trying to teach Mirabelle, is something you never studied. Mirabelle and Isabeau’s technical discussions leave your head spinning. It’s all you can do to follow along well enough to steer them away from any dead ends on the next attempt.

The library, of course, is useless. But you weren’t expecting it to provide you with anything more than an ample supply of blank paper.

You meet up with the others at the Clocktower for dinner. The only person with good news to report, surprisingly enough, is Siffrin.

“Tadah!” they say, pulling a strange device from his cloak. It means nothing to you, but Isabeau lights up on seeing it.

“A long thingy-thing!” he cries. “Sif, where did you even find this? These are not easy to get. They’re, uh, kinda illegal.”

Siffrin graces you all with what you assume to be a wink. “A good wizard never reveals their tricks.”

“You’re adorable,” you say with as much sarcasm as you can muster. “But you do actually need to tell me where you got it, so we can find it next time.”

“Oh right,” he says, straightening his posture. “It’s in a storage room on the southeast end of town, near the fields. The openphrase for the door is ‘Change’. Housemaiden Claude sent for it before the House was frozen but it didn’t arrive until after, so they just stuck it in there and forgot about it.”

“Well done tracking it down then,” you say. “This is the last component we needed. The rest is in the House, though. Isabeau, do you think you can assemble it last minute?”

“Probably,” he says. “It depends on how much of the work she already did. If this Housemaiden was just waiting on the last piece, it might just be a ten minute job. Or several hours. We’ll see.”

Bonnie grabs his arm excitedly. “Za, you gotta do it. It’d be so funny if we can throw a bomb at the King. Please!”

You all smile and voice your agreement, and nobody addresses the fact that you’re not equipped to beat the King this loop.

Dinner comes and goes as it always has, including Mirabelle’s speech. Only afterwards, when Bonnie is busy clearing the table, do the rest of you openly discuss what comes next.

“Siffrin,” you say, “I’ll be needing my coin soon.”

“Are we really giving up?” asks Mirabelle. “We… can keep working in the morning, can’t we? I feel like we’re so close.”

“We can’t,” you say. “We only have so many hours before the curse claims us. But Mirabelle, this isn’t giving up. We’ll just get it in a future loop.”

“But what about us?” she asks, forcing you to think about it.

You didn’t want to think about it.

“You’re right,” you admit, after thinking about it for a bit. “We can’t finish the craft in this loop, but I can at least… make you better prepared before I depart.”

“Prepared how?”

“Maps, mostly. Maps and detailed instructions. Enough to get you to the King, in the event that you’re… still here after I flip that coin, with a Madame Odile who doesn’t remember this time loop. Or without a Madame Odile.”

Mirabelle still doesn’t look happy with that answer. “What would we actually do if we reached the King? Without you, and without a shield craft?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Negotiate, maybe? Throw a bomb at him while he’s still talking? Getting there without a secret weapon can’t be worse than not getting there at all.”

“I suppose not,” she admits.

“While she’s doing that,” says Isabeau, “maybe we can write up some notes for tomorrow? Just, like, a quick summary of what we want to try next. Something short enough to memorize.”

“That’s a good idea,” admits Mirabelle. “I do still have some ideas.”

“Does it have to be tonight?” asks Siffrin. “Wouldn’t you rather get a full night’s sleep before you loop back?”

“Why would I want to do that?"

“Sleep is good for you!” they insist.

You roll your eyes. “Of course you would say that.”

“No,” says Isabeau, “he’s right. There’s been studies, sleep is important for all kinds of complicated brain reasons. You’ve been working hard all day.”

“Correction. I’ve been working hard for the last few hours, since I went back in time.”

Isabeau is not deterred. “You were already at the end of a long day before you went back, right?”

“I… feel exactly as tired as I have at this time every other loop. If my physical injuries are being reset, why not fatigue?”

“Even so,” he insists, “You shouldn’t just chain a bunch of long days in a row without sleep. That’s bad for you psychologically, whether or not it is physically.”

He’s not going to let up on this, is he?

“How about a compromise?” you suggest. “I’ll go back without sleeping this time, granting us valuable data about whether or not fatigue is cumulative. There will be a full night’s sleep between me and the King no matter what. If this continues for another day, and fatigue isn’t cumulative, I’ll… alternate days to avoid whatever physiological peril Isabeau is worried about. Does that sound fair?”

Isabeau nods. “Yeah, that’s fair. Just as long as you’re not awake forever.”

“Madame,” says Siffrin, with a playful smile, “do you… not like sleep?”

“Of course not. Who would? Sleep is just the toll that must be paid to keep our bodies functioning.”

“Sleep is amazing!” insists Siffrin. “I can’t think of any reason anyone would dislike sleeping.”

“Then you don’t have much of an imagination,” you reply.

“Frin’s being stupid,” says Boniface, who must have finished the dishes and wandered in while nobody was paying attention. “Sleep is sooooo boring. Unless you’re really tired. But usually? Boring.”

“Thank you, Boniface. I’m thrilled to have my opinion validated by the youngest member of our group.”

The backhanded compliment still earns you a wide grin from the child.

“Speaking of sleep,” says Mirabelle. “Siffrin, Bonnie, you two should really get to bed now. We’ll all join you as soon as we’re done. Remember, we’ve all got a big day ahead of us tomorrow!”

You really, truly hope that they don’t.

Back in the swirling chaos. It’s… easy, when you return here on purpose. Easier to withstand the sensory assault, easier to keep your thoughts in order… just better all around.

Out of curiosity, you decide to try not counting the seconds this time. Just as an experiment. It’s… a bit grating, and honestly a bit boring. But eventually you are able to reach something approaching a meditative calm, and before you know it—

“—did you wish for?” asks Siffrin, heralding your return.

From here, it’s just a matter of repeating everything you did and said yesterday (or can you really call it yesterday if it was only a few hours ago?). It’s a bit more pleasant this time, since you’re not recovering from your ordeal with the King, but there’s no way to make it much faster.

Your research session is just as grueling as yesterday, and leaves you feeling just as inadequate.

A few hours in, Isabeau has a bit of an epiphany.

“If the problem is just balancing these numbers,” he says, pointing at several formulae on a sheet of paper, “what if you just use the CARROT method?”

“The CARROT method?” Mirabelle repeats, thinking. “That… yes, that might work!”

She grabs several more sheets of paper and spends the next ten minutes scribbling furiously, before proudly holding up one sheet in particular.

“I’ve got it!” she cries. “Or, ah, I think I’ve got it. Madame, would you be willing to help test it?”

“Why me?” you ask, already standing from your seat to allow the experiment.

“You are the one who wandered in here bragging about how you’re now immortal. Who better to test an experimental, potentially volatile craft skill?”

“Guilty as charged,” you admit with a grin.

Mirabelle makes several complicated gestures with her hands, and you find yourself enveloped in… something. It feels warm, perhaps a bit constrictive, but you can still move about freely.

Mirabelle lightly punches your arm, and you confirm that you didn’t feel anything at all. Isabeau then delivers a much more solid punch, which you do feel… but only barely. It seems the shield is a success!

“I still need a bit more time to make a version I can cast on five people at once, but… this is it! This is what we needed! And… if you remind me to use the CARROT method, I should be able to make it again! Although it would probably also help if you remind me to apply Ohm’s Fifth Law. Oh, and not to forget the square cube law, I wasted a lot of time because of that. Oh, and…”

What follows is several minutes’ worth of citations which should lead her directly to this exact craft skill, if you’re somehow lucky enough to remember the full list. That done, Mirabelle gets to work finalizing a version of her “Adorable Moving Shield” which she can sustain on multiple people.

You take the opportunity to review the notes that led her here. The CARROT method… now that is something you have studied. Framing things in that way, and with this example in front of you… yes, you think you can see a way to make this work with your craft.

By the time you leave the library, you have a working version your own “Craft Shield” ready to use. It should offer pretty effective protection against any one of the three common craft types. It’ll be no use against time craft, or the King’s devastating attack, but almost all the strong sadnesses you’ve met can only use one craft type at a time. Hopefully that’s true for the King as well.

Spirits are high when you return to the Clocktower. You’re proud to announce that both you and Mirabelle have perfected a shield skill.

“That’s great!” says Siffrin. “I guess we won’t need the secret library after all.”

Four blank stares greet him.

“The what library?” you ask.

“The… secret library,” he says. “You… didn’t know about the secret library in the House.”

“No,” you say.

“Did you really spend two days researching shield craft in the library, and you didn’t once ask the librarian where you could find any useful books? All three of you?”

“There aren’t any useful books in Dormont’s library!” you shout. “I checked!”

“Because they’re in the secret library!”

“Maybe we should all just calm down a bit,” says Isabeau, stepping between you. “Take a deep breath or two.”

Right, right. No reason to snap at Siffrin. He did… well. If you didn’t think to do the obvious thing, that’s not Siffrin’s fault.

“Thank you, Siffrin,” you say at length. “This is… very useful information. Did they tell you how to get into this secret library?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The mood at dinner is the most upbeat you’ve seen since arriving in Dormont. Mirabelle’s speech feels a bit less fatalistic than before. Everyone goes to bed early, ready for what’s to come.

Tomorrow, you will kill the King.

Chapter Text

The first two floors of the House are almost completely uneventful. You’ve long-since memorized the halls, the traps, the keys, and even most of the conversations. Being able to speak openly about the loops does surprisingly little to change anyone’s opinion about the contents of each room.

The only major deviation comes when you reach the library. Siffrin examines a section of the wall very carefully, without making a wish (you’re watching). After looking from a few angles, they reach out and flip what must have been a hidden switch. A hidden door opens as they do.

“Show me,” you insist, and he carefully shows you the exact location of the switch. It’s certainly hard to see. And yet…

“Siffrin,” you say, “we’ve searched this room at least a half dozen times. How have you failed to find that switch or the secret door, every single time?”

“You must have me confused for someone else,” says Siffrin, with a very worrying grin beginning to spread across their face.

“No, I’m pretty sure it was you. I would have noticed if some other pun-spewing menace had graced my presence.”

“But Madame,” he says, grinning even wider, “this is the first time I’ve ever been in this room. Honest! Buuuuut… haven’t you searched this room ‘at least a half dozen times’?”

You… don’t have an answer to that except to bury your face in your hands while the rest of the group laughs at you.

The secret library is almost as big as the House’s public library, but only half of the shelf space is filled. The books that are here range from “old” to “positively ancient”. It’s no surprise that someone chose to keep them safe from the general public.

You’re making very good time in the House, so you can afford the time to do a brief perusal of the shelves.

To Siffrin’s smug satisfaction and your eternal frustration, there is a book here specifically dedicated to crafting shields. Mirabelle flips through it for a few minutes, and finds some instructions which she claims are remarkably similar to what you came up with on your own. You’d still rather take care of these preparations within Dormont, but if that fails, this book should be a good backup.

You also find another book which resists your attempts to read it. By this point, you’ve seen more than enough of this memory-suppression effect to recognize it for what it is. What you haven’t seen is any way to overcome it.

You ask Mirabelle to remind you to have a word with the Head Housemaiden about “dangerous books” in her possession once this is all over, but for now there’s nothing to be done.

That’s it for the potentially relevant books within this library, but there is one more item of note: A second ledger near the door. A ledger specifically for rarer, less-replaceable books.

You can afford a few minutes for a personal concern, can’t you?

The ledger has far fewer entries than the one in the main library, and they’re sorted chronologically. It doesn’t take long at all before you find what you’re looking for.

“Who is ‘Charles Chouquette’?” you ask aloud.

“Charles?” asks Mirabelle. “Oh, he’s the boulanger in Dormont! Why do you ask?”

“It seems he has a book I’ve been looking for, for quite some time. Unrelated to any of this King or time-travel business, mind you.”

“Well,” she says, “he must have checked it out before the House was frozen. So I’m sure he’s done with it by now. You’ll have plenty of time to read it after we beat the King, right?”

“Right,” you agree.

And if you’re not the same Odile who set out on this quest, who initially wanted to find that book… you can still at least try.

Once you’re done in there, the rest of the floor is a breeze. The strong sadness at the end is rendered satisfyingly helpless by the combination of your shield blocking its paper attacks and Mirabelle’s shield blocking its time craft.

The third floor is similarly uneventful. The key locations are known, the correct path is known, and the weaknesses of the sadnesses are known.

Siffrin does not seem to remember anything when he sees the letter in the secret room, which you’re hoping is just a side effect of you spelling out their memory problems the day before.

It’s not until you reach the prayer room at the end that you realize the flaw in your plan: You’ve been assuming that just because a god personally intervened on your behalf once, they are going to do so again. That is… quite a silly thing to think, really. The Change God let you flounder so many times already, didn’t they?

You don’t close your eyes and don’t offer any prayers as the others do, too consumed by doubts and worries. Nonetheless, you are forced to close them against the two bright flashes of light which again leave a knife in Siffrin’s hand and your party in the central hall.

The only difference is, this time a second object is left behind. A handwritten note, clutched in your hand, written in your own handwriting.

dont worry about it (❁´◡`❁)! ill do it as many times as u need (*^▽^*)!!! i gotchu fam

“Don’t worry about it”?

They’ve “got you”?

Without even thinking about it, you begin marching back towards the prayer room. Your allies have to run to keep up, and Isabeau has to physically place himself in your path before you’ll stop to explain yourself.

“Calm down,” he insists. “Just, take a few deep breaths. Please? And then maybe explain what’s got you so worked up?”

You shove the note into his hands, though reading it only makes him look confused.

“That arrogant, lazy excuse for a god,” you snarl. “They left us to die so many times, let Vaugarde be frozen, and now they say ‘don’t worry about it?’ Insist they’ve got our backs? Why? Why didn’t they intervene the first time we were here, when we were all floundering? Or the second, when I spilled my guts out and Mirabelle risked her life to get a little closer to that room? Why only now? Why?”

“It makes sense to me,” says Siffrin, causing four heads to snap around to focus on him.

Seeing the obvious question in your glares, he continues. “It’s… praying is like wishing right? Remember the way I showed you. For a big wish, you breathe the wish into a leaf, so it knows where to go, you give the leaf to the Favor Tree so it can sponsor the wish. Well, maybe the statue is like the leaf. Or maybe it’s more like the tree, but that should probably be the Change God itself…”

They trail off nervously as they finish their train of thought, then add a nervous “Right?”

“I think Siffrin’s onto something,” says Mirabelle. “The Change God doesn’t like to act directly, but when they do… I’ve never heard a story of them speaking to someone which didn’t involve one of their statues. That’s why we all make those statues. So they have a chance to reach out to each one of us, if they choose.”

“Wait,” says Bonnie. “Belle, did you make that goofy-looking statue?”

“Yes,” she says, suddenly nervous. “It’s… not that goofy-looking. Is it?”

“It’s super bad,” insists Bonnie. “What was that expression even supposed to be?”

“I was trying to make them look gentle and nice,” she says. “Carving stone is hard!”

“Well I think it’s a very nice statue,” says Isabeau. “And clearly the Change God agrees. They granted us a miracle through it, after all.”

“That they did,” you say. “So, thank you Change God. And… criticism retracted, I suppose.”

The knife cuts through the hair just as easily as it did the first time, though it shatters in the process. The strong sadness on the other side is the same as it was before, and falls to the same tactics.

One snack break later, you’re back in front of the King.

He exchanges the same words as before with Mirabelle, and with Siffrin. You remain silent until he addresses you directly.

“But what of you?” he asks at last. “You, who knows and practices our ways. Surely you must remember?”

“I remember you,” you say. “I remember this. This conversation, this House, this day. This fight.”

“Ooooooh,” moans the King. “I… see. So that is the will of the Universe. Tell me then, Traveler. When last we fought, who won?”

“You did,” you admit. “But you won’t pull the same trick twice.”

“This has nothing to do with tricks,” he says. “The Universe has made its will known. I will crush you. Again, and again, and again. And in that way, this moment shall last forever.”

“Forever? Are you serious? Progress may be slow, but you can’t possibly expect to defeat us an infinite number of times without losing once. If we’ve come this far, we will defeat you. That’s just inevitable.”

“Do not speak to me of inevitability,” he says. “You know nothing. The same power which has allowed you to come this far is the power which ensures my victory. Now, enough talk. Let me show you which side the universe favors!”

Again, the King pretends to offer you a moment of “mercy”. But this time you see the ruse for what it is: Preparation, for that terrible attack. Mirabelle recognizes it as well, and needs no further instruction to raise her shield.

The King lowers his fists, and—

something

                terrible

                           happens

—but whatever it was, it does not stick.

It hurt, certainly. But… no more than any number of other blows from any number of sadnesses.

A brief role call confirms that confirms that everyone else fared just as well.

Siffrin wastes no time repaying the King’s strongest attack with your own secret weapon—a bomb, courtesy of Isabeau. The impact is impressive, and the King staggers backwards a few steps from the blow, but he does not fall.

Both sides now out of tricks, you begin to trade blows with the King in earnest.

You try at first to repeat the strategy that’s served you well so far, using Craft Break and Craft Boost to open him up to a flurry of scissors attacks from Siffrin and Mirabelle. This time, the tactic falls flat. The King is clearly a rock type, and he shrugs off most of their attacks like they’re nothing. Even with both your support crafts active, the best they can muster is on par with your normal attacks—and only for a few moments.

At least the craft shield helps. But every moment you’re reapplying it is a moment you can’t do anything else.

Every blow from the King, meanwhile, is devastating. After the second super sour tonic is spent just to keep your group standing (at least you made it here with a stockpile), you announce a reversal of tactics. Only paper attacks from you and Mirabelle, while the others focus solely on support and defense.

This seems to work, for a while.

After your first paper-based combo attack of the fight, the King sobs again, so vigorously that two large floating tears are left in his wake. At first you assume them to be the same as the ones throughout the House, but as they begin to move you realize the much more chilling truth—these are tear-shaped sadnesses. Sadnesses, formed mid-battle and seemingly on command. Like all others, they rally to his aid.

From there, the fight slowly turns sour.

You stockpiled enough tonics and spices that you weren’t terribly worried about attrition, but attrition is only one way to lose. The fight is now a race, and it’s a race that you’re losing. The sadnesses boost the King and cripple your team with a wide array of support craft, over and over again, faster than your team can reverse them. Blows which were previously manageable now leave Siffrin or Mirabelle down for the count, or leave you and Isabeau barely hanging on. Your own attacks barely make an impact, and your movements feel painfully slow.

One crafted water after another is spent, until there are no crafted waters, and then no Siffrin and no Mirabelle. You complete one final combo attack, briefly bringing everyone back to their feet, but they’re downed again soon after. When Isabeau falls as well, you know it’s time to give in.

“Bonnie,” you shout, “run!”

Bonnie does not run.

“We’ve lost, Bonnie. Get to safety.”

“No!” they shout. “I’m not leaving again. I’m not… not just gonna run away so you can get hurt instead. We can still fight!”

Before you can stop them, Bonnie charges forward from behind you, rushing the King with their frying pan held high.

You’re not sure where they thought they would strike to make a difference when your best efforts failed, but it does not matter. The King plucks them off the ground with two fingers, holding them by their collar as if they were a mildly aggressive rodent. They lash out wildly, but to no avail.

“Do not worry,” says the King. “All is as it should be. After I take care of you, this young one will have a wonderful rest. Now, goodnight.”

He only has one hand free to deal the final blow, but you make no effort to evade or resist it. You simply allow his fist to swing downwards and—

—return you to the void. It hurts, of course, as it always does when you return here through violence. But this is a manageable pain. You collect your thoughts as best you can, then begin to count. Right on schedule—

“—did you wish for?” asks Siffrin.

You’re back.

You can do better than that.

Chapter Text

You recount the situation to your allies as you have several times before, but for once there are no tasks to assign. Your latest failure was not the result of incomplete information, insufficient resources, or a failure on any of your allies’ part.

Two errors caused your defeat yesterday: A tactical one, and a strategic one. The tactical error can be corrected simply enough, by making the supporting sadnesses your top priority.

The strategic failure was yours alone. The solution will be yours as well.

It’s obvious, in hindsight. You were so fixated on that crabbing door, and on the shield, and on any number of other problems that needed a specific, surgical solution. And so you taught yourself supporting craft after supporting craft, to solve the problem in front of you. But you’ve been ignoring the thing you’re best at in combat, the thing you should have been focusing on all along: Offense.

It would have been a major oversight even if the King hadn’t turned out to be a rock-type. But with that wrinkle? Hopeless.

Mirabelle can help a bit, but she cannot keep up a sustained assault with paper craft. If Isabeau attacks outside a very short window he’ll get in the way of your team attacks. And Siffrin can’t meaningfully hurt the King at all.

Your allies can keep you standing, but defeating the King falls to you.

As soon as explanations are done, you return to your makeshift training spot outside Dormont and begin blasting rocks and trees. Rock after rock, tree after tree, for as long as it takes.

Your primary technique, Paper III… that’s the easy one. Days of constant fighting have sharpened your aim, but it’s fundamentally the same technique. That technique can still be refined.

Refine it you do.

Only an hour in, your new Paper IV technique already feels dramatically more efficient. It’s a wonder you took this long to notice the flaws.

(The other two, Rock III and Scissors III… those have just as much room for improvement, but it’s a job for another day.)

As for your most recent offensive technique, the one you named Paper α V… that’s a bit harder. It was inspired by that brainless, half-fomed sadness which got the better of you, but it’s deeply flawed. The sadness could strike most of the party in one go. Your own version strikes a single target, yet takes ages to recharge.

Between those two flaws, the former seems like the bigger priority. You’re the only member of the party without a wide-area attack, and you need a way to quickly take down two sadnesses at once.

Adapting a craft technique to strike several targets is… difficult. There’s a reason you didn’t do this already. Each of your primary attacks was designed from the ground up to strike at a single point. Unless you felt like spreading the same force evenly across a 120 degree cone, that was never going to change. But this technique specifically imitates a wide-area attack. It should be possible in theory.

In practice, you’ve never done this before. After about half an hour of failures, you trudge back into Dormont and drag both Mirabelle and Isabeau back to the clearing. Mirabelle’s advice proves more directly relevant, since she’s done this with a paper technique specifically, but both help.

With their help, and a significant investment in time… it works. Your new Paper Fan V strikes with the same force as the old technique, but against multiple targets.

The sun is setting by the time you return to the Clocktower, and you’re at your limits for both exhaustion and hunger, but you know you’re ready now.

The House passes by in a blur. You’re given plenty of chances to test your new attacks, if nothing else.

You tune out the conversation. You've heard this all before.

…

Before long , you’re stepping back into that room to face the King.

“Oh,” he says, looking up as you enter. “Young ones… are you—?”

“Enough,” you say, firmly enough to be heard above his booming voice. He pauses to let you continue. “No more speeches, no more debates. We cannot sway you from your path, and you cannot sway us from ours.”

“Ah,” he says. “You speak with such certainty… have you been here before?”

“Yes,” you say. “You caught on quick. Were you expecting this?”

“It was not the method I expected, but neither is it truly a surprise. But ah, if this is true… then you are correct. I could not back down at this late stage. Not even if I tried. I suspect… that you could not either.”

“I suppose not,” you agree.

An awkward silence hangs over the hall for a moment, before the King continues.

“So,” he says, “our course is set. Is the time for words behind us?”

Is it?

“No,” you say. “There is still one thing I must know.”

“Then ask it.”

“Before we fought, each time, you asked Siffrin and I if we remember. We do not. Siffrin cannot remember, and I fear I never knew. But I am coming to understand the shape of that hole. So… what is it? What is the forbidden knowledge which fights us, no matter how hard we try to grasp it?”

“You don’t know?”

“I would hear it from your lips.”

“Ha!” barks the King, in a terribly mirthless laugh. “You know it is not that simple.”

“Is it… his childhood?”

“It is more than that,” he says, then his tone grows angry. “We lost everything! Everything! Our past, our present, our future. Our home. All of it, stolen forever.”

“And freezing Vaugarde… will bring it back?”

A heavy sigh washes over you.

“I should not have expected an outsider to understand,” he says, his anger having fled as quickly as it appeared. He shakes his head, then rises to his full, imposing height. “Children of Change… the time for talking is over. All that is left for us… is to fight.”

You draw your weapons, and do just that.

His opening attack crashes against Mirabelle’s shield, and leaves you all rattled but intact. You respond with your newly refined Paper Fan V technique, followed by a steady stream of your simpler paper attacks.

By the time he summons his tear-shaped sadnesses, Paper Fan V is ready to use again. You waste no time unleashing it, nor does Siffrin hesitate with the craft bomb. Mirabelle’s own paper attack is still on cooldown, but it only takes one more strike from you to achieve a team attack. When the dust clears, only one sadness remains, and a follow-up from Isabeau finishes it off.

It was that easy. They only got off one round each. Amazing what you can achieve when your priorities are in order.

From there, the King seems to be genuinely out of tricks. He tries his opening attack again, but the windup is painfully obvious and Mirabelle has ample time to reapply her shield. He tries his more conventional timecraft, but the shield deflects it easily (and even without, Mirabelle could cure it). He smashes you with devastating attack after attack, but without the support of those sadnesses (and with Siffrin on full-time tonic and spice duty) you’re able to weather it.

He reaches the end of his inhuman endurance long before you reach the end of your supplies.

One final attack brings the King to his knees. He begins to protest, but Mirabelle talks over him. Even after all this, perhaps especially after all this, her conviction is inspiring.

“King,” she says, “Whatever you think you’re doing to Vaugarde, it ends here. Change is everything to us. You won’t take it from us! We will recover from this, from you, and move forward.”

“Do you truly think… this is victory?” the King groans out. “Do you think… this country… has an ever brighter future ahead? Don’t be naive. To embrace Change… is to embrace loss. Without me, Vaugarde will morph, and twist, and crumble. Your home will be lost as utterly as my own.”

“So what?” asks Mirabelle. “We should just give up living and growing because we might lose something in the process? Give me a break! The eternity you wish for… I want no part of it! We want no part of it! We will not give in! Because your eternity means the end of change. And I believe in change, King. I believe in a life that goes on!”

“Yeah!” cries Isabeau. “What she said! Nice try, trying to manipulate us into being frozen. But we won't listen to you. This isn't the end of our story, King! Not by a long shot!”

Boniface speaks up next. “How dare you?” they shout. “You hurt so many people… people who won't ever move again unless we beat you. Vaugarde, my village, m-my sister… How dare you do all that and pretend you’re the good guy? You’re not saving Vaugarde, you’re just a big bully!”

“King,” says Siffrin, and in contrast to their friends’ confidence their own voice sounds unsteady. “I don’t know what you’ve… what we’ve lost. I don’t know, and I hate it. But… this isn’t the answer. You have to know that.”

Even Siffrin’s words leave the King unmoved.

“Fools,” he rasps. “You all know… nothing. But… no. It can’t end like this. I won’t let it! The Universe… won’t let it!”

“I don’t know much about this Universe,” you say, “but you’ve long since given up your vote. So do us all a favor and disappear.”

The others repeat your final word like a battle cry, and you focus your energy into one final team attack.

When the dust clears… there is no King. All trace of him is gone, even the hair which littered the ground.

You all stand around dumbfounded for several seconds before you finally find your voice.

“I was not expecting him to take that literally,” you say, with a wry chuckle.

This snaps Isabeau out of his stupor. “Did… did it work?” he asks.

“The King isn’t here anymore,” says Bonnie. “Plus… look at the tears!” They point to the edge of the room, and are right to do so. The floating tears which hemmed in the room have collapsed into so many ordinary puddles. The stone too, is gradually returning to its natural, lighter shade.

“So…” says Isabeau, “So… we won? We won!?”

This confirmation is met with a chorus of cheers, congratulations, and a general release of tension as everyone realizes the worst is over.

Once the initial celebrations are done, Mirabelle announces that she believes the others in the House are recovering from their frozen state. She rushes forward, eager to find this Head Housemaiden you’ve heard so much about. Her friends rush after her.

You linger for a moment, and stare at the spot the King stood.

He… really was a fool. Surely he must have seen this coming. He should have tried to negotiate a compromise, or a surrender, or… something.

He may have frozen a country, but you were the one with all the time in the world.

You told him outright. The moment you made your wish, this outcome was a certainty.

Chapter Text

Despite Mirabelle’s decision to rush forward, Siffrin and Isabeau chose to hang back and wait for you. It’s a kind gesture, but a pointless one. On the off chance that there are any sadnesses left in the House, Mirabelle is far more likely to meet one than you. But they wait nonetheless.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t a completely pointless gesture.

The walkway from here is flanked on either side by a glass window overlooking a horrifying drop. Intellectually, you can see that the railing is above your waist, and intellectually you suspect that the glass is strong enough to hold a person’s weight, and intellectually you know that the wide hallway does not force you to walk anywhere near it, and intellectually you know that you’ve already died multiple times today. But some fears will always bypass the rational brain.

Just looking in the direction of that expanse makes you nauseous. And that expanse exists in both directions.

Siffrin and Isabeau recognize the problem and walk on either side of you, providing a physical barrier between you and that abyss. You choose to look in Siffrin’s direction and are thankful as their hat fills most of your vision.

He only jokingly begins to steer you towards the edge once, and you can imagine his grin as you reprimand him.

You miss the first moments of Mirabelle’s reunion with the Head Housemaiden or Dormont, but they’re still talking when you arrive.

The Head Housemaiden of Dormont is… impossible.

Impossibly tall, impossibly graceful, impossibly beautiful. Every movement is carefully crafted, every line on her face carefully chosen. Even her gentle voice feels carefully chosen to fit the whole.

She is, in short, a walking advertisement for the wonders of body craft. Join us, share in our teachings, and you too can have a body like this! A fitting (and likely useful) appearance for the leader of a House of Change.

… You’re being uncharitable.

Body craft is not forbidden in Vaugarde. It’s practiced openly. Encouraged! You’re just… not used to seeing it so openly on display. There’s no reason to assume any intent beyond the obvious in of her choices. It’s not hard to imagine why a person would choose an appearance like this, if they had the knowledge to achieve it.

If nothing else, the motherly tone and clear affection with which she speaks to Mirabelle look genuine.

The Head Housemaiden greets you warmly when she sees you, and offers her thanks to each of you for helping Mirabelle come so far. She answers Mirabelle’s questions about why she was chosen for her blessing (mostly necessity, though she was glad to save one of her favorites nonetheless). She lightly scolds Mirabelle when the girl admits to lying about the source of her blessing. And more than anything, they both exchange their fair share of happy tears.

It’s a touching reunion. You should just… give them some space.

The others seem to have the same idea. You spread out to opposite ends of the room, and take a long moment to mentally catch your breaths.

It’s over. After months of effort, it’s finally over.

Eventually, Siffrin goes to speak to Boniface. The conversation looks… unpleasant. Which reminds you, there’s still something you should discuss with Isabeau.

No time like the present.

“Madame!” he greets you as you approach. “We did it! This… even after everything it doesn’t feel real.”

“It is real,” you assure him. “The King is dead and gone. And not a moment too soon! Every muscle in my body is aching. Shame on you for making an old woman do all the heavy lifting in your final battle.”

“You drew up the battle plans, Madame.”

“That I did,” you admit. “In any case, Isabeau, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor?” he asks.

“Yes. Now that the King is dead, I’ll need to escort Boniface back to Bambouche. This may be too much to ask, but… would you be willing to accompany us?”

“O-of course!” he stammers out. “I’d love to come. But, ah, why me? Or why… just us three?”

“Well, I assumed it would be just myself. You and Mirabelle have homes to return to. I expect Mirabelle will have plenty to keep her busy in the coming months. But me? I’m just traveling. There’s nothing stopping me from traveling in that direction for a bit.”

Isabeau’s face falls a bit when you mention him going home, but he recovers quickly.

“Jouvente can survive without me for another few weeks,” he says. “I’m… actually not sure I still have a job? I had some pretty heated words with my boss about helping Mirabelle.”

“If the Defenders want to turn down one of the ‘Saviors of Vaugarde,’ that’s their mistake.”

“Anyways,” he says, “that’s two of us. What about Siffrin?”

“I’d like to bring Siffrin, but… just look at this.” You turn to look, but the conversation between Siffrin and Boniface has already broken off. Both are now sulking in exact opposite corners of this huge room. Boniface mutters angrily as they root through their bags, while Siffrin is fiddling with that coin of theirs again.

“I see what you mean,” admits Isabeau.

“We never did mend that rift,” you say. “And now I think we’re out of time. Bonnie won’t want Siffrin along on a journey that’s just about them.”

Isabeau looks like he desperately wants to argue, but the evidence is plain as day.

“So,” you conclude, “if there’s anything you wanted to say to Siffrin? I’d suggest you say it today.”

“What?” says Isabeau, trying his best to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You fix him with your best unbelieving stare, and he wilts under it.

“Really?” you ask. “No earth-shattering emotions you’d like to confess to Siffrin?”

“You… know?”

“Know?” you ask. “Me and Boniface have been placing bets! I’m only interfering now because you’ve already waited long enough for me to win a full course meal.”

You pause for a few moments before you remember to add “And also because I care about your happiness and all that. Seriously, Isabeau, this may be your last chance.”

It takes a bit of a journey to get there, but Isabeau manages to fix his expression into something approximating courage.

“You’re right,” he says. “I will tell him. Right after you do your thing.”

“My thing?” you ask.

“You know,” he says. “With the coin, and the wish.”

“Of course!” you gasp. “How could I forget? But if we’re doing that now…” You raise your voice. “Siffrin! Bonnie! Mirabelle! Everyone get over here. I want to make a show of this.”

Everyone dutifully gathers around, curious as to what’s going on.

“It’s finally time to discharge my wish,” you announce. “I don’t think Boniface has had a turn yet, so they can do the honors. This coin,” you hold it up for all to see, “has two heads on it. I need to win this flip. Bonnie, would you like to call it?”

“Um,” they say. “I’m supposed to lose, so… tails! I call tails!”

“Very well,” you say. “Then I’ll call heads.”

“What is going on?” asks a thoroughly bewildered Head Housemaiden.

“Oh!” exclaims Mirabelle. “I forgot to mention! Apparently wishes come true if you make them correctly! Madame Odile made a wish, and it let her go back in time! We wouldn’t have stood a chance against the King without her wish.”

The coin is already in the air before you notice the look of horror on the Head Housemaiden’s face as she repeats the words “Her… wish?”

The coin lands, heads up.

Something breaks.

You’re forced to your knees by a wave of pain, as the world narrows and distorts. You smell sugar and taste blood. The process which had been gradual before, now hits you all at once. And the pain which had previously been localized in your head, and in Siffrin’s head, is spread across your whole body. Whatever is happening now is different.

It’s worse.

The Head Housemaiden forces herself to speak through tears, and you force yourself to hear her through pain.

“I should have known!” she cries. “I thought Wish Craft was the answer, the key to our salvation. I thought I could control it… stupid! I should have known, I should have known! It’s… too late to stop it now. Something's broken, something's failing, rotting!”

You try to speak, but your lungs won’t cooperate. All you manage is a hacking cough, but even that draws her attention.

“Traveling one!” she shouts, grabbing your shoulders. “There’s not much time! Tell me, what did you—”

…

“–wish for?” asks Siffrin, in the light of the early afternoon.

Again.

Not for the first time, and not for the last, you collapse onto the grass beneath the favor tree.

End of Act 2

Chapter Text

You could spare yourself from the discussion about Mirabelle’s blessing.

The opportunity is right there. In every loop, when proving you have knowledge from the future, you’re presented with that opportunity. Boniface, or Mirabelle, or occasionally both will ask if you’re sure it’s okay to sidetrack your planning session for this. You could agree with them, just this once.

But that’s nonsense and you know it. In your heart of hearts, you know that if you do that once you will do it every time. Including the one time that matters, whenever that comes. So you will just sit here and watch as her friends reassure her, and try not to count the seconds.

Objectively speaking, this is nothing compared to waiting a whole day to reenter the House. It just doesn’t feel that way.

Eventually, the feelings talk ends and you’re free to actually explain the situation. You do so in as much detail as ever.

“Are you sure it was really your wish that made the time loop?” asks Siffrin, once you’re done explaining. “It sounds like it shouldn’t have worked. You need to really care about the thing you’re wishing for, and you just… didn’t.”

“That’s not the first time you’ve said that,” you inform him. “But I’m yet to hear a plausible alternative. The loop repeats immediately after I lose a coin flip, and I always return to the moment after making my wish. It’s obvious my wish did something.”

Siffrin thinks on it for a second, then shrugs. “Sorry, Madame. I don’t have all the answers. I just wish I knew—”

“Siffrin!” shouts Mirabelle.

“What?” they say, genuinely confused for a moment before their brain catches up to the situation. “Mira, just saying the words ‘I wish’ at the start of a sentence doesn’t do anything. You have to perform a ritual, and you have to really mean it.”

“Except it sounds like ‘really meaning it’ is optional,” comments Isabeau.

Siffrin frowns at this, but doesn’t argue.

“So what can we even do?” asks Mirabelle. “If beating the King didn’t end the loops, and winning the coin flip didn’t end it, what’s left?”

“I honestly don’t know,” you admit. “Hopefully if we find out more about how this wish works, a solution will become clear.”

“How can we learn more?” she asks.

“The Head Housemaiden definitely knows something,” you say. “She panicked when you told her I’d performed a wish, and she wasn’t very surprised when things started breaking down. She kept saying that she ‘should have known’ that something like this would happen.”

“But she’s frozen,” says Bonnie. “How are we gonna ask her anything?”

“She’s frozen for now” you remind them. “We beat the King once. We can and will do it again.”

“Okay,” says Isabeau. “So beat the King, then ask the Head Housemaiden some questions. I like it so far. Is that our only lead?”

“Not quite,” you say. “The King also knows something. I’m just not sure how we’d get him to tell us anything useful.”

“You could just ask him?” suggests Siffrin.

You scoff.

“Oh sure,” you say. “I see how that conversation will go. ‘Hello again, my mortal enemy. Would you mind explaining to me exactly how magic works and what steps I should take to defeat you permanently?’”

“But you already beat him,” says Isabeau. “If we can prove that and convince him he’s gonna lose, doesn’t that give us leverage?”

“I’m not convinced he views this as him losing,” you say.

“Fair enough,” says Isabeau. “He did at least talk to you, right? Enough that you think he knows about wishes. So, was there anything… wish-adjacent that he was willing to talk about?”

You give this a few moments of deep thought before answering.

“He said something about the ‘Will of the Universe’. More than once. It seemed important to him.”

Siffrin sits bolt upright as soon as the Universe is mentioned.

“Siffrin,” you say. “Do you know what the Universe is?”

“It’s… big,” they say. “It’s important to wishes. It’s…”

Siffrin trails off, his expression quite familiar to you by now. Bonnie looks like they’re about to interrupt, but you shush them. You’re not expecting a miracle, but this question is worth at least letting Siffrin try.

A miracle doesn’t occur.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” asks Siffrin, at length.

Bonnie answers first. “You were trying to tell us about ‘the Universe,’” they say. “And then you totally spaced out!”

“What’s a Universe?”

Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s expressions both twist into worry, while Boniface just looks annoyed. This is the group’s first exposure to Siffrin trying to access a forbidden memory. It will always be their first exposure.

“Hopefully the King can answer that question,” you say. “He did seem willing to talk about it at least.”

The rest of the discussion is mostly about what little preparations are needed before tomorrow. Before long you’ve told them everything you need to, and the group is dismissed.

For the first time in… many loops, you find yourself without a pressing task in Dormont. You already have everything you need to defeat the King.

But you did learn something in the House which you’ve yet to investigate.

In the secret library, there was a ledger telling you where to find a familytale. It feels like a silly thing to ask for on the eve of your final battle, but… it’s been the eve of your final battle for a while now. It may be for a while yet.

The boulanger informs you that he no longer has the book in question, having loaned it to a friend of the deceased family. Thus begins a frustratingly long errand of running back and forth throughout Dormont. You try to remind yourself that you have all the time in the world, and that you’ll only need to track this down once. It doesn’t help.

Still, eventually the Paperasse Familytale is in your hands. You find a quiet corner of the library and you begin to read it.

Begin to try to read it.

Try to read it.

…

You give up after a dozen pages.

This is not your book.

What were you really expecting to find between these pages? Some deep, hidden connection to your people? You’ve been in Vaugarde for months, and the truth is obvious. These are not your people.

This is not your book.

The boulanger did not borrow this book for light reading. He borrowed it to teach his daughter how to carry on the tradition. The person he loaned it to did not borrow it for light reading. They borrowed it because they knew the deceased. You… what reason could you give for reading this book beyond mere curiosity?

This is not your book.

You had a book, once. But that book was taken from you, before you ever learned to read. You will never see it again. You’re not going to replace it with someone else’s.

This is not your book.

This will never be your book.

You resist the urge to toss it aside in disgust. This book is all that is left of the people who wrote it. It deserves respect. Instead, you return it to the boulanger with your thanks.

You see no reason to attempt this exercise again.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow finds you back inside the House.

It is not the same as ever.

Oh, it starts that way all right. The first few rooms and first few sadnesses pass uneventfully, and the sadness guarding the star-shaped medallion goes down easily to your craft break and a combined scissors assault.

It’s not until you’re leaving the kitchen that you’re ambushed by a sadness you weren’t expecting.

You immediately recognize this as one of the timecraft specialists from the third floor, and shout for Mirabelle to raise her shield immediately. Even with the warning, she isn’t able to raise it before a wave of craft hits you, and you feel yourself slowing down. But Siffrin is able to overwrite the effect, and with the shield up it can’t do that again.

Which is a good thing, since Mirabelle has not yet perfected her cure for being fully frozen.

Mirabelle warns you that she can’t hold the shield for long, reminding you that you need to finish this quickly.

The sadness is showing a scissors sign, so you all hammer it with rock and scissors craft while Mirabelle sticks mostly to support. You don’t bother with your own support craft, having learned your lesson from the King.

It works. You all take some nasty cuts, and Siffrin is knocked fully unconscious, but the sadness expires before the shield and before your lives.

You won, but… you’re not remotely satisfied with your own performance. After all the work you put in to your paper craft skills to beat the King, your Rock III feels sloppy by comparison. It still needs a lot of work.

Of course, there’s a much more important issue to address.

“Madame,” asks Mirabelle, “Were you not expecting that sadness? You seemed… really surprised by it.”

“I was,” you say. “Surprised, that is. In every loop so far, I’ve only seen sadnesses that strong on the third floor. I thought they were getting stronger due to sheer proximity to the King, but… now I’m not sure.”

“Did the King get stronger?” asks Bonnie, looking nervous.

“I hope not,” you say. “I might have been wrong about the cause. But something has changed. We proceed as planned, but… be careful, everyone.”

The rest of the first floor and the beginnings of the second floor pass with only a few more out-of-place sadnesses. One of the explosive ones from the second floor is lurking elsewhere on the first floor, but it's an easy mark for your improved paper attacks. Later, a trio of those young-looking sadnesses from the first floor appear lost the second.

That latter case, at least, is evidence that this may not be as simple as “the sadnesses got stronger”.

In every fight where you don’t feel threatened, you take the opportunity to practice your rock-type craft.

When you reach the Head Housemaiden’s office, you decide to take another break from the usual script.

“Is there a key in here, Madame?” asks Siffrin, as he has in every loop in which you revealed the truth.

“In the desk,” you reply. “Taped to the bottom of the drawer. But I’d like to give the room a more thorough search, all the same.”

“Why?” asks Bonnie. “Haven’t you been here, like, a dozen times already?”

“I’ve searched this room for keys and tonics dozen times. I haven’t properly searched it for information… yet.”

“Like what?” asks Isabeau. “You just want to root through all her papers?”

“Essentially,” you say with a nod.

“What?” cries Mirabelle in shock. “No! We’re not just rooting through all of Euphrasie’s papers. Why would you even suggest that?”

“Because we’re making good time, and gathering information is currently our top priority.”

“We can just ask her!” insists Mirabelle. “That was your idea!”

“We can try,” you say. “But there are any number of reasons that might not work. The information we’re after seems very resistant to being told or remembered. There’s some unknown condition which could yank me back to Dormont before she finishes explaining. And frankly, I don’t know this woman and I don’t trust easily.”

“You should!” says Mirabelle. “She wouldn’t lie!”

“Then I’m sure I’ll look like a great fool when she explains everything. But I’ll feel like a much greater fool if I get to the top of the House, fail to interrogate the Head Housemaiden, and have to wait an entire extra day before I can search this room.”

Mirabelle pauses to think of a response, and Isabeau steps into the gap in conversation.

“I vote we follow Madame Odile’s plan. I don’t want to drag this out longer than we need to.”

“I also vote for Dile’s thing,” says Boniface. “Even though I know it’ll be super boring.”

“It’s not a vote!” says Mirabelle.

“That’s too bad,” says Siffrin. “Because if it was a vote it’d be four against one.”

Mirabelle pouts, but she can see she’s lost the argument. “Fine. But if anything looks too personal, we don’t read it.”

Siffrin opens their mouth with their classic joking expression, but a glare from Mirabelle shuts him down.

The search is, as Boniface predicted, super boring. Administration for a House of Change, even a small one like Dormont’s, generates a lot of paperwork. This Head Housemaiden also seems to have taken on the task of grading the students’ papers for a few classes, leading to several stacks of paper which are utterly useless.

Her organization skills could also use some work. Siffrin finds what appears to be a love letter sandwiched between two formal proposals. An especially dark-faced Mirabelle snatches it from his hands before he can read very far.

You’re strongly considering asking Siffrin to try a wish to speed up the search when something catches your eye. A notebook, with a darkless cover that blends in too well with the surrounding papers. There’s no label on the outside, but… you’re sure it’s relevant.

Too sure.

Just looking away from the notebook takes a conscious effort. Is this what it feels like for Siffrin when they search for keys?

But you didn’t even make a wish.

Did you?

…

You flip it open to a random page near the end. Or more accurately, you flip it open to a page which you chose arbitrarily. The concept of “chance” seems to have taken a holiday, because that page just happens to begin an entry about something called “Wish Craft”.

When you announce your find, everyone gathers around to see it. You read the entry aloud anyways.

The King is still marching towards the center of Vaugarde. He’s probably headed towards the capital, but… will his path take him through Dormont? It could, and there’s precious little we could do to stop him.

We have to do something.

Even knowing what I know, I still think Wish Craft is the answer. It must be! With everyone in Vaugarde working together, wishing together… surely that’s enough. Surely numbers can make up for what we lack.

I only wish that I knew more… but of course it’s never been that easy. It’s frustrating having the knowledge at my fingertips, but still beyond my reach. I understand why she never told me, but I have to wonder. If she could see me now, would she regret that decision? Or double down? I’m doing the very thing she forbade.

… it doesn’t matter. Wish Craft is the only force which can save Vaugarde, and I may be the only one who knows. It has to be this, and it has to be me. I just hope we have enough time.

“Look at that date,’ says Mirabelle, when you’ve finished. “That was only four days before the King reached Dormont.”

“Do you think she had enough time to prepare?” asks Isabeau.

“No,” says Mirabelle. “She’s frozen. Everyone’s frozen.”

“Not everyone,” points out Isabeau. “You’re here, and you’re safe. That’s worth a lot. And from how you talk about her, isn’t that something she would have wished for?”

Mirabelle hesitantly nods and mumbles a yes.

“I’m not so sure,” you say. “She wrote about everyone wishing at once. If she succeeded I would expect a more broadly applicable wish.”

Nobody looks particularly happy to hear you say that, but it’s the truth. Siffrin, though, looks much more troubled by the journal itself.

“Siffrin,” you ask, “could this even work? Many people wishing at once, to… boost the power, I suppose?”

“Yes,” they say, surprising you by having a concrete answer. “We did it all the time. But it needs a more complicated ritual. The more people, the more complicated.”

“Can volume of people make up for a sloppy ritual? It sounds like there was some guesswork at play.”

Siffrin thinks carefully, but when he does answer he sounds a lot less sure than you’d like.

“No,” they decide. “You always need both parts. The ritual and the desire.”

“‘Need’ as in it won’t work otherwise, or ‘need’ as in it might go badly otherwise?”

That question, sadly, was a bridge too far. Siffrin thinks for a bit, but eventually just asks why you’ve stopped reading.

Frustrating, but they already gave more answers than you expected.

You do try to read further, but it seems you’ve exhausted this journal’s useful information. There were only two entries after this, neither of which mention Wish Craft. Skimming the other recent entries turns up a few context-less mentions of the words, but only as one of many options being considered.

Closing the book and reopening to a random page doesn’t work. Not even when you try it several times. That probably means that’s all there is to learn.

Armed with new answers and new questions, you return to the House.

From here, things proceed smoothly until you reach the final floor. There are a few more out-of-place sadnesses, but none are stronger than the ones you already faced on the third floor.

The final snack break is as tense as it ever has been. Yes, you’ve beaten the King before, but it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you’ve still lost more times than you won.

You do your best to project confidence as you enter the King’s chamber.

You let the King exchange words with Mirabelle, and with Siffrin. Though his words are the same as ever, Mirabelle seems a bit less invested than you remember when she rebukes him. Siffrin seems a bit more invested when he admits to an inability to remember his homeland.

You wait your turn. Best not to seem impatient, when seeking answers. You can at least pretend to be respectful.

“But what of you?” he asks at last. “You, who knows and practices our ways. Surely you must remember?”

“I don’t,” you say. “But I would like to.”

The King sighs. “If only that were enough.”

“We’ve been here before,” you say. “Many times. Each time, you speak of something called ‘The Universe’. What is that? What is the Universe?”

The King lifts his head, and…

…

…

…

Your head hurts.

The King is staring at you. It must be your turn.

“We’ve been here before,” you begin. “Each time, you… speak of… no. This isn’t right. I already asked my question, didn’t I?”

“You did. Do you recall what I said?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can still guess. Is the Universe a being which grants wishes?”

“It is so much more than that,” says the King. “But more than that, you cannot hear.”

Shards. You knew this was a possibility, but it's still frustrating.

“Let me ask you a question in turn, traveling one. When last we met, who won?”

“We did,” you say. “And before that, you did. Neither ended the cycle.”

“Nor should it,” says the King. “But this meeting can only end in violence. Shall we get to it?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I still have questions. Like… like…”

All valid questions escape your mind. What else was there that the King would be willing to speak of, but which you can actually hear? You should have prepared a list.

Siffrin sees you floundering and steps in with a question of their own.

“Did you use Wish Craft to freeze Vaugarde?”

The King pauses for a long moment… then laughs.

“Of course,” he says, then again. “Of course. I was a fool to speak with you at all.”

The King rises to his feet.

“No more words,” he says. “Defend yourselves!”

You draw your weapons.

The fight proceeds the same as last time, at least in broad strokes. Mirabelle’s shield holds against the King’s opening attack. You focus all your efforts on offense while the other handle support, and you keep the bomb and a Paper Fan V in reserve for when he summons the tears.

Eventually, the King falls to his knees yet again.

Mirabelle says something to the King, but you’re too busy coming down from the adrenaline to catch it. Not that it matters. With no-one present believing that this is the end, most of the fire is missing from her words.

The King says nothing.

“That’s it?” asks Bonnie. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

The King says nothing.

“Yes, we get it,” you say. “We’re all impressed by your stubbornness. But are you sure you want your last words to be ‘I was a fool’?”

Finally he speaks. “Do it, then.”

“Good enough,” you say. “Now do us all a favor and disappear.”

There’s no chorus of agreements this time, but the others still take this as their cue for a final team attack. When it’s over, there’s no trace of the King.

The immediate celebrations are muted as well, with the others looking to you for guidance. You gesture for Mirabelle to lead the way. You follow her into the hallway to the top of the House.

Only a few steps inside, you shout for her to stop.

This hallway smells of sugar.

You retreat, back into the room where you fought the King. The smell of sugar follows you there. The growing blurriness at the edge of your vision follows you there. Your growing sense of panic follows you there.

Whatever this is, whatever is happening… it’s happening now. It’s too late to delay it.

Ignoring the sensory chaos, ignoring the windows overlooking the abyss, ignoring the confusion of your allies, you charge forward. But your own body betrays you. Feet from the door, you trip and collapse to the floor. As you pull yourself to your feet, you hear words coming from the next room. Words which are too familiar.

“… not much time! Tell me, what did you—”

...

“–wish for?” asks Siffrin.

“Help me gather the others,” you say. “Then I’ll tell you.”

You’ve learned everything you’re likely to from the Head Housemaiden, and the King. This could be seen as a dead end. But perhaps that makes it the perfect time to revisit an idea from your last dead end.

There’s no time like the present.

Chapter Text

“So that’s the situation as it stands,” you finally declare. Your summary of events comes only after sitting adjacent to another excruciatingly long discussion about Mirabelle’s feelings. In theory, your portion of the meeting was probably longer than hers, but it doesn’t feel that way.

It doesn’t matter. You have to do this right, every time. The first time you try to skip past that conversation, it will mark the last time you do it properly.

“So what’s the plan?” asks Isabeau. “Do we just need to come up with a better list of questions and try talking to the King again?”

“No,” you say. “Or at least, that’s not Plan A. We might trick him into revealing something minor, but the moment he realizes we’re hunting for information, he’ll clam up. Any questions about Wish Craft are almost certainly off the table.

“But that may not matter,” you continue. “I think we already know enough about Wish Craft to stop the King.”

“Do we?” asks Mirabelle. “We still don’t even know that’s what he did.”

“All we really need to know is how to make another wish.”

There’s a moment’s pause as this sinks in, before several people try to talk at once.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Couldn’t you have done that any time?”

“WE CAN DO THAT?”

You wait for the noise to die down before speaking again.

“This was too dangerous to try before,” you say. “When I first had the idea, we’d yet to defeat the King. I didn’t know the first thing about Wish Craft. My original wish was the only thing keeping us alive, and I had no idea if making a second wish would cancel out the first.”

“It wouldn’t,” says Siffrin, with confidence.

“… and if I’d thought to ask you that directly, I might have saved myself a lot of time,” you admit. “Regardless, we’ve now defeated him twice in a row, without reliance on that safety net. Also, we now know that there are group rituals which can make a wish even stronger.”

“Most of those take a lot more than a day to set up,” says Siffrin.

“Most, or all?”

They think for a moment, before answering “… not all of them. It helps if the wish is short.”

“What would we even wish for?” asks Isabeau.

“I was thinking that we keep it simple, and just solve the problem directly. You want something short? How about ‘I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead’?”

“That’s pretty direct,” says Isabeau, with an approving nod.

“Why do we need ‘tomorrow’?” asks Boniface. “Can’t we just beat him now?”

“I… think tomorrow is easier,” says Siffrin, but they sound very unsure. When you press for more details, all you accomplish is to make him forget the last few minutes of conversation.

Annoying.

Still, Siffrin is able to recall a basic Wish Craft ritual which you can prepare within the next few hours. With nobody having a concrete objection or a better plan, you split up to help them gather materials.

As it turns out, the only material you need (or at least, the only material which Siffrin wants which is readily available in Dormont) is a set of five wax candles, one for each person. You do spend the better part of an hour hunting for much more esoteric items, but have no luck. Once you realize that all of the things Siffrin is asking for would need a matching set of five, you call it quits on the shopping trip.

The site he chooses for the ritual is, unsurprisingly, the base of the favor tree. He insists that the ritual should be performed exactly at sunset, so you share a very early dinner at the clocktower. There’s some debate around the table about the exact wording of your wish, but nobody finds one they like more than your first idea.

Mirabelle’s dinner speech remains unsaid. It can wait.

At the favor tree, shortly before sunset, Siffrin explains the ritual. It seems very simple. You light your candles one at a time, going around the circle. With all candles lit, you repeat the wish out loud in unison (and expressions help you if you don’t all match word-for-word). The number of repetitions may be anything that feels right to you, so you settle on six.

That’s… it. That’s the whole ritual.

It’s more involved than the original wish, but this still seems… far too easy. The best thing you can say about this ritual is that you probably couldn’t stumble into it by accident. Is sitting in a circle with some candles really enough to warp reality to your will?

You’ve already wished for more by doing less, you suppose.

“What do we do with our hands?” asks a nervous Mirabelle. “Do we hold hands, or clap, or what?”

“You’ll be holding a candle in one of them,” says Siffrin. “You’re not supposed to set it down until the end.”

“What?” shouts Bonnie. “Why did you say so, dummy? I was totally gonna set mine down.”

“Don’t do that,” warns Siffrin.

“What about our eyes?” asks Mirabelle. “Most people say you’re supposed to close your eyes when you’re wishing at the favor tree, but a few people don’t. Which is it?”

“That… really doesn’t matter,” says Siffrin. “I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Or you’re under-thinking it,” you chide. “They’re valid questions.”

“Right!” says Mirabelle with enthusiasm. “And I can’t not worry. Knowing that there was a right and wrong way to do this, and I’ve been doing it wrong for my whole life… of course I’m going to overthink it now!”

“Normally I'd agree with Mira,” interrupts Isabeau. “but we’re out of time for questions. The sun’s about to set.”

He’s right.

You all settle into sitting positions on the grass in front of the tree, an action that you’re sure your knees will thank you for later. Mirabelle lights her candle, followed by Siffrin, then Isabeau, then Bonnie, and finally yourself.

“I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead.”

All three of your Vaugardian companions have chosen to close their eyes, out of habit or perhaps a sense of tradition. Only yours and Siffrin’s remain open.

“I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead.”

A light breeze threatens your candles, but all five flames hold strong. You’re fine.

“I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead.”

Something is happening.

Siffrin’s face is beginning to get blurry, and Isabeau’s next to him. A faint static fills your ears, though your words cut through it easily.

You were ready for it, this time. You noticed right away.

The others haven’t noticed.

“I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead.”

You smell sugar. It’s hard to see. A headache has taken root and is growing by the second, but you keep your voice steady.

Siffrin has noticed. You can’t make out their face but you know they’re staring at you. With worry? You try to mouth “keep going” in the space between repetitions, but you’re not sure if they see.

“I wish the King would die tomorrow and stay dead.”

Everything hurts, but you need to keep going. This is… this has to be a sign that it’s working. It has to be!

At least it’s only affecting you.

“I wish—”

The afternoon sun is high above you as you stand in the same place you were just sitting. The sudden transition causes you to lose your footing, and you crash gracelessly onto the grass you’ve grown so intimately familiar with.

“Are you okay?” asks Siffrin, rushing over to offer a hand.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though you accept the hand. You try to ignore how they flinch at the contact.

“Good,” they say. “You scared me there. So… you still didn’t answer the question.”

Siffrin looks at you expectantly, awaiting their answer. You know what the question is. Of course you do. You’ve heard it many times before.

And yet…

“Sorry,” you say, before your brain can catch up with the situation. “I must have missed it.”

Chapter Text

“I said, what did you wish for?”

That question. The eternal question. You’ve answered and dodged it so many times, of course you didn’t forget. But… what is your play this time?

You weren’t expecting to loop back that early. You didn’t even consider a plan. And you’re still trying to wrap your head around how the last loop ended.

Your top priority should be digging into that mystery. Right?

“Don’t be silly,” you say to Siffrin, trying your best to sound more playful than rattled. “I can’t tell you that until after you make yours. It would hardly be fair otherwise.”

“Right,” he says with a nod and a smile. “Just give me a minute to think of a good one.”

If this experiment results in your shortest loop yet, you can go back to direct answers next time. Otherwise… any outcome is data.

Siffrin finds a leaf that’s to their liking almost immediately, but pauses for several minutes before deciding on a wish. You don’t dare rush them. They raise the leaf to their mouth, whisper something into it, and release their grip. A breeze catches it and carries it away.

Nothing else happens.

The scent of smoke remains uncontested in your nose. A single bird still sings from the Favor Tree’s branches. There is no pain, no dimming of the world, and certainly no signs of that mysterious shade. Siffrin’s body language indicates they don’t sense anything either.

“All done,” says Siffrin. “Now, what did you wish for?”

“My wish,” you say, “will take a while to explain. It might be easier if you tell me yours first.”

Despite how obvious it should have been that you would ask this question, Siffrin still averts their gaze and lowers their face slightly into their cloak. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Laughing is involuntary,” you say. “I can only promise that I’ll try my best.”

Siffrin takes a long, deep breath, the kind he takes to steady himself after a battle.

“You looked so excited when I was explaining how to make a wish,” they begin. “So I was hoping, I mean, I wished… that we could go together to your country. So you can show me how things are done there!”

He pauses for a moment before thinking to add “… after we beat the King of course.”

Siffrin… thought you would judge them for that wish. Thought you would laugh.

However long it took them to admit to the wish, it takes you twice as long to find any words at all.

“I’d… like that,” you say eventually.

You want to point out how silly it is to use a reality-bending wish for something they could have just asked you for. Not to mention doing so while you were standing right there. Siffrin somehow managed to find a wish even more frivolous than yours!

If this happened a few weeks ago, you probably would have laughed. They laughed at yours!

Now… all you can focus on is the fact that they’d spend that wish on you.

“So… that was my wish,” they say. “What was yours?”

“Would you help me gather everyone first?” you ask. “I don’t want to explain this three times in one day.”

The explanations are getting a bit longer each time, but you do reach the end. Or at least, the end of the parts you understand.

“So you made a new wish and looped back immediately?” asks Isabeau.

“No,” you say. “I looped back at the last possible second before I made a new wish.”

“Did you die?” asks Boniface, with a bit too much enthusiasm. You try to fix them with your best withering look, but they only double down. “What? You said your head was hurting, and it got worse, and then you looped back. So maybe your head exploded!”

“I don’t… think I died,” you say. “But I’m not sure I can rule it out.”

“But why?” asks Isabeau. “Sif made a wish just now and it was fine. Heck, you said he’s been making wishes in the House the whole time.”

“I probably made the same wish the first time,” says Siffrin. “Probably. I made it up on the spot, but… it was mostly based on what we’d said before your loop starts. So maybe it’s just no new wishes?”

“You certainly made wishes in the House that you didn’t have time for on the first attempt.”

“Maybe the yoon-verse is just mad at Dile?” suggests Boniface.

“Universe,” you remind them.

“Was it the ritual?” asks Mirabelle. “That’s the only other part that was new. Siffrin, how long has it been since you tried a group wishing ritual?”

Siffrin looks thoughtful.

“Don’t answer that,” you snap, breaking that train of thought before it can cost them their memory of this conversation.

Siffrin shakes their head and wisely focuses on the other half of Mirabelle’s concern. “It’s not supposed to work like that. Screwing it up is… bad, but it doesn’t kill you!”

The conversation continues in this vein for some time, but you don’t really make any progress. Nobody has anything better than a wild guess, and nobody has any ideas for what to try in the House. The best plan they can come up with is to keep interrogating the King until he slips up.

You do have one idea of your own. But you’re not willing to announce it to the group. If you give them too much time to think about it, they may stop you.

The sun is still out when you adjourn your strategy meeting, and the general store is still open. Unseen by your allies, you slip inside and buy five candles.

It’s not safe to use these, even if you do pursue your current plan. But knowing that they do something, you’d have to be crazy not to keep them around. To know that you might need a wish, and not have them…

You’ll probably be carrying around a box of wax candles for the rest of your life.

Evening comes and goes, with no events worthy of note.

Night comes and goes, with no events worthy of note.

Breakfast comes and goes, with no events worthy of note.

You enter the House and clear the first few rooms, with no events worthy of note.

It’s not until you enter the locked storage room that you act.

“Hold on a moment,” you announce. “There’s something important here.”

As eyes turn towards you, you approach the bookshelf. It takes a distressingly short time to find the book you’re looking for.

If you were in the mood to show off, you probably could have found it with your eyes closed.

“What is that?” asks Mirabelle, moving closer to see the cover. “It looks like… ugh. I’m getting nauseous just looking at it.”

“As am I,” you admit. “But it contains important information. Possibly information related to Wish Craft.”

“How can you tell?” she asks.

“I might have glossed over this in my earlier explanations,” you admit. “When we searched your Head Housemaiden’s office, some force… drew me to her journal. There’s no other way to describe it. It wasn’t even labeled on the outside, but I knew it was important. I could hardly even look away. I tried to open it to a random page, but that page contained the exact information we were searching for: an entry about Wish Craft. It was the only relevant entry.”

“And this book is the same way?” asks Mirabelle, hopeful.

“Yes. This book, and one other on the next floor.”

“But we can’t read it,” says Isabeau.

“Something wants me to read this book,” you say. “Something else does not. If we’re ever getting to the bottom of this mystery, I need to tip the scales.”

“Tip the scales… how?” Mirabelle does nothing to hide the worry in her voice.

“How else? I need to make another wish.”

There’s several cries of shock and disagreement.

“How can you even consider this?” asks Mirabelle. “You tried this yesterday and it didn’t work. It might have even killed you! How can you make another wish right after learning how dangerous it is?”

“What I learned yesterday is that it’s not dangerous. Even if it didn’t work, I’m still here to talk about it. The worst has already happened, and it wasn’t very bad.”

“That probably wasn’t the worst that can happen,” says Isabeau. “Not if you’re dealing with something from that… headache place. It just gets worse the harder you look at it.”

“I’ve experienced that effect several times by now. It’s unpleasant, and physically dangerous if you push too far, but it doesn’t ‘stick’ when I loop back.”

You’re severely downplaying the risks, of course. “Unkillable” or not, you’re not foolish enough to think that an attack on your mind is risk-free.

It’s just a risk you have to accept.

If worst really does come to worst, you’ve armed this Mirabelle with enough knowledge to reach (and hopefully defeat) the King. You owe her that much. But you’re not going to say that out loud.

“It’s too risky!” says Mirabelle. “You… you can’t!”

“I’m not asking for permission,” you say. “I’m only asking you not to interfere.” Then, thinking back to a similar situation, you seal the deal with her own words. “It’s not your choice. It’s mine. If I think this is worth the risk… you need to respect that.”

It’s a dirty trick. Using it stings a part of you which you thought had long since grown numb. But it works. You stare each other down for a few seconds, and Mirabelle blinks first.

“Fine,” she says. “But if it looks like it’s hurting you…”

“Do nothing,” you insist. “I’m expecting this to hurt me, even if it works. If it starts hurting the rest of you, then you may interfere.”

Mirabelle isn’t willing to argue any further, and her friends follow suit.

You take a seat at the table. You’ve collapsed from a standing position onto a carpet of grass enough times since this started. You are not about to do it on a frozen stone floor.

You force yourself to stare at the book.

The group ritual is far too dangerous to repeat, even if you were in the right time and place. The Favor Tree is well out of reach. But Siffrin’s been doing just fine in the House with a much simpler ritual, one so simple you don’t even need it explained.

“Please make sense to me,” you whisper.

You could probably come up with a more precise wording, but you’re not sure that would help. Siffrin said that a wish should be short and succinct if you want it granted, and their language when using this method has always been informal. The only part whose precision you care about are the last two words.

Whatever consequences you are about to invoke, leave the others out of it.

“Please make sense to me.”

It’s difficult to tell if anything is happening. The effects from merely looking at this book are identical to the backlash from yesterday's wish. You’ve already got the headache.

“Please make sense to me.”

Something is happening… you think.

You have to struggle to keep looking at the book in your hands, as the rest of the world shifts out of focus. An odd noise fills your ears. If your companions were to speak at this point, you’re not sure you could hear them.

“Please make sense to me.”

Your head hurts. Your body hurts. But it’s a familiar pain, by now.

Ignore it. Focus.

“P-please make sense to me.”

You can’t keep the hitch out of your voice as it all intensifies. But you’re almost there.

Ignore it. Focus.

“Please make sense to me.”

You come to slumped over a table. Nervous allies surrounding you.

You’re… still in the storage room. You didn’t loop back. Every inch of your body is sore, but you didn’t loop back.

Slowly, dreading the results, you reach for the book and bring its cover up to your face.

It’s still written in a tongue you’ve never seen. But as you stare, words form in your mind. Words in your own native tongue.

On the Nature of Wish Craft, Volume I

“It worked.”

Chapter Text

Progress with the book is… slow.

At first you attempt to simply translate what you see into Vaugardian, for everyone to see. Siffrin is quick to find some blank paper, at least. But you only make it a few paragraphs in before giving up on this. Translating a text is a laborious task under the best of circumstances, and you’re trying to do it twice: From the headache language into Ka Buan, and from Ka Buan into Vaugardian.

You simply don’t have that kind of time. You can only last a few hours within the House before the curse starts weakening you, and there’s an entire second book waiting on the next floor. And honestly, it’s far more important that you understand the material than anyone else.

Even once you give up on that plan, it’s still slow. You can understand the language now, and the backlash is not nearly as bad, but your head still begins to hurt if you look at it for longer than thirty seconds in a stretch. Physical fatigue from your reckless wish only makes the headache worse. To top it off, this book is a fairly dense academic text, and quite long.

You quickly realize that there simply won’t be time to read the whole text. You switch tactics again, using the table of contents to skip around to any section that sounds promising, and even then you skim parts.

The rest of the party makes good use of the time, at least. Since there will be no time to practice Mirabelle’s craft on the second floor, she and her friends hunt down sadnesses while you read.

Fighting without you is a risk, since the strength of sadnesses is no longer predictable. But it’s an unavoidable risk. They have her shield against time craft, and a small supply of sour tonics; it’ll have to be enough.

It is enough. They return after about half an hour, none the worse for wear.

“Did you find anything interesting while we were gone?” asks Isabeau.

“I did,” you say. “But it’s just raising more questions than answers. This chapter here is about the effect of intent on Wish Craft. It’s… more dramatic than I expected.”

“I told you it’s important,” says Siffrin. “You need both parts. Desire, and the ritual.”

“I didn’t doubt that it was important,” you say. “But what that intent does is strange. It’s not just fuel. Intent carries equal weight with the actual content of the wish.”

“What do you mean, ‘equal weight’?” asks Mirabelle.

“To steal the example from the book… imagine if a woman wished for a large sum of money. If this were a Vaugardian fairy tale, she might stumble into someone’s vault, or upon a coach full of stolen goods that the authorities are looking for. But with real Wish Craft, that can’t happen. The intent behind a wish for money is the ability to spend that money, to gain whatever benefits you think it’ll grant you. So it is impossible for the wish to be granted in a way that denies her time to spend it.

“Similarly, if it were a Ka Buan fairy tale, an accident might destroy her house. The money would be compensation for the damages. This also can’t happen with real Wish Craft. If she has to spend the money fixing her house, she still has no opportunity to spend it how she wanted.”

“Oh!” shouts Bonnie. “But it could make an accident that hurts her sister. Right? She can’t use all the money to buy a new sister.”

“It could in theory,” you agree. “But it’s not likely.”

The next question comes from Isabeau. “So what goes wrong if she specifically wishes to win the money in a card game?”

“Probably nothing,” you say. “The outcome of wishes is unpredictable, and the Universe seems to look for a path of least resistance that’s not always intuitive to humans. But it’s not vindictive. Wishes don’t ‘go wrong’ for the sake of going wrong. You may not be happy with the result, but the Universe won’t actively twist your words against you. If she chose her words carefully enough, our heroine could gain the money with no serious repercussions.”

“Is that really the example in the book?” Siffrin asks. “Wishing for money?”

You confirm this with a nod and a “yes”.

Siffrin scrunches up their face in thought. “Either that’s a really old book,” he says, “or the author has no idea what they’re talking about. You can’t wish for money. It’s banned.”

Isabeau chuckles at this. “Hate to break it to ya, Sif,” he says, “but people do things that are banned all the time. Stealing is banned. If there’s people out there who’ll risk stealing, there’s definitely people who’ll try wishing for money.”

“Wouldn’t that be a big problem?” asks Mirabelle. “Isabeau is right, it’s just too tempting. If everyone in your country knew how to use wish craft, people would be wishing for money constantly. That… can you even have money while that’s going on?”

“That’s why it’s banned,” says Siffrin. “Or, I think that’s why it’s banned?”

“You keep saying banned—” begins Isabeau.

“Not illegal,” interrupts Siffrin. “It’s… banned. You just can’t wish for things that are banned. You can’t.”

There’s a moment of silence as you all ponder this.

“Banned… by whom?” asks Mirabelle, cautiously.

You recognize the danger in this question, but it’s such a pertinent point that you risk giving Siffrin the time to answer it. Sadly, that risk does not pay off. Siffrin merely loses track of the conversation.

It was worth a try.

“That still leaves us no closer to understanding how my wish is causing a time loop,” you conclude, after taking a few minutes to catch him back up.

“I agree,” says Siffrin. “I still think it shouldn’t have done anything. A wishy-washy intent doesn’t make for a very strong wish.”

“You keep saying that,” you say, “but it did. It could not be more obvious that my wish to win a coin flip had an effect.”

Wait.

Something about what you just said is bothering you.

You tune out the discussion as you pick apart that thought. It could not be… more obvious…

“Gems alive,” you exclaim, interrupting Mirabelle. “It really was obvious.”

This statement hangs in the air for a few moments as you continue to trace this train of logic, and the others stare at you in confusion.

“If it’s so obvious,” says Isabeau, “could you maybe explain it to us? So it’ll be obvious to us too?”

“Huh?” you say, confused. “No, I didn’t mean that the answer was obvious. I meant that I wished for it to be obvious.”

“That makes even less sense!” Bonnie whines.

Ugh, get your thoughts in order. You need to explain this properly.

“Wish craft gives you the thing you asked for, and the thing you really wanted,” you explain. “The literal thing I asked for was to win a coin toss. But the thing I wanted was to know whether or not wish craft really works. So it gave me both. I was shown undeniable evidence that wish craft works… by way of winning a coin toss.”

“That… seems like a stretch?” says Mirabelle, sounding doubtful.

“But it fits” you say. “Time rewinds immediately after I flip a coin, to the moment after I made the wish. Why? So I couldn’t miss the connection between my wish and the magic! It was easy to replicate, given the trick coin, to assuage any doubts. After that… the wish led me directly to the one entry in the Head Housemaiden’s journal which had information about wish craft, and to this book on that very subject.”

“Does that really help?” asks Isabeau. “You couldn’t even read the book until just now.”

“One wish can only go so far,” you guess. “There was another wish preventing me from reading the same books, until my latest wish broke the deadlock. Speaking of which… my first wish even smells different than the other wishes I’ve run up against. Just so I’d notice the difference!”

Nobody has a further objection to this.

“In conclusion,” you say, “every detail of how my wish was carried out was chosen to maximize how much I, personally, would learn about wish craft.”

“If we follow that logic,” says Isabeau, “you couldn’t have won your coin toss on the first try. No luck needed.”

“What about the coin?” asks Siffrin. At your confused look, he continues. “You said having that coin made it easier to test your theory, right? So isn’t it really lucky that there happened to be a trick coin waiting for you in Dormont? Was it really always here?”

“Gems, I hope so,” you say with a shudder. “I had to ask around town for that coin, several people remembered its use on multiple occasions… I don’t even want to consider the possibility that Wish Craft is that powerful.”

“…You’re already a time traveler,” Isabeau reminds you. You can only let out an annoyed huff in response.

“Isn’t this all a little… convoluted?” asks Mirabelle. “You said it tries to follow some path of least resistance, right? How could time travel, repeated time travel, possibly be the path of least resistance when you wished to know something?”

“It probably wouldn’t be,” you say, “if it weren’t for your Head Housemaiden.”

This is met by a few confused looks, but Mirabelle gasps in understanding. “Euprhasie’s wish!”

“Exactly,” you say. “All of Vaugarde wished for our success. Without a ritual, this would have done nothing. But your Head Housemaiden somehow channeled their collective wish into a proper ritual, and it worked. I suspect she let her own intent muddy the ritual though. How else would we end up with a wish to save Vaugarde… by way of protecting one of her Housemaidens?”

Mirabelle blanches a bit at this suggestion. “But… why me?”

You shrug. “I can hardly blame a woman for playing favorites within her own subconscious. Regardless, the Universe was already working to fulfill that grand wish. This rather elaborate way of fulfilling my own wish might have just fit in neatly as part of that effort. Expressions know we needed the help.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Mirabelle says, regaining her composure. “But… shouldn’t it have ended when we beat the King? Vaugarde was safe, and you knew that Wish Craft was real by then.”

“You’re forgetting that there was one more important wish in play.”

“Mine?” asks Siffrin.

You’re so caught off guard that you need a second to reply. “Th-that too? Maybe? You only made it in the first timeline and this one. We don’t have enough evidence to really say whether or not your wish had an effect. It’s too hard to disentangle from the others. But no, you’re overlooking the most important wish of all.”

“The King,” says Mirabelle, with a hint of dread.

“The King,” you agree. “We still don’t know what he wished for, but we know he wished for something. Presumably, something that’s difficult to reconcile with Euphrasie’s wish, and completely incompatible with us killing him in the upcoming confrontation.”

“But if we don’t kill him, Euphrasie’s wish is impossible,” she says. “Also, ah, everybody in Vaugarde is frozen forever.”

“So we just gotta ask him what he wished for,” says Boniface. “Right?”

“We tried,” you say. “He’s not eager to tell us. But… we’ll need to keep trying. I’ll need to keep trying. I don’t see any way through if we don’t know his wish.”

This decision is met with a chorus of agreement.

Discussion over, the group spreads throughout the room. Boniface begins preparing snacks, since you’ve been on this floor longer than usual. Mirabelle and Isabeau begin chatting off in a corner, while you continue your reading. But before you can get very far, Siffrin approaches you.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he says, quiet enough not to draw the others into the discussion. “How did such a…” there’s a pause as he tries to think of a specific word before giving up. “How did it work if it was something you just thought of on the spot?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t just need a ritual,” they say. “For it to do something big, you have to really, really want the wish to come true. It shouldn’t work if it’s something you just came up with.”

“My wish wasn’t any more spontaneous than yours. You were pretty confident your wish would bear fruit.”

“But that was something I’d already wanted.”

“I think… mine was too.”

“Because you like research?” Siffrin asks, tilting their head to the side.

You pause for a moment to put your thoughts in order.

“It’s more than that,” you say. “That discussion, when you showed me how you perform wishes… in all the weeks we’ve been traveling together, that’s the most you’d ever told me about your own culture. It still is, in fact. I understand now why that is, but at the time, it felt like you were finally opening up. So… yes. I truly did want to know as much as I could about wish craft, and it wasn’t a passing fancy.”

“You wanted to learn about my culture… by testing if Wish Craft works?”

“I’ll admit that testing the efficacy is not the most tactful way to go about it. And you’ve already made quite clear how poorly I thought through the method. But… the intent was genuine, and apparently that’s what matters to Wish Craft.”

Siffrin smiles.

After a few moments of contented silence, their smile turns mischievous.

“Culture-ology?” they ask.

“What?”

“Is that what you’re studying? Culture-ology?”

“Not a word,” you say, unable to suppress a laugh. “But honestly… sure. Close enough. I’ve been studying culture-ology.”

“Really?” Siffrin beams. “So what do I win?”

“My fingers!”

A panicked shout from Boniface disrupts your quiet conversation

“Belle! My fingers are stuck! All of the ones on this hand.” They hold up the hand in question, showing off fingers which are a much darker shade than the rest of their body.

Mirabelle is quick to apply some soothing craft to the child, which cures the symptoms. But you know full well that it will only get worse from here.

“We’ve been in this room too long,” you declare, addressing the room. “Based on past experience, we still have… roughly an hour and a half before the curse becomes debilitating. There’s still two floors to go, and another book like this one in the secret library.”

“But… snack time!” pouts Bonnie.

“We can still eat, but… be quick about it. We need to move.”

You quickly stow the book in your pack, to refer back to later if needed. You’ve already learned more than you dared hope for in this loop. But perhaps, between this book and the other… a few more answers are still forthcoming.

Chapter Text

You’ve half a mind to set this book on fire, just on principle.

When you were here the first time, in the secret library, you called this book “dangerous.” You may have even vowed to speak with the Head Housemaiden about these dangerous books, although it’s hard to recall for sure. At the time you thought it was a danger mostly due to its ability to inflict pain on the reader, and its overt interaction with your wish. But you didn’t know how right you were!

“This book is practically a how-to guide on destroying the country,” you muse aloud.

“I… sincerely doubt that,” say Isabeau.

“It might as well be!” you exclaim. “That first book from downstairs, that was all theory. Academic. But this? This entire book, front to back, is an instruction guide for Wish Craft rituals. Very detailed, neatly labeled. It’s even sorted from the least to most powerful!”

Your outburst draws attention from across the room. Mirabelle looks up from the book on shield crafts (which she insisted on comparing to her own version, if you were going to wait around this room anyways). Siffrin and Bonnie abandon their search through the dusty shelves of the secret library.

“Is a list of Wish Craft rituals… bad?” asks Mirabelle.

“Why don’t you ask the people who wrote it? Assuming there’s anyone still alive on the island.”

Siffrin winces at your poor choice of words. Right, sensitive topic. Best to move on quickly.

“I can’t say for sure if the King read this book,” you say. “Or an equivalent. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. What I can say is that if you wanted to become the next King, this book is all you’d need.”

“It can’t be that bad,” says Isabeau. “Nobody can read it, after all.”

“I can read it,” you remind him. “It only took the most basic of rituals. I can’t be the only one brave or stupid enough to try.”

“It looked like it almost killed you,” he points out.

“Fine,” you concede. “I can’t be the only one brave and stupid enough to try.”

Mirabelle wanders over and looks at the book over your shoulder, despite her inability to read it. She looks away quickly.

“Sorted by power…” she muses. “Does power increase with complexity?”

“A bit,” you say, with a so-so hand gesture. “It seems to be more about the difficulty of preparing the ritual than actual complexity. The ones we’ve tried so far are near the front of the book. But if we jump near the end…” you flip to a random page about two-thirds of the way through, and skim it. “This one talks about burying a doll under a tree for exactly six months before whispering the wish to it. And if you want the best effect, you need thirteen people bury their own dolls with the same wish.”

“That’s… a lot,” she says. “Do you think the King used something like that?”

“To freeze an entire country working alone? I wouldn’t be surprised if he used several.”

“What does ‘power’ even mean?” asks Isabeau. “When we talked about it downstairs, it sounded like all these wishes were kinda… equal? Like, the Head Housemaiden wished for one thing, and the King wished for the other thing, and now they both have to come true. If one of them had a more ‘powerful’ ritual, shouldn’t that wish just… win out?”

“That’s one thing I wasn’t able to find in the first book,” you say. “At least not on our timetable. Perhaps if I had time to read it cover to cover, it’d be another story.”

“I think it’s more like an… upper limit,” says Siffrin. “If you’re doing something small, you can use an easier wish.”

“So what?” asks Isabeau. “If I tried to freeze the country using just the favor tree ritual, would everyone feel a little chilly? Or does it just… not work?”

Siffrin pauses to think, but you can tell immediately that they’re not going to win this bout with the memory-blocking effect. And you can not afford the time to retread this conversation.

“Forget that,” you say, hoping to cut them off quickly. “Either way, weak wishes are not going to get us out of this mess. The better question is what happens when two wishes directly contradict.”

Mirabelle speaks up quickly. “Haven’t we already seen that?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“In the last loop,” she says. “You tried to make a wish that would contradict the King’s, and something stopped you before you could finish. Maybe that’s what always happens.”

“Interesting theory,” you muse. Because it is interesting. “It’s speculative. I’m not sure how we’d go about testing it. I’m loathe to add any more wishes to the current tangle until we know what we’re doing. I don’t see how we’d answer it unless…”

You trail off, as you see the solution. A soft “Oh” escapes your lips as the pieces slot into place.

Mirabelle picks up on it. “Did you think of something?”

“Yes, but…”

It’s not real until you say it. You could just pretend you didn’t think of it. You could just stumble around blindly for a few more loops looking for another plan.

You could.

You could ignore this option, if you weren’t the person you are.

“We should avoid any further wishes related to the King and the fate of Vaugarde,” you begin, “At least, not without more answers. But there is one more wish we know, or can reasonably guess, with no apparent interference.

“Hypothetically,” you conclude, “Siffrin could wish to safely remember something from his childhood.”

Mirabelle and Isabeau look suitably unsettled by the idea. Boniface is looking between the adults, clearly struggling to keep up with the implications. But Siffrin’s expression…

They look hungry.

“I could?” they ask.

“No,” you insist. “The most likely outcomes are that nothing happens, or that some unforeseen force prevents you from finishing the wish. Possibly violently. A partial success might expose you to that memory-suppressing effect for a prolonged time, if you’re very unlucky. I wouldn’t dare suggest this without the benefit of a time loop.”

“But it might work?” they ask.

“It might work,” you agree. “If it did work, even partially, that could become a valuable angle of attack against the King. Even if it fails, I’d at least get to see how it fails.”

“But I might remember?”

“No!” shouts Mirabelle. “Siffrin, how can you even consider this?”

“Didn’t you hear Madame Odile? This it the only time it’ll ever be safe to try.”

“It’s not safe!” insists Mirabelle. “She just told you about all the ways you could get hurt doing this.”

“But, if she goes back in time… none of that counts. Right?”

“It always matters if you get hurt! It matters to me!”

Boniface grabs Mirabelle’s hand, trying to drag her away from the argument. “Forget it, Belle. Frin doesn’t care if they get hurt.”

That gets them the attention of everyone in the room.

“Bonnie!” scolds Mirabelle. “How could you say that?”

Bonnie just crosses their arms and pouts.

“It’s true!” they insist. “They didn’t care about their eye, and… now they don’t care about this.”

Siffrin looks confused.

“You… thought I didn’t care about my eye?”

“You said so!” shouts Boniface. “Over and over again. Every time anyone asked you if you were okay, you said it was fine. That it didn’t matter. And… and you even said that when you thought I wasn’t listening, so… you weren’t just saying it to make me feel good. You meant it.”

“Bonnie, it’s not important. What mat—”

“Of course it’s important!” they shout, tears forming in their eyes. “You got hurt! Because of me! Because of me, you can't see from one eye! You have a big scar! And you bump into things all the time, and you trip all the time… And you can't… You can't see!”

Siffrin is stunned into silence.

“Why would you do that? Y-you should have stood there and let me be hurt instead.”

“Bonnie,” says Siffrin, “I could never do that.”

Siffrin takes a step forward, but Boniface takes a step back to match.

“Why? Why is it okay if you get hurt but not me?”

“Because you’re a child!”

“I don’t care!” shouts Bonnie.

Before Siffrin can fumble the situation any further, Isabeau intervenes.

“Everyone calm down,” he says, stepping between the two. He then sits in on a nearby chair, and gestures to his lap. “Bonbon, c’mere.”

Reluctantly, Boniface climbs onto Isabeau and wipes their face into his shoulder, before sitting on his knee.

“Sif’s right,” says Isabeau. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but you are a child. As long as you’re here, we are responsible for keeping you safe. Any one of us would have done that.”

“But I don’t… want you to be hurt. I don’t want any of you to be hurt!”

“And we’ll try to do it without getting hurt. Trust me, we will. But sometimes, there’s no way to do it safely. If the choice is between you getting hurt, or us getting hurt… we’ll protect you, every time.”

Siffrin finally finds his words. “Bonnie, I don’t… like having one eye. But if that’s what it takes to keep you safe… that’s more important. I’d give up the other one too for that.”

“But you’ll try not to,” insists Isabeau.

Siffrin laughs. “But I’ll try not to.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You super promise?”

“I super promise.”

“You super duper promise?”

“I super duper promise.”

Somewhere in that exchange, both of them managed to put on a smile. Isabeau is smiling too.

Mirabelle was anxious, but now looks relieved—though not so relieved as to forget the earlier argument. With the deeper conflict resolved, she tries again to to convince Siffrin that testing the limits of Wish Craft is not worth risking their health.

Right now, they all look happy enough.

…

For your own part… you’re petrified.

You didn’t dare say a word during the entire exchange. You don’t dare speak up now. Anything you say will make the situation either better or worse, by definition, but you’re not even sure which of those you’d prefer. There’s no way you can repeat this conversation in another timeline if it involves you. Not accurately. Things will end well without your help, or they won’t end well at all.

You’re not even sure you know how to force this conversation again, with or without your input. It’s clearly something they both need, but there’s so much potential for it to end badly… Should you even try?

“…for you too, Madame Odile.”

Mirabelle’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Could you repeat that?”

Mirabelle nods. “I said, that goes for you too. No putting yourself at risk again like you did downstairs.”

“I’m in the least danger out of everyone here.”

“Don’t lie!” she insists, a hint of anger on her face. “Don’t just pretend you thought that was safe. You have no idea what would happen if that memory-wish attacked your mind. The thing you just tried to warn Siffrin about. Would that go away when you reset?”

“It was a calculated risk,” you try, but she is having none of it.

“You have infinite tries, but a thing that might hurt you permanently is a ‘calculated risk’?”

“Why not?” you retort, without thinking. “I didn’t hesitate to…”

You cut yourself off, but not soon enough.

“Didn’t hesitate to what?” asks Mirabelle.

You don’t answer.

“Do I have to guess?” she asks. “Because I really hope it wasn’t something like ‘I didn’t hesitate to use a plan where you were hurt.’”

“Something… like that,” you admit.

“That was different,” she says. “From what you said, you only tried that when we were completely stuck. And I agreed to it. Twice.”

“It’s not different. We'd be just as stuck without this information on Wish Craft.”

“Was that really the only way forward?” she asks. “Or was it just the plan that felt right?”

“Of course that was the only way forward,” you say. “It was… the next logical step. Also, minor point in my favor, it worked!”

Isabeau chooses this moment to butt in.

“Madame,” he says, “I… don’t believe you either. If you were really just trying to maximize our chances against the King, if this was just you being cold and logical like you want us to believe… why didn’t you ask Sif to do it?”

“Me?” cries Siffrin, surprised to be dragged into this.

“Sorry buddy,” says Isabeau, “but yeah. Sif could’ve done that just as easily as you. Probably easier, if they learned to read it as a kid. And it’d be safer, at least from an ‘eventually saving Vaugarde’ perspective.”

“I wasn’t going to let Siffrin get hurt again. Not if…”

You trail off, but you’ve said enough.

“Not if it could be you instead?” supplies Isabeau.

You say nothing.

“Madame,” says Mirabelle. “You don’t need to hurt yourself to make up for anything that happened.”

“Is it so bad that I just want you and your friends to survive this ordeal?”

Just when you thought the tension couldn’t get any higher, you had to say that. You could hear a pin drop, now.

“Oh,” says Mirabelle, at length.

“I see how it is,” she says quietly. “Madame, I’m sorry for this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

You barely manage a “what?” before Mirabelle lurches forward, pinning your arms to the side in a crushing embrace.

“What?” you manage, again. Then, “Why?”

“Because you’re not listening!” she screams. “And maybe this is the thing that’ll break through your thick skull! Maybe this will let you understand that… I care about you too. We care about you.”

Without any input from the rational part of your brain, your lips utter the word “Why?” again.

“Why?” she repeats. “Because you’re my friend too! I care about you, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I especially don’t want you to be okay with something bad happening to you.”

Oh.

The room begins to shift out of focus, and for a brief moment, you worry that you might be running afoul of a wish again. But no. There’s a much more mundane reason for why your glasses are becoming blurry.

If your arms were less occupied you could correct the problem.

“I just wanna say,” begins the blurry shape that’s probably Isabeau, “that Mira is speaking for all of us right now. We all care about you.” He pauses while Siffrin and Bonnie chime in with agreement. “Also, she speaks for all of us when she says she’s worried that you don’t care what happens to you.”

“Yeah!” shouts Bonnie. “If Frin has to promise not to get hurt, you do too.”

“But the King—”

“No buts!” says Mirabelle.

You want to object again, but… the last time these four demanded you make a promise, that promise worked out pretty well.

“Fine,” you say. “I promise to…”

You trail off, not sure what they actually want from you.

“What do I promise?” you ask.

“Promise you won’t get hurt!” insists Bonnie.

“How about we start with ‘taking care of yourself,’” suggests Isabeau.

“Alright,” you say. “I promise to take care of myself, and to avoid any plan which will put me at unnecessary risk.”

“Do you super promise?” asks Bonnie.

“Yes,” you huff. “I promise, double promise, super duper promise, and whatever other layers of promise will make Mirabelle release my arms.”

Mirabelle gives a soft “oh” and releases you, before taking a sheepish step back. You exaggeratedly shake out your arms to restore circulation (though in reality she only maintained her death-grip for the first few seconds).

Hands finally free, you remove your glasses and begin wiping them off.

Even looking the other way, even with your glasses off, you can hear the smirk on Siffrin’s face. “Hey Mira,” they chide. “How come Madame Odile gets an emergency friendship hug but I don’t?”

Mirabelle must have missed the joking tone, because she sounds completely serious when she asks “Do you… want a hug? You usually don’t.”

Or maybe she sees something you don’t, given the way Siffrin has stiffened up by the time you re-don your glasses. “O-of course I do. Why wouldn’t I want a hug?”

Boniface is quick to reply. “'Cause you always freak out when anyone touches you.”

“I do not ‘freak out,’” insists Siffrin.

In lieu of a formal argument, Boniface steps up to Siffrin and emphatically pokes their arm with one finger. Siffrin jerks it back immediately.

It takes them a second to realize what they’ve done.

“Okay,” they admit. “I guess I do freak out a little. But… I don’t hate being touched. I’m just not used to it. I think if I know it’s coming, I… would be okay with a hug.”

“Oh, like with Nille?”

At Siffrin’s confusion, Boniface launches into a somewhat rambling story about their sister. Siffrin begrudgingly admits that they are indeed “like Nille”.

“Okay,” says Boniface, once that is decided. “Frin. I am going. To hug you now.”

Boniface walks up to Siffrin and hugs his waist. Siffrin freezes up entirely, before slowly wrapping their arms around Boniface in turn.

“I want to hug Siffrin too,” says Mirabelle. “If… that’s okay?”

Siffrin nods, and Mirabelle approaches and hugs his shoulder. He doesn’t adjust his arms at all.

“Can I get in on this too?” asks Isabeau. Siffrin mutters a yes, so Isabeau quickly claims the other shoulder.

“Madame,” calls Mirabelle, “come join us!”

“No thanks,” you say. “I’m afraid you’ve already expended my entire hug quota for today.”

“Boo,” calls Isabeau. “You’re not gonna let Sif’s first group hug be incomplete, are you?”

“Fine,” you huff. You approach the huddle of bodies, and… do your best to wrap your arms around Mirabelle and Siffrin. It’s only slightly less awkward than Siffrin’s own arms, but… he smiles.

You remain there for as long as you can. You, and your friends.

…

It’s still there, of course.

That voice in your head, the little part of you that sees the unpleasant answer. Even now, it’s telling you how easy it would be to get Siffrin to agree to the test you suggested earlier. Just ask them alone, in the next loop, and they’ll agree readily. They’ll thank you for it.

That voice, that part of you… it’s still there. It’ll always be there. You’ll always be you.

But just for today…

Just this once…

You feel confident…

That you don’t have to listen.

Chapter Text

The impromptu discussion about who should and shouldn’t be taking risks with their safety leaves no time for further reading. In fact, it leaves little time for anything except a focused march through the remainder of the House and two rushed snack breaks. If you didn’t already know the location of every key and every tonic, it probably wouldn’t be enough time.

But it is enough time.

A quick check before entering the King’s chamber reveals that everyone still has the full use of their dominant hand. Nobody except Mirabelle can move their toes, but you don’t really need that to fight.

With no further delay, you enter the final chamber.

The room is just as you remember, just as it has always been. Tears line the walls and hair lines the floor, rendering every step forward a minor risk. The King himself takes up much of the space, even as he kneels while sobbing into his fists. His size only seems to grow as he stands to his full height.

You let him exchange his words with Mirabelle and the other Vaugardians. They’re words you’ve heard before.

“Bright One,” he asks at length. “Do you remember?”

“I don’t,” says Siffrin. “And I… won’t risk trying harder. Remembering our home is too dangerous.”

“Ooooooh,” moans the King. “But what else could matter? What could possibly matter more… than all that we’ve lost?”

“The people I have now,” says Siffrin. “They matter more than whatever I’ve lost.”

The King thinks on this, and lets out a booming laugh.

“Wise words,” he decides. “And well spoken. We should all try… to preserve what we’ve found here. Here… in this beautiful country.”

Now.

“Why are you trying to destroy it?” you ask, stepping forward.

“What?” asks the booming voice of the King.

“If you think Vaugarde is beautiful, if you think it should be preserved… why are you destroying it?”

“Is it not obvious?” he asks. “I am not… destroying Vaugarde. I am preserving it. The Vaugarde of today… must not be lost.”

“The Vaugarde of today is already lost,” you retort. “Caravans flee towards its borders. Parents mourn their frozen children, and the reverse. Everything that Vaugardians value about their country has been threatened or destroyed by your actions.”

“But they still live,” says the King. “Tell me, traveling one. The people in that village, nearest this House. What are they doing now?”

“Right now?” you ask. “Nothing. By now they’re probably frozen.”

“Frozen doing what?”

You hesitate. He knows the answer, somehow. He would only ask if he knew the answer.

Mirabelle speaks for you.

“A party,” she says. “They agreed to throw a party. To either celebrate their victory… or to make the best of things if we lose.”

“That,” says the King, a note of triumph in his voice. “That spirit. That… optimism. That… happiness. It will live forever.”

“And our values?” asks Mirabelle. “Our ability to change, and grow?”

“To embrace Change… is to embrace loss. Without me, Vaugarde will morph, and twist, and crumble. Your home will be lost as utterly as my own.”

“Is this better?” you ask.

“Excuse me?” asks the giant before you.

“Is this better?” you repeat. “Your victory would end the life of every person in Vaugarde, one way or another. Is that really so much better than what happened to the island?”

“How… dare you?” he roars, with such volume that you’re nearly knocked off your feet.

“You, who has a home to return to. A home you can remember. A past you can remember. How dare you pass such judgment? You know nothing.”

With that, the King charges directly at you.

You barely have time to throw up your arms in a blocking stance before he’s on top of you, huge fist slamming into your arms. Then another blow, before you can recover.

You hear a battle cry from Isabeau as his protecting craft surges through your body, and Mirabelle’s healing craft not long after. You hear scissors craft clatter uselessly against his armor. You take the brief window of protection to throw up your own Craft Shield. You even fire off a Paper Fan V at point blank range, causing him to stagger backwards… but only for a moment.

It’s not enough.

The King is relentless. Blow after blow lands upon you. A huge fist lifts you up, then slams you into the ground. Again, and again.

Bonnie tries to rush forward, tonics in hand, but they stop short. With all the King’s rage focused on you, there’s no safe approach.

On the edge of consciousness, you hear the King’s voice say… something which you don’t have the strength to grasp.

Healing craft surges through you again, restoring you to your senses. But the King’s fist still holds you tight.

Seeing your wounds close up for the second time, the King lets out of a bellow of rage. The fist holding you rises up, before tossing you away like a rag doll.

Any hopes of using this opportunity to escape are dashed as your shoulder contacts something cold. You have only a moment to wonder at the lack of pain before—

—you’re back in the void.

It’s… colder than before. Your entire body feels like it’s been submerged in a frozen lake. You scramble for breath, but there is no air in this place.

Cold. You’re… frozen in time. That… makes sense.

Counting. You’re supposed to count to get out of here.

One, two, three, four…

The freezing cold numbs the other injuries the King inflicted upon your body, but it feels even worse in its own way. Were you still alive, you’d be worried about hypothermia.

…thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…

Beyond the cold, the sensory overload you’ve come to associate with this place is… missing. No swirling shades, no sound, no other feelings. Just a silent, lightless void for as far as the eye can see.

…sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…

Just as before, just as every time, it feels like so much longer. Time passes so strangely here. You’re sure you’ve been here for days, weeks already. But you haven’t. By any objective clock, it’s been less than two minutes.

…one-hundred eighteen, one-hundred-nineteen, one-hundred twenty.

You’re still here.

Perhaps you counted too fast? The point was to force you to force the seconds to pass, but if you counted faster than once per second…

Start over.

One, two, three, four…

You keep counting, to stave off the dread.

…fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty…

This is nonsense. Even if you counted too fast, it’s certainly been longer than it usually takes to leave here.

But there’s nothing else to do.

…one-hundred eighteen, one-hundred-nineteen, one-hundred twenty.

It’s not working.

Is that it? Have you really used up all your second chances? You’ve certainly had more than your share.

…one hundred eighty-three, one hundred eighty-four, one hundred eighty-five…

Isn’t it ironic? Mirabelle was so worried that you were taking risks with your life, but the thing which finally did you in was the risk you didn’t see coming.

Though you’re not really dead. Just frozen in time. Apparently that’s worse.

…two-hundred-forty-three, two-hundred-forty-four, two-hundred-forty-five…

Isn’t it strange? That being frozen should feel so much like being dead? It shouldn’t. But is this really what death feels like? Or is it just a way to conceptualize death that your Wish Craft thought would be useful?

This… can’t be what being frozen is actually like. This… can’t be the fate you’ve inflicted on every person you failed to save.

This can’t be what you did to Mirabelle.

…three-hundred-six, three-hundred-seven, three-hundred-eight…

This biting cold, this endless void, this… continued consciousness. The way that the passage of even a few seconds feels like a subjective lifetime. This can’t be the same for everyone.

It can’t.

This has to be your punishment specifically.

…three-hundred-sixty-two, three-hundred-sixty-three, three-hundred-sixty-four…

You wished for knowledge, so… you get knowledge. You get to know everything that’s happening, even after thought should stop. Even after everything that’s happening becomes nothing.

You wished for knowledge. Of course you’re not allowed to forget. Not ever.

This is… just you.

It has to be just you.

It has to be.

It has to be.

…four-hundred thirteen, four-hundred fourteen, four-hundred-fifteen…

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to be.

It has to—

—you collide painfully with a wall.

This is… not the favor tree.

“Look!” cries Bonnie's voice, from somewhere you can’t see.

You try to turn to face them, and immediately regret it.

“Madame!” cries Mirabelle, her voice getting closer alongside running footsteps. “Hold on!”

You feel Mirabelle’s healing craft course through your aching body, before you feel her hands turning you over to face her. A tonic is held up to your lips, and you gulp it down eagerly. It tastes like ash.

Boniface approaches with another tonic, but you wave them off. You’re already feeling well enough to sit up.

“What… happened?” you ask.

“You were frozen,” replies Mirabelle. “By a tear. Ah, but before that the King attacked you… a lot, so please be careful standing up. My craft can’t heal broken bones.”

“I was frozen… so how am I still here?”

Mirabelle looks confused for a second. “Because we… won?”

“You won?”

“We beat the King!” she insists.

“You won… without me?”

“It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “It took… a lot of tonics, but we remembered what you told us about the King. We saved the craft bomb and our wide-area attacks for his summoned sadnesses, and otherwise… we just wore him down with scissors attacks and team attacks.”

“It took forever!” adds Boniface.

That probably accounts for the long wait.

“Do you think you can walk?” asks Mirabelle offering a hand, but her voice is growing… fuzzy. You might not be as healed as you thought.

“Don’t,” insists Isabeau. “If she’s stable, we shouldn’t move her. Just wait here with me, Madame. Mira can find a professional healer and bring them here. There’s gotta be at least one in this House.”

His voice is difficult to make out, just like Mirabelle’s. As they discuss where to look for help, your vision begins to grow blurry.

It’s not until you smell sugar that it clicks in your head.

“Don’t leave,” you try to say, but your voice only comes out as a hoarse rasp. You can feel the gears of the Universe grinding, can feel as reality begins to strain and break once again.

Somehow, impossibly, you can still hear the Head Housemaiden’s words from this far away. It sounds as if she’s standing right next to you.

“There’s not much time! Tell me, what did you—”

…

You’re indoors.

More specifically, you’re in the clocktower. You find yourself seated in a corner with an open book. Casual conversation can be heard coming from the room adjacent.

This is… not where you’re supposed to return.

You bolt to your feet and run to the window, dreading what you already know you’ll see.

The sun is nearing the horizon. It’s not early afternoon. It’s early evening.

You’re running out of time.

Chapter Text

Siffrin hasn’t arrived at the clocktower yet, and Boniface is still putting the finishing touches on dinner. But you waste no time informing the people who are already here of the basics of the situation. With their secrets in hand, you have little trouble convincing them that the time loop is real.

By the time Siffrin arrives, you’re all ready to turn tonight’s dinner into an impromptu war room.

There’s a lot to explain. You ask them to hold their questions to the end, but do your best to answer the questions they already asked in past loops. By the time you’re ready to hear from the others, you’ve all finished eating.

The secret of Mirabelle’s blessing is revealed, but the implications go undiscussed. There’s simply no time.

Siffrin is the first to share their thoughts, once you’ve laid out the facts.

“If the start of the loop is getting later each time, does that mean it’s fixing itself? Do we just have to wait a couple more days until it catches up?”

“No,” you say. “Just the opposite, in fact. It means we’re almost out of time.”

“But why?” he asks. “We’re on a winning streak. As long as we win on the last loop. Vaugarde is saved.”

“There probably won’t be a ‘last loop,’” you explain. “I’ve more or less fulfilled my own wish, but that does nothing to resolve the conflict between the King’s and the Head Housemaiden’s. I think it’s far more likely that the loop that’s an hour long will be followed by a loop that’s thirty minutes long, then fifteen, then five. ‘No loop’ would be quite a surprise.”

“How much time do we actually need?” asks a worried Mirabelle. “For preparations I mean. To defeat the King?”

“At bare minimum? We need you to learn a shield against time craft. We’ve been taking care of that before we enter the House, but in theory you could learn an equivalent from a book on the second floor. So the last possible minute would be on that floor.”

“It’s a lot worse than that,” says Isabeau.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“The problem is…” he begins, then trails off. “Sif, would you mind handing Madame Odile her coin?”

“What coin?” asks Siffrin. “You mean the one with two heads? I don’t have that. She never asked me about it, this afternoon.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“You see the problem,” says Isabeau, reading it off your face. “What’s the earliest point where we need to rely on your future knowledge?”

“The Death Corridor,” you say without hesitation. “But that’s… only a few rooms into the first floor.”

He nods sagely. “That’s the point of no return.”

“We might as well treat this loop as the point of no return,” you say. “I have no idea how much time we’re going to lose on each reset. There are preparations we can only perform before entering the House, preparations we should have performed this afternoon. Ideally, we need to budget time for them before going to bed this evening. This might be the last chance to do so.”

Siffrin looks confused. “Didn’t you say we only need Mira’s shield to beat the King?”

“To beat him in a fight?” you ask. “Yes, we just need the shield and a few minutes to review strategy. But we need to defeat him in such a way that his wish is still fulfilled. For that, we need every advantage we can get.”

“Do we even know what his wish was?” asks Mirabelle.

“I think so,” you say. “I think I finally understand him. And I have the beginnings of a plan. But it still needs quite a bit of work.”

And work on it you do. You brainstorm and plot as late into the evening as you dare, before retiring immediately to bed. You all need an early start tomorrow. There’s supplies for Siffrin to fetch, and craft skills to review. If you didn’t already know exactly how long Mirabelle’s shield will take to master, you’d never risk putting it off until morning. But it’s best to do all your preparations at once, in daylight.

You all try your best to get some sleep. Tomorrow, you save Vaugarde.

Siffrin fails to retrieve your coin. The children weren’t where you expected, today.

That’s fine. You… haven’t relied on the coin for a while now.

All the preparations that matter go smoothly.

…

Soon, too soon, you find yourself back inside the House.

The keys and tonics are exactly where you remember them. You make good time.

The book in the first floor storage room, to your mild surprise, is still readable. But it’s too late to do you any good. Your plans for this loop are set in stone, and if they don’t work… you’re not sure reading further will make much difference.

Better you reach the King in peak condition.

…

You stride into the King’s final hallway. One last time.

“Oh,” moans the King. “Young ones… are you… here to kill me?”

But you’ve no interest in hearing the same arguments again.

“This needs to end,” you say. “This constant fighting, this loop we’re trapped in… it needs to end.”

“Straight… to the point,” says the King. “But surely… if you’ve been here before… you know that I cannot back down.”

You nod. “I know that you are bound by your wish, and that you want to see it through regardless. But this is not the right way to protect Vaugarde. And… it is not a way that will succeed.”

“Nonsense,” says the King. “Just as the Universe will not permit me to abandon my course, it will not permit me to fail. It has answered my pleas. My Wish.”

“Your Wish is powerful,” you agree. “But it is not the only one. The head of this House knew of Wish Craft, somehow. She hoarded her books and her knowledge, and she remembered enough. She channeled the wishes of Vaugarde, the wishes of thousands of people, into a ritual to oppose your own.”

“Impossible,” says the King, though he sounds less sure of himself.

“It’s true,” you insist. “I stand before you with the accumulated knowledge of over a dozen attempts, and by my side stands a Housemaiden who can shrug off your curse. Would the Universe allow that, if your wish stood unopposed?”

“No,” he admits. “So where… does this leave us?”

“In a stalemate,” you say. “The Universe will not permit your total victory, nor your total defeat. We will remain here forever, unless some compromise is reached.”

“Compromise?” barks the King. “You would have me… compromise the safety of Vaugarde? Give up on my wish to preserve it?”

“You’re not saving Vaugarde,” shouts Mirabelle, too incensed to remain quiet. “You’ve just… traded one disaster for another! You were so scared of our people being wiped out eventually, that you’re destroying us right now! This isn’t saving us. It’s not saving anything!”

“On that,” says the King, “we will have to disagree.”

“We’re not asking you to abandon your goals,” you say. “Only your method. You made a wish to protect Vaugarde, and the Universe has seen fit to empower that wish. Surely if you stop this madness, if you seek another path, it will meet with the same success.”

“Please,” says Siffrin. “This isn’t right. What happened to us was a tragedy, but… we don’t have to make it worse. Can’t we just… find another way?”

“Is this all you have?” asks the King. “Pleas to stop and appeals to my… better nature?”

“This is an olive branch,” you say. “The Universe has allowed us to grow, and learn, with each iteration of this loop. It has granted us the privilege to act. It has not granted that privilege to you. When we first reached this room, you struck us down with ease. Again, on the second attempt. Since then, we’ve slain you three times in a row. If this battle continues… the only way it can end is in our favor. We will find a way forward, and it will not be one you’d prefer.”

“Lies,” says the King. “You are bluffing. This endless loop… is an outcome I can accept. Vaugarde remains safe and whole. Enough remains unfrozen… to fulfill their pleas. Is that not already… the perfect compromise? Why would I accept anything less? Why would the Universe allow for anything less? Why would this loop ever end?”

“It can if you choose—”

“But I won’t,” he says.

Well, you tried. It doesn’t help that you really are bluffing.

“So be it,” you say. “But whatever happens next, please understand this: My offer of peace was genuine.”

Whatever response the King might have to this is lost to the ensuing chaos. Your allies (your friends) recognize your use of past tense as the signal to enact Plan B.

If the King knew your party (your friends) better, he might have been suspicious that only three of you talked in that encounter.

Boniface remained silent because you asked them to. A child’s input was a wild card you could not afford, not in such a delicate moment.

But Isabeau? Isabeau was silent because he was busy.

Concentrating.

Concentrating on a craft which takes a very long time to perform.

As the King opens his mouth for a final retort, he is struck by the full force of the Battering Ram craft.

Even against his impressive bulk, the force of the blow sends the king flying backwards a few feet, and knocks his legs out from under him. The ring as it strikes his armor is deafening.

He’s scarcely recovered his footing before the next blow strikes him, courtesy of Siffrin: A craft bomb, launched directly into his face. The explosion leaves him stunned and off balance, enough that your own Paper Fan V causes him to stagger backwards and fall again.

It’s an impressive display, but not quite enough. A few cheap shots won’t overcome the King’s impressive endurance, and you can’t keep this up.

Only Mirabelle is left to act, and she moves close to do so. She waits patiently until she is sure the King has regained his senses. Only then does she hold up her canteen, remove the cork, and splash the contents in the King’s direction.

This is, of course, another bluff.

Even if you had been willing to risk exposing Mirabelle to the tears again, it would have been a wasted effort. The tears, once neutralized by her blessing, are only water. You know this. She knows this. But the King does not.

He knows her only as the Housemaiden who escaped. He knows her as the one person in Vaugarde who can resist his curse. And this is not a bluff he can afford to call.

The King scrambles backwards with surprising speed, evading the thrown water entirely. But with all the ground you gained from your earlier attacks, there is not much “backwards” for him to go.

The King’s right hand touches a tear.

He stiffens immediately, more from surprise than from the anything else. Then he stands again to his full height… dragging the tear with him.

Impossible, even for Mirabelle. But not for the King.

“Was this… your plan?” asks the King. “Fools. This power… was gifted to me… by the Universe. It exists… for a purpose. It will not… turn against me.”

Despite the boast, despite his success in standing up, a familiar war is playing out upon the King’s right arm. The shiny metal of his armor against the dull stone of the curse. The dividing line hovers around his elbow.

The room around you is unfreezing, slowly. Or more accurately, the room around him is unfreezing. As he battles the tear for dominance, a ring of normalcy spreads out from him. The darkless hair within shrivels to dust, revealing the unfrozen floor beneath. As the ring reaches the other tears, they fall from the air; all except the one stuck to his hand.

That one is growing by the second.

Despite all this, the curse doesn’t seem to be winning.

“Give up already,” you say. “This is what you wished for.”

“No,” says the King through gritted teeth. “I wished… to preserve Vaugarde. To protect it… from calamity. You will not… take that away… with a cheap trick!”

“You never wished for that,” you say. “Protect it from ‘calamity’, you say? There’s any number of calamities that could befall a country. There’s a calamity befalling Vaugarde right now. But you didn’t really wish to protect it from all harm. You wished to protect Vaugarde from one, singular calamity. From the fate that befell your island. That, and only that, is the power you were granted.”

“And what if… it was?”

“Then you’re doing it right now,” you say. “This is how you protect Vaugarde from that fate. A wish can’t be granted if the wish is impossible. With you frozen in place, with your memories of Vaugarde frozen in stone… no one can ever wish the same thing on this country. Any attempt to erase Vaugarde from memory will fail.”

This is a guess, a gamble on your part. You don’t truly know if this is how Wish Craft works. You never finished testing it, will never finish testing it.

But the King doesn’t call you out on a lie.

“This is wrong,” the King insists instead. “I will… protect Vaugarde. I won’t… compromise.”

“I told you,” you say. “This conflict can only end with a compromise. Your wish will be fulfilled, and Vaugarde’s.”

“You expect me… to risk my wish… on such a theory? To risk… Vaugarde… on such a theory?”

“You risk nothing.” you say. “If I’m wrong, your wish is not granted. We’ll find ourselves right back here tomorrow.”

The King thinks on this, then sighs.

“The Universe leads…” he says.

He awaits a response, but you have no idea what to say. Siffrin screws up their face as if trying to capture another forbidden memory, but says nothing as well.

The King looks disappointed.

…

The entire room is unfrozen by now. There’s no footsteps yet, but… if residents of the House come rushing into this room, you have no idea what they’ll do. Perhaps something rash. Mirabelle’s rule-breaking roommate is close by. You should finish this before she arrives.

“I’d prefer for your statue to guard this country in a dignified state,” you say. “But if you need more convincing, I suspect what you’re doing right now takes a lot of concentration. I wouldn’t mind sending you off with an eternal bloody nose.”

He hesitates a moment longer.

“If I do this,” the King begins, “and Vaugarde falls to ruin…”

“It won’t,” says Mirabelle, from beside you. “Protect our memories. We’ll take care of the rest.”

The King reaches up, with his one free hand, and does the one thing you weren’t expecting. He removes his helmet, tossing it to the ground, revealing the face beneath.

It’s… ordinary. The ordinary face of an ordinary man, scaled up.

“Good luck,” he says, and gives a tear-stained smile.

The King surrenders.

You have only a moment to watch the curse racing up the King’s arm, past his shoulder, before there is a blinding flash of light. When your vision clears, your adversary is entirely frozen.

“He’s smaller,” says Boniface. “Why is he smaller?”

They’re right. For some reason, the King’s body has shrunken back to the size of a normal human. With any luck, it will remain that size, in that pose, forever.

Mirabelle looks thoughtful “Maybe… he used up all his craft energy fighting with the tear? But it should have been gradual.”

“Maybe,” you say, “his size was supposed to help grant his wish. To defend him from anyone who’d want to stop it. Now that we’ve reached our compromise, he doesn’t need it.”

“Oh,” says Bonnie. “I’ve actually got an even better guess.”

“Let’s hear it,” you say.

“My guess is… who even cares? We did it! He’s frozen, and everyone is saved! We won!”

“You’re right,” says Isabeau with a laugh. “We did win. Didn’t we?”

Mirabelle perks up.

“I can feel everyone coming back to normal!” she cries. “Not just in the House, but all over Vaugarde. So then—the Head Housemaiden!”

“She’s fine,” you declare. “I’ve already seen it. She can wait a couple minutes.”

“But,” says Mirabelle, “I want to see her! So bad!”

“Fair enough,” you say, and hold out a hand. “We can go there… together.”

Mirabelle smiles, and takes the hand. “Together.”

Chapter Text

There’s no sign of a violated wish as you leave the room, nor as you cross that horrid walkway. Siffrin blocks the view with his hat once again. Whatever horrid whim drove him to steer you towards the edge the first time, it does not strike again.

The Head Housemaiden is waiting once again in the center of the room. Mirabelle abandons her patience (and your hand) when the woman comes into view, running the rest of the way and hugging her tightly.

The reunion is just as sappy as it was the first time. Once the older woman has finished praising Mirabelle, she turns to the rest of you.

“And you,” she says. “Mirabelle's companions… Thank you for helping her get this far. You have my gratitude, and the entire country of Vaugarde's…”

Bonnie beams at the praise, and Isabeau brushes off the severity of the task. Siffrin merely hides their face in their cloak.

“For Mirabelle, I’d do it again,” you say. “Though I’d very much rather not.”

This earns a laugh from both Mirabelle and Isabeau, though it flies over the older woman’s head.

“There is something I must ask you,” you say. “A question I’ve heard far too many times in the past few days. Madame Head Housemaiden… what exactly did you wish for?”

Her expression falls at the question, and her eyes involuntarily flicker towards Siffrin. “Ah. You… know about that?”

“I do,” you say. “Or at least, I know enough. I’m hoping I can borrow your books for a few days to cover the rest.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “You can read them?” she shouts. “That’s wonderful! I thought all their books would be lost to time! If you can read them, or translate… ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Indeed. For now, the same question: What did you wish for?”

“I… know what I should have wished for” she says, reluctantly. “I would wish for Vaugarde to be saved, and harness the collective wishes of Vaugarde to do so. That was the plan. I surveyed Dormont’s residents about their wishes, double checked my work, found the perfect wording to match their intent.”

“Did things not go how you planned?” asks Mirabelle.

“No,” admits the Head Housemaiden with a sigh. “Crafting a powerful wish takes a long time, and I didn’t have as much as I’d hoped. I was still preparing when the King arrived, and he was so strong… I panicked. I just wanted someone, anyone, to escape safely.

“I thought I had ruined our only hope at saving Vaugarde,” she continues. Then she turns to Mirabelle, “But… you’re here, somehow. You defeated the King and saved Vaugarde, despite my mistakes!”

“I’m not sure you did make a mistake,” you say. “Or at least, not in that way. If your wish really did harness the intent of all Vaugarde, that intent was still there. Even if you asked for Mirabelle’s safety, it still read that as the intent. So rather than one or the other, the same wish tried to do both.”

“But why me?” asks Mirabelle.

A warm smile returns to the Head Housemaiden’s face.

“You were almost out of the House when the King attacked,” she says. “So really, you were the only logical choice! But also, Housemaiden Mirabelle… You have always been the most hardworking Housemaiden in the House. Always striving to learn new things. To better yourself. Always meeting challenges head on, even if you didn't think you'd succeed. So even if I’d had more choices, if I had to pick one person out of this House to pin our hopes on… it would have been you.”

Mirabelle manages to avoid crying, but only just. “Head Housemaiden… No, Euphrasie… Thank you!”

Mirabelle gives the older woman a hug, which she gladly returns. The smile she gives… you can’t shake the feeling that this is her “default” expression. That she crafted her face with the intent that anything but a smile would feel unnatural. You’re… not comfortable with how plausible that sounds.

Vaugarde is weird.

Mirabelle has a much more sheepish expression when the two eventually part.

“Euphrasie,” she begins. “You should know… everyone thinks the Change God blessed me instead of you.”

“Oh!” exclaims Euphrasie. “But why would everyone think that?”

“People started saying it on their own,” Mirabelle says. “When they saw that I could resist the curse. They looked so hopeful… I couldn’t tell them they were wrong.”

“Well that’s a rather silly thing for them to think,” says Euphrasie, her smile turning playful. “I thought we all knew that the Change God is a pretty lazy deity!”

“Actually, the Change God did help us directly,” you point out. “Arguably more than once, although I’m not very clear on how things looked from a god’s perspective.”

Euphrasie looks thrilled at this information. “That’s wonderful! Mirabelle, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how rare of an honor this is. If you needed any more proof that you were the right choice, there it is!”

Siffrin mumbles into their cloak that “They helped me,” but you’re not sure anyone else heard it.

Euphrasie already knows enough about Wish Craft to be dangerous, so there’s not much harm in telling her a bit more.

“It seems the Change God’s intervention works a lot like Wish Craft,” you explain. “They needed their statue as a… focus of some kind. The King had the foresight to smash most of the statues in the House, but he missed one. I didn’t realize at the time, but it was pretty lucky for us that Mirabelle’s statue was hidden behind a locked door.”

“Wait wait wait,” says Boniface. “Are you saying Belle made that goofy-looking statue?”

“It’s not that goofy-looking,” she insists. “Is it?”

“It’s fine,” you insist, before Boniface can say something insensitive again. “And I don’t think the Change God or the Universe actually care how it looks. As long as she put real effort into making it, that’s good enough for both.”

Euphrasie grins wide. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Mirabelle coughs in a bid to get the conversation back on track. “I guess you’re going to want me to correct everyone’s assumption, now? Not that I think you’d want credit, it’s just… we shouldn’t give people the wrong idea…”

“Actually,” you say, “giving people the wrong idea… sounds like a very good idea.”

Both Mirabelle and Euphrasie look at you like you’ve gone crazy, so you continue.

“If I’ve learned one thing since arriving in Dormont, it’s that the world will be safer the fewer people there are practicing Wish Craft. Ideally that number should be zero. This misconception is a golden opportunity to avoid drawing attention to the actual source of Mirabelle’s blessing.”

“You may be right,” says Euphrasie, a hint of worry tinging her expression. “The woman who taught me what little I know about Wish Craft… she was adamant that it should not be used. She thought it was too dangerous.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” you say. “Even with an intent as laudable as ‘save Vaugarde’, you have no idea how close your wish came to disaster.”

Now she looks properly worried. “Just how close was it?”

You sigh.

“It’s… a long story,” you say. “I’d rather tell it when I’m well rested.”

And when I’m convinced I’ll only have to say it once, you don’t say.

“Of course,” she says, and somehow she switches instantly back to her smile. “You’ve all had a long journey. But soon, you'll be able to go back to your normal lives. Away from battle and strife.”

Will you? What even are your “normal lives” at this point?

“I’m sure you have a lot to talk about,” she continues. “So I’ll just get out of your hair. I should really check how the rest of the House is doing. That is my job, or so I’ve been told!”

Euphrasie grins wider and Mirabelle giggles, seemingly at some inside joke. But Euphrasie does exit the room through the same door your entered.

As she leaves, the five of you stare at each other awkwardly.

“So,” says Siffrin. “Are you all looking forward to going home?”

“Yeah!,” says Bonnie. “I can finally go back to Bambouche and see my sister again! And… and she’ll be able to move around and talk again!”

“That sounds lovely,” you say with a smile. “I’ll accompany you there, if you’ll have me. After that, I may or may not return directly to Ka Bue. I did promise a certain someone that I’d go traveling with him for a while.”

“Really?” says Siffrin. “Who?”

You smirk at them for several seconds before it clicks, and they stammer out “M-me?”

“Yes you,” you say. “At minimum I owe you a trip to Ka Bue, but I’d love to see some more of Vaugarde as well.”

“You, ah, don’t have to do that if you don’t want…”

“I do want it,” you insist. “Also, there’s a very good chance that I do have to do it. That’s what happens when you make a wish.”

Siffrin hides their face in their cloak at the reminder.

You turn to Isabeau next. “What about you? In one of the previous loops, you didn’t sound very enthusiastic about returning to Jouvente. Would you be willing to travel with us for a while?”

“Y-yeah!,” says Isabeau. “I’ve… loved traveling with you all. I was kind of dreading going back. If we can stay together for a while longer, without the King to worry about… I’d like that.”

“Me too!” shouts Bonnie. “I wanna come too! After we see Nille I mean. She can come with us, right? You’d all love her.”

“That’s up to her,” you say. “I’d be happy to have her, assuming she isn’t too upset about us dragging you along on our quest. But if she objects, that’s the end of it. Otherwise, going on a journey together with you becomes a little something called a ‘kidnapping’.”

“I can totally convince her,” says Bonnie, though they don’t look very confident.

You hope they do. It really wouldn’t be the same without them.

You turn at last to Mirabelle. “The only person that leaves is you. I’ll understand if this is where you want to part ways, but…”

“No!” says Mirabelle. “I’ll come too. Actually, I was thinking about going on a pilgrimage once the King was gone.”

“A pilgrimage,” you repeat, incredulously. “Mirabelle, what exactly have we been doing for the last few months?”

“It’s not the same!” she insists. “Pilgrimages are very important for the Change belief. You get to see new places learn how things are done differently at each House… I couldn’t do any of that while the King was freezing the country! You can’t just… observe the local customs while everyone is running for their lives.”

“I’ll concede the point,” you say. “You are the expert.”

“I am,” she agrees. “So yes, a pilgrimage. I was worried wouldn’t be able to convince any of you to come with me, since you only joined me to fight the King. But if you’re all traveling anyways… we can all go together! It’ll be just like before, except without the end of the world hanging over our heads.”

“That does sound nice,” you say.

“Assuming it’s really over.”

It takes a few seconds of everyone staring at you to realize you said that last part out loud.

“Why wouldn’t it be over?” asks Mirabelle. “Didn’t we do everything right?”

“Didn’t it usually end earlier than this?” asks Isabeau. “In all the previous loops, I mean.”

“I know,” you say. “I know it’s not rational, but I can’t shake that worry. I thought it was over the first time, and it wasn’t.”

“Would it help if I got you the coin again?” asks Siffrin.

“That’s not a bad idea” you agree. “I’ve probably satisfied my wish by now, but I should still ‘win’ a coin flip to be safe. Besides, I promised you at least half a dozen times that you can keep that coin after the loops end. We might as well honor that promise.”

Siffrin’s mischievous grin makes you immediately regret telling him about that.

“Oh!” says Bonnie. “I’ve got a faster idea to make Dile feel better.”

“Go on,” you say.

“The wish was making everything smell and taste yucky, right?” You nod. “So if I give you some food now, and it’s really over, it’ll taste fine!”

“That’s… a very good idea Boniface. Do you have anything left over?”

“Of course I do,” they say. “I am snack leader, after all.”

Boniface rummages through their pack for a few moments before pulling out a familiar ball of rice.

“Here,” they say. “One O-gi-ni-ri, just for you.”

“Onigiri,” you correct.

“O-ri-ni-gi.”

“Onigiri.”

“Onion-geeree.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “Just hand it over already.”

Boniface hands you a ball of rice. Hoping against hope, you take a bite…

This has an apple slice in it.

Somehow you convinced yourself this would be the “perfect” one reserved for you, but no. It’s just the leftovers. Just the unfortunate dregs of the young chef’s experiments.

But.

You can taste the apple. You can taste the rice. After two weeks of tasting only ash, this tastes like a miracle.

“It’s… over,” you say, to a round of cheers.

…

If it really is over, if this is the final timeline… there’s some difficult conversations ahead of you all.

You need to broach the subject of Siffrin’s eye, to somehow navigate and bridge the divide between them and Boniface. The fact that it went well once is no guarantee, not for such a volatile subject. There’s also the matter of Siffrin’s perceived aversion to touch. Not to mention the “feelings talk” you skipped about Mirabelle’s blessing, though that may be a moot point by now.

Shards, as long as you’re making a list, it’s high time someone starts pushing Isabeau to have a certain talk with Siffrin.

You have no idea how to instigate any of those talks organically. But perhaps it’s time to start thinking less like a woman in a time loop, and more like a mature human adult. You can just… talk to your friends. You don’t need the perfect situation. There doesn’t have to be a trick.

Just talk.

… Later though. You can talk to your friends later, after a warm meal and a good night’s rest.

After all…

You’ve got all the time in the world.

The End