Chapter Text

The Regretevator was not what you were expecting. From the stories you’ve heard, this gateway to other worlds promised fun and friends. It also promised money, but that wasn’t the point. From obbies to puzzles to worlds beyond anyone's imagination, there was something for everyone. However, you didn’t find any of that. 
The floors were…okay, at best. You couldn’t choose where you were going, but perhaps that was part of the fun. To you, however, it just made you woefully unprepared at every turn. How is it fun if you don’t know what will happen? Lots of people were on the elevator, but you were a mere stranger to them. The connections would never stick. People came and went and pushed and pulled, but you were always stuck in the same corner, listening to the same music. With every new arrival, the lift became even more cramped.

You have lost count of how many floors you’ve seen. You recall some of them, like the flooding concrete or that abandoned summer camp, but some didn’t last long enough for you to remember them. Mannequin Mark continued smiling while Gnarpy crossed their arms impatiently, tapping their feet. All the other residents hopped around like wild monkeys, but you stayed still. Your shoulders sag as you lean against the railing. Was this it? Just an infinite roulette, constantly spinning? Your luck would run out. Soon, the world on the other side would consume you. You had to leave somehow. But before you could search for an exit, something unexpected happened.

The lights go out without warning. You can’t see. You freeze, overtaken by surprise and lingering fear. Something sinister slithers into the room, taking shape in the corner. One by one, the lights flicker back on. You hear a laugh and turn to see what force of nature has come to greet you.
The figure was tall and imposing. The shadows bent around her. She wore a white sweater and black leather boots. Her pajama pants sported red eyes, the pattern spreading across the fabric like a rash. On top of her head was a clean white beret, matting down what looked to be spiky hair. Most curious of all, her face was half-covered with a fragmented mask, a diamond pupil in the center of the rigid crescent. Her golden eye stared down at the feeble figures below, encircled by a bright red sclera. Her lower eyelid raised, hinting at an unseen grin. “How intriguing,” she uttered.

-

Who was this?
Unlike the other residents of this curious elevator, you had no clue who or what she was. You've heard of Gnarpy and Mark and Split, but not her. The towering lady was nothing like the rest. Her appearance was eerie, and her presence ever more dreadful. And yet you couldn’t be afraid of her. Was it curiosity that silenced your fear? Or were you not wise enough to be scared?
Regardless, the lady in white just waited like any other. All she did was stand there like any other resident. Still, none of it put you at ease. Any moment she could rip something in half, and those claws were clear evidence. But despite the obvious threat she posed, she never made a move. Just what exactly was she waiting for?

You bit the inside of your lip and leaned against the railing. You inch to the farthest corner, keeping the tall lady in view. Meanwhile, some of the other regulars gather around her like ants. Had they no self-preservation? Or did they too lack fear?

The elevator made another ding sound and the doors opened. Snapping out of your train of thought, you stretched your arms and walked to the doors. It was too dark to see anything. Just a pure black void. But then appeared a…a pink cube?
Wait.
Oh no oh god oh F###-

Before you knew it, one of the elevator people was yoinked by the cube. They comedically screamed in vain before an elaborate dungeon revealed itself. Lava sizzled at the bottom and flamethrowers spun like a merry-go-round. The other regulars rushed in without a second thought. You approached the obstacle course with caution. You were playing with fire, after all.

A hop, skip, and a jump. The pattern kept you grounded. You slid across the platforms with ease and weaved around the flamethrowers. You lept onto the next platform with ease but one of the regulars wasn’t so lucky. They clutched onto the edge of the platform and dangled over the lava. You stopped for a moment, grabbing their arm and pulling them up. All you got was a “thanks” before they continued, but it was better than nothing.

Soon enough, the red button was pressed and the pink cube disappeared, screaming. As painful as it sounded, the screech was almost comedic. The captured person climbed out of the cage, but they now wore a princess outfit, all pretty and pink. Their dress glittered in the light. “Thank you for saving me,” they greeted, before coughing into their elbow. “Sorry, I had a frog in my throat.” Oh, okay-wow, their voice was deep . And before you thought it couldn’t get weirder, the newly-saved princess coughed up an actual frog. How they got that in their throat was beyond your understanding.

With that, everyone returned to the elevator. The lady in white was once more unamused by the current situation. People threw petals all over the princess, to which they simply batted them away. Meanwhile, you questioned your sanity. Why would some cube thing capture someone and turn them into a princess? Was it a weird hobby of theirs?

As the doors closed, Gnarpy shook xyr head. Xe then turned toward the tall lady and began mocking the eldritch horror. But when xe stared into the void, the void stared back.

"What a WEAK and FLEEBLE beazt! I zhall operate you next!"

"What would happen if I operated on you?"

"Gnarp- huhz??"

"How would that coursing pain feel?"

"Cracking through your body, slicing the crusts of your skin...and searing your bones?"

"..."

"Hmhmhm.."

Something twists in your stomach. Gnarpy’s silence said it all. If xe was scared of this woman, then you absolutely should be. Yet the fear was dormant, unable to boil over the brim. The lady continues snickering to herself, eyeing Gnarpy from afar. She was planning something. She had to be. She hadn’t done anything yet, but the wait was killing you. You shake your head and keep your eyes locked on her. But then-

BANG!

The elevator shook. You tried leaning onto the rail but ended up falling face-flat. The other regulars lost balance too, but ended up keeping their footing. The doors opened and Gnarpy immediately dipped. “Think fast, chucklenuts!”
You didn’t think fast enough.

Bullets sprayed into the elevator’s center with intense heat. The other regulars had already moved out of the way, standing in the cornered or sitting on the railings. But you were frozen, about to become Swiss cheese. But unseen claws pierced your shirt and pulled you upward from the scruff. You were too scared to struggle. As the clamor of bullets ceased, you were put back onto the ground. Your feet reached the floor again, nearly losing balance from your weight. The doors closed once more, now with one less resident. You dusted yourself off as the others returned to their normal bouncing around. What kind of elevator had a minigun?! As you question the safety guidelines of this thing, the lady in white stares at you. Her eye squints then blinks slowly. She then looked away and chuckled again. “My apsens need tending,” she hushed. Aspens? Oh right, the trees. You’ve seen an aspen tree before. They look like birch trees but have fewer dark spots on them. Perhaps she was a gardener? You couldn’t assume.

In the corner of your eye, an elevator regular threw petals toward the lady in white and red. She merely scoffed, her lower eyelid raising once more. “Such fragile petals,” she commented. “One swipe of the hand, and they shrivel.” It was…poetic, the way she described it. As cruel as she could be,her words were soft as cotton. Another resident sprayed her with water(rude), and she reacted once more. “I'll send you to a watery grave.” Yep, there it was. The water sprayer backs away for a moment, pausing. Seems like they got the message. They then threw more petals, and the lady said, “Ah, how pitiful.”

Pitiful. Such words suggested so much. Was she accepting the apology? Perhaps it was inadequacy. Her eye narrowed and tracked the guy as they slowly backed away from her again. As the floor ding went off, her eye then shifted towards you. It lost its narrow edges; a neutral expression. You froze. Who was this lady?
The doors opened to reveal a subway station and someone entered. It was Poob! You’ve heard of them a few times in your endeavors. Their cute little face was hard not to adore. Poob opened the present they were holding, spraying confetti everywhere. The Subway train rushed by, and soon everyone was back in the elevator. The doors closed and the lady in white tapped her fingers together, eyeing the new resident.

As the regulars bounced around the elevator like normal, it had suddenly occurred to you that you did not know this lady’s name. While you had heard the names of other residents, such as Mannequin Mark or Split, this individual remained unlabeled and unmentioned. In fact, a lot of things about her remained unknown. But as you turned back to the front of the lift, you got your first clue.

On the left, the number display had glitched. Instead of a simple number, it displayed a word. A name. Five bold letters, all capitalized. And it became increasingly clear who that lady in the corner truly was.

FOLLY.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

fol·ly

/ˈfälē/

noun

1. lack of good sense; foolishness.

“Hello hello! My name is Gregoriah, and I’d like to welcome you to my play palace!”
Now this had your attention. Playpalaces were always fun for you. The many tunnels and slides were a blast, and this place had just that. The green faces seemed like any other mascot or logo, but it wasn’t awful. You were practically leaning against the fence as this Gregoriah person made his announcement. “This emporium of wackiness has been scientifically proven to be the silliest place on earth!” he continues. “And I-” A buzzer cuts him off. On the television, you can see Greg look around frantically. “Oh no! I’ve accidentally summoned the flood!” Wait, the what? “Quickly! Climb the play palace!” The screen cuts to static and the panic settles in. The fence is lifted and the regulars dash towards the slides. Without any other options, you follow suit. This better not be like the concrete flood.

This obstacle course was more streamlined than the others. While the small platforms kept people on their toes(literally), it was easy to tell where to go next. The many arrows and smiling faces directed you towards the top. You dove straight into the tube and sprinted toward the stairs. This tightrope maneuver tested your balance at every corner as you hopped from railing to railing. A swarm of green balls rose from the ballpit and flooded every nook and cranny.
Once you were outside the play palace, the real challenge began. The first route was locked and you had to find another way out. You followed the others onto a ledge, but you jumped a little too early.

Your hand reaches for the ledge, clawing into the blue carpet. Your fingers ached. Their veins burned from the pressure and weight, slowly slipping. The green balls slowly filled the gap beneath you. Your other arm throws itself onto the ledge, using your fist as an anchor and your elbow as the lever. You pull yourself up with all your strength, soon collapsing back onto the floor, chest heaving.
But it wasn’t over yet.
The flood was coming for you. It crawled up the wall and poured onto the ledge. As it poured itself like a liquid, the space around you felt cramped. You could barely breathe. You needed to get OUT.

The pressure swelled and your ears rang with stress. You hugged the railing to the exit like a lifeline and scraped your fingers on the metal as you let go. You kept running. You sweated bullets. The adrenaline was leaving. You needed more time.
How the pile of balls was suffocating you wasn’t important. You were focused on survival. The animal in you scampered to the top of the play palace. It reached for the top railings and pulled you up. It then lunged for the platform, barely escaping the flood. You lay on the roof, lungs clawing at condensed air. You don’t know how long you stayed there, but it was far too long. Summoning your strength once more, you pushed yourself off the ground. But the scenery had changed. The green and blue colors of the play palace were gone, replaced by rustic beige.
You were back in the damn elevator.

No. No no no god please no .
This was a death wish. A death penalty brought on the self. And despite all the fire and safety violations, a damn playground was what almost killed you. You knew you weren’t indestructible, but now you were nothing but fragile. A glass pane in the middle of a bowling lane. You leaned against the wall and swallowed thickly, hoping to push down the bile. In. Out. In. Out. Focus. It’s done with. It’s over. But were you safe? Was there an exit? Would you ever get out? In. Out. In. Out. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. In, out. In, out-
“Are you okay?”

The voice startles you. You look around frantically. One of the regulars had knelt in front of you, keeping half a foot of distance between you and them. It was the guy you saved back in that dungeon. Your breath hitches, then slows. Shaking your head, you pull yourself up on the railing. You just nod, eyes on the floor.
The door opens again, but you don’t bother going through them. You’ve had enough of this sh##. As the other residents left, you sat back down, holding your head in your hands. God, this was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid-
“Is that anger and fear you hold? It tastes great.”

A pause. You looked up and stared at the lady in white. Folly, who was eyeing you, smiles underneath the mask. Now she seemed amused. What was her deal? Was she just playing with you? You swallowed again and maintained eye contact. “What do you want?” you asked.

Folly’s eye narrows and she chuckles again. She shakes her head and slowly lifts it. “My objectives are not yours to comprehend,” she tells you. “You are a mere blemish on the canvas of my vision.” Her yellow pupil locks onto you. Your fists and teeth clench. “You mortals always want something to get themselves into.”
Your fingernails bite the skin of your palms. She hit the nail in the damn coffin. Why else would you be here? You just look away and nod, trying not to stir the lady’s temper. Folly pauses, then snickers. “At least one of you’s wise enough not to disagree.”

Your gaze meets hers again. Was…was that a compliment? It couldn’t be a threat or insult. At least, that’s what you believed. Her eerie complexion and silk-smooth words never seemed to mix. You nod again and sit on the elevator railing. As you wait for the other contenders to return, your fingers rhythmically tap on the rail. Your feet swing in time with the music outside. Regardless of what came to greet you on this lift, the music was always catchy. Wonder if there’s a soundtrack on the internet somewhere.

Neither Folly nor Mark seemed to focus on the melody. In fact, Mark wasn’t focused on anything at all. Folly was always thinking about something. It was apparent from the moment she opened her mouth. There was always something on her mind. Whether it be thoughts of malice or intrigue, she never let her mind wander too far. Something about that harsh focus was so telling. While her poetic words danced with metaphors, her thoughts always got straight to the point. Her outer shell was ominous and cloudy, but her mind was clear as glass.

She was interesting, that Folly. As horrific as she was, she was a calm tempest. Both beautiful and destructive. Her patience seemed unending with those around her, despite her apathy. She was akin to a folktale that mothers would speak of to scare their children. A monster that haunts your dreams and tears your heart out. But she was no fictitious monster. She was real. An elegant cryptid with so many secrets. Fascinating in ways you could never pinpoint.

The elevator doors begin to close and everyone returns to the lift. Once the doors click shut, everyone bounces around like usual. However, the guy from moments before walks up to you and leans against the wall. “How are you holding up?” they ask.
“Alright,” you answer, though you couldn’t tell if that was the truth. That near-death experience may have been over, but it was hard to ignore.
“If you’re not, you can take a break,” they suggested. “The lobby’s still open.”
You shake your head. “I don’t think I can go back there,” you tell them. “Far too into it.” Truth was, you weren’t sure how to get back.
“That’s fair,” they shrugged. “It’s a common feeling. It’s why I keep coming back.”

There’s a split-second silence between the two of you. However, it felt much longer and more awkward. “What’s your name?” you ask. The contender blinks, almost surprised. They then recompose themselves and smile.
“SolaceSets,” they answer. “But you can just call me Solace.” They lend out their hand and you shake it. “Nice to meet ya. The name’s-”
CRASH!
What the hell-

The elevator suddenly shakes, knocking you off your feet again. You lean against Solace for support. The lights go out again, but Folly’s keen eye is still as bright as ever. Something screeches down the walls outside, hitting the bottom with a comedic metal clang.

“POWER OUTAGE CODE 872. PLEASE OVERRIDE POWER USING SWITCH AT THE TOP OF THE ELEVATOR SHAFT.”

You and Solace turn to each other. “Welp,” they say, “guess we don’t have a choice.”
Well sh##. Here you go again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

You didn’t want to climb the ladder. First off, this was a huge OSHA violation(did this elevator even know about OSHA?). The most unsafe an elevator shaft could be. Second off, you’d be crushed under the weight of an entire elevator. You’d instantly die. No question about that. But what other choice did you have?
You hesitantly grasp the ladder rung. This was gonna be the death of you.

You climbed for a few good feet before you heard the metal scraping. You quickly hopped onto a ledge and put your back to the wall. The falling elevator crashed at the bottom, but the darkness obscured its destruction. You continued climbing the ladder, praying you wouldn’t slip off.
But then the ladder was severed. A large gap separated the rungs too far out of reach. As another elevator began to fall, you hopped onto another ledge and clenched your teeth. You saw two others below you and two above. How’d they get up there?

Stumped, you looked around the shaft for another route. Another elevator crashed, this time with an odd cracking noise. One of the elevator riders below you clutched their side and landed on a ledge. They grabbed a medkit from their backpack and began wrapping the bandage around their side. Once they were done, they kept going. How the hell did they survive that?!
The other contender hops next to you and climbs onto a wooden board. She beckons you to follow and offers to take your hand. She pulls you up and the two of you keep climbing. But as the metal screeching returned, the two of you frantically lept toward the next ledge.
You didn’t jump fast enough.

While you held your balance on the thin platform, your whole body ached from an absent weight. Your bones weren’t broken, but they were pretty damn close. Your temporary teammate pulls you up onto the ladder and you keep climbing.
The cycle goes on for another solid minute. Climb the ladder, hear the metal screeching, get to the nearest platform, and repeat. The other contender that was below you had begun to catch up but often stopped at the platforms, rather than keep climbing. It was understandable, though. After all, he just survived getting crushed by an elevator. How else was he supposed to react?
You and your teammate reach another gap in the ladder. She looked around for another route while you kept an eye on the straggling contender. He was getting closer, climbing the ladder faster than before. But as he reached for the next platform, it all came crashing down.
It was as quick as it was agonizing.

The elevator dragged him into the darkness, his body a puppet to gravity’s forces. You freeze. If the weight of the lift didn’t kill him, the fall certainly would have. You reach out, but your new colleague tugged at your shoulder, breaking you free of the paralysis. “We gotta go,” she said. Without a word, she kept on running. Your fists clenched, nearly digging into your sweaty palms.
You pushed her aside and walked up the wooden boards. How could one be so careless? Another elevator fell down the shaft, the metal scraping piercing your ears. It mixed into a fresh disharmony with the rushing blood. You sprinted toward the ladder and clung to its crimson rungs. You were almost there. You had to be. You kept climbing and climbing and hoping and climbing, the metal scraping coming toward you at Mach speeds-

And it hits you. And then nothing.
YourUser79 was crushed.

-
We Never Fall
A Poem By [][][][][]

It is out of our reach
And yet we never fall.
Anchored by our flesh. Tempted by our hubris.
The human condition is that of hypocrisy.
Shouldn’t karma have washed away our sins?

It stains us like tar. It consumes us like poison.
And we consume each other, as we shall soon consume ourselves.
Our greed had led us to keep our flesh to ourselves alone,
Thus we hide it; our true selves in the dark.
A facade as fragile as it is serene.

But even as it breaks; shatters,

Twists itself inside out,

Snaps in half and pulls apart at the seams,

It is only gone for a short while.
The true display of profane beauty only has the spotlight for

So long.
We cannot simply cease to exist.

When the facade falls apart, there is nothing.
But when there is nothing, there is greed.
Where there is greed, there is addiction.
Where there is addiction, there is nothing.
And yet we never fall.
It comes back. Flesh wires tied back together in even knots.
Shattered bones rebuilt like porcelain.
And thus, here we are again.
The same guise, the same facade.
A cycle of hubris.

-

Your eyes shoot right open. You gasp for air. The ceiling lights are blinding. Your body feels nothing and everything all at once. You can’t get up. You don’t have the energy. You just stare into the lights in a daze. Were you dreaming? Did you wake up? Your ears still ring from the metal scrapes. You were still shaking. You had to be dreaming.
Your arm brushed against the leg of a chair. You grasped the wooden leg and forced yourself up, only to fall back and lean against it. Vertigo had gotten the best of you. Your stomach twisted. Your face dripped with sweat.
As the nausea faded, you placed your hand over your heart. As expected, it was racing. However, it began to slow down as you recognized where you were.
The elevator lobby. Where you started.

Last thing you remembered, you were in the elevator itself. There was no way back to the lobby and no visible entrance, either. When you entered, you simply went into the elevator and appeared. You pulled yourself up and sat in the chair to think. You leaned back, taking a deep breath. But then you remembered.
The shaft. The darkness. The agony.
No. Nonononono. Your heart stuttered. It had to be a dream, right? It was in your head! But what in that elevator was real and what was fake? Were you still dreaming? Were you dead? Of course, you were. You got crushed by a damn elevator. You had to be dead you had to be dead you had to be dead you had to be-

You curled into a ball. This was hell.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

You wouldn’t endure this. You were not made to. As your lungs pumped air through you faster than a gasoline pump, hot tears formed in the corners of your eyes. You sniffled as your nose clogged itself with beads of panic. You didn’t want to die. Not like this.
But you were dead. There was nothing you could do. You were dead. And you won’t be able to go back. Stupid, stupid, stupid. As you curled further into yourself, jumbled words sputtered from your lips. Please no. God, please don’t. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let me stay here.
You dug your grave. Lie in it.

But against all odds, someone had answered your calls. Someone pitied you. An unseen angel. A soft hand placed itself on your back, to which you instinctively flinched. The static cloud of fear was still spiraling itself into a hurricane. The hand moves again, this time to your shoulder. It’s gentle. Innocent Careful not to claw its way into your skin.
In. Out. In. Out. The cotton in your throat began to clear. But tears still made your vision murky. You wiped them away and looked toward your savior. He wore bright colors of summer and had a bushel of hair covering his eyes. The guy who fell before you had knelt to your eye level, unscathed and uncrushed. His hand was warm.
He was alive.

Shallow breaths slowly expanded as the waterfalls of tears ceased. You placed your hand on the other’s and softly squeezed it. He just stared at you awkwardly but it was all you needed. He was alive. You were alive. Everything would be okay.
But how?
You bit the inside of your cheeks and took a deep breath. Your eyes never met the stranger’s. There was no need for it. Finally, words came out of his mouth. “Are…are you any better?” he asked.

You nod meekly and lean back in the chair. Another sigh escapes your lungs. Who knew panic attacks were so tiring? You bite your lip and cross your legs, still avoiding his gaze. “Are you…ready to go back?” the stranger asked.
Your brows crease. Go back?
“N-no.” Your voice is brittle from your ragged throat. “I can’t go back. I just can’t.” The stranger pauses and raises an eyebrow. But then he nodded silently and sighed. “You…you don’t have to go back. I will, but…I’m not going to force you, y’know?”
“Why are you going back?” you question.
“Cause it’s fun,” he tells you.

“You call dying fun?!”
“We come back! None of it’s permanent.”
“Still, isn’t that kinda-you know-messed up?”
He pauses. “Yeah, but it ends up okay in the end.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and forms a meek smile. “I know you’re probably not used to this, uh, stuff…but I know how this thing works. I got this.” He stands and straightens himself, hands in his pockets. “If you need anything, I’m free pretty much anytime.”

The stranger took a slip of folded paper from his pocket. He handed it to you and you unfolded the paper. On it was a written username: “FlankFork027”. You shoved it in your pocket. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course,” he responds. “I’ll be fine. And well, if I’m not, I’ll text you.”
There was no winning with this guy. You sigh and shake your head, withholding your argument. “Take care.” Flank gives you a thumbs-up and begins walking back to the elevator. With a nod, you head in the opposite direction, finally leaving this hellhole.
You were not coming back.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

[You started a chat with FlankFork027 on [date], 5:23 PM]

YourUser79: Is this the right person?
FlankFork027: Hey pal! Good 2 hear from u!
FlankFork027: How r u?
YourUser79: Better.
FlankFork027: That’s good 👍
YourUser79: How are you?
FlankFork027: Alright. Not a lot of harmful floors
FlankFork027: Some guy named Solace has been wondering where u were
YourUser79: SolaceSets? Yeah, we’ve talked
YourUser79: Could you send him my user at some point?
FlankFork027: Sure!
[5:26]
FlankFork027: It’s been sent
YourUser79: Thanks dude
FlankFork027: No prob

-

[SolaceSets started a chat with you on [date], 9:22 AM]

SolaceSets: Hey pal!
YourUser79: Hey! Good to talk to you again!
SolaceSets: Are u okay? Like, better than before?
YourUser79: Yeah
YourUser79: Still don’t know what the #### happened tho
YourUser79: Flank told me that death is temporary on the elevator. Hard to believe
SolaceSets: Yeah, I get it. It’s hard
SolaceSets: But the more you go through it the easier it is
YourUser79: Yeah
YourUser79: Do you know Flank btw?
YourUser79: We both feel in the shaft
SolaceSets: We weren’t friends but we are talking more
SolaceSets: I know you’re not gonna come back, but if you wanna do something together we can
YourUser79: I’ll think about it
YourUser79: Thx
SolaceSets: No prob

-

Things have been relatively normal since you got home. You, Solace, and Flank had been talking for a little while now. Sometimes it was about the elevator, sometimes it was about something else. Regardless, it was good to connect with them. The coins you’ve gathered actually amounted to some value, so you took advantage of that. Not only did you easily pay rent, but you also got yourself more groceries! You were living comfortably before, but you could tell there was improvement.

As for your…resurrection…you avoided the doctor’s, considering it’d be a waste of money. Plus, how were you gonna explain getting crushed and coming back?! Instead, you asked Solace and Flank about it. They both said you’d be fine, but you weren’t sure about it. You just stayed at home to ensure you didn’t pass out or anything. But oddly enough, there were no side effects. You weren’t sure to be thankful or concerned.

[1 week later]

10:30 PM. You were still awake. Solace and Flank had logged off a long time ago, but you were still kicking. You were tired, though. Your body felt heavy and you were constantly nodding off. You haven’t slept for a while. Too much nervous energy, you supposed. Eventually, you trudged to your bed and lied down. Pulling the blankets over you, your bed had never felt so soft. So comfortable. You closed your eyes, quickly falling asleep. The world of the unconscious took you under its wing and cradled you in its somber arms.

-

You don’t remember what you dreamt about. All you remember is waking up in your bed in the middle of the night. Frankly, you didn’t want to get up. The time was unclear but it sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near your alarm. You grumble to yourself and go to roll onto your side. But you stay still. Your body is locked in place.
Sh##.

No shadows moved. No figures stood over you. You were alone. The loneliness was both comforting and disturbing. Didn’t sleep paralysis come with a free demon or something? Your eyes dart around the room to find the hidden monster. But as you blink, it begins to show itself. However, it’s not what you expected.
The figure was about as tall as your ceiling. It was hunched over and sitting on the footboard. Its short claws tapped methodically on the wood as it waited. What it was waiting for was unknown, but it seemed to be growing impatient.
You tried to move your arm. It twitched but was unable to break free. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was getting harder to breathe. Your chest felt heavy. The shadowy figure remained perched on the headboard, staring at you. Its red eye was fixated on you; unmoving. Was it amused by your struggles? Was it waiting to tear you apart? But before it could strike, it disappeared. You could move again. You could breathe again.

You quickly sit up in your bed and inhale through your nose. Your fingers twitched as your ribcage slowly loosened its grip on itself. You look around your room again to see if it had returned. But the shadow had dissipated. Gone without a trace. You were unsure whether to feel relief or concern. But after a little while, you slowly went back to sleep.

-

[Group chat: FlankFork027 and Solace Sets]

[9:25 AM]
YourUser79: Something happened last night. A weird shadow came into my room.
YourUser79: Idk what it was
[9:34 AM]
SolaceSets: Sorry 4 the late reply. Are you doing ok?
YourUser79: Yeah. Slept normally otherwise.
FlankFork027: U sure?
YourUser79: It wasn’t super scary. Just weird.
FlankFork027: Oh ok
SolaceSets: Were you chased or followed by this thing?
YourUser79: Neither. I was stuck in bed.
YourUser79: Couldn’t move.
FlankFork027: That’s your sleep paralysis demon. It won’t actually hurt you.
SolaceSets: Yeah seems like sleep paralysis to me
SolaceSets: Has this been happening a lot?
YouUser79: No, first time it happened.
FlankFork027: Darn
FlankFork027: Maybe see a doctor?
SolaceSets: A doctor might be able to help
YourUser79: No thanks
SolaceSets: Why not?
FlankFork027: Well, they know better than we do
YourUser79: Same reason as before. I’m not gonna explain the whole coming back from death situation. Too much.
SolaceSets: Alright then
FlankFork027: Oh. You should talk to some professional tho idk
FlankFork027: Maybe a therapist?
YourUser79: Bro they would NOT comprehend how I’m still alive lol
YourUser79: No chance
SolaceSets: Alright then. Keep yourself safe tho
FlankFork027: Ok
FlankFork: Gtg to work. Ttyl
SolaceSets: K bye
YourUser79: Bye!
SolaceSets: Wanna save this conversation for when Flank gets back?
YourUser79: Yeah
YourUser: We’ll talk later
SolaceSets: K bye

-

So, no answers there. Then again, none of you were professionals. It was good to talk to them, though. You sigh and lean back, staring at the ceiling. But something in the corner of your eyes moves. A small shadow crawling out of view. You look behind you to find no one there. Your spine grows cold. Oh no.

You sprint out of your room and scramble toward your kitchen. Grabbing the nearest pot in the cupboards, you dash back to your room and slam the door behind you. Your eyes dart around the room. Was it in your head?
The shadows stay in place, the rising sun being the only force changing their position. You keep looking left and right, waiting for the darkness to move. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Nothing. You must be going mad.
Taking a deep breath, you take one last look around the room. Once more, the shadows proved to be silent. You sigh and relief and go to put the pan back. Once that’s in the cupboards, your stomach growls. You needed something to eat. At least you were in the kitchen.

The fridge had milk, carrots, and a whole bunch of other stuff. You decided to get a glass of milk and a cookie or two to go with it. You poured the ivory milk into a glass and set the carton on the table. After twisting the cap back on, you open the fridge and put it in place. The Tetris game of your fridge was…oddly impressive. You went to the cupboard to grab some cookies, only to realize you didn’t have any cookies.
Another thing for the grocery list, you thought. Just milk would do for now.

-

Realm of the Restless
A Poem by [][][][][]

The realm of the restless
Is truly for those who are tired.

They have ignored themselves long enough.
For they are weak.
Too weak to see the damage
Until it’s too late.

As it chains you down,
Know that it is for your own good.
It says, “I’m sorry, love”,
As it makes you its prisoner.

But its warden is not so kind.
Just as blind,
But not as merciful.
It does not take pity.
Only vigor.
Only blood.

But even the warden cannot indulge
In true ecstasy.
For pain is a teacher
But not fuel.
It never teaches you how to keep going.
Only how to stop.

And the warden cannot stop.

-

It was dark. The blinds are wide open but no light seeped into the room. How long have you been asleep? When did you fall asleep? Your body felt just as heavy as it had the other night, but this time, it could move. You slowly pulled yourself out of your chair. It was only then that you noticed the empty glass of milk.
When did you fall asleep on the damn couch?!

You take the glass and head to the sink. Watching your step, your eyes kept adjusting to the dark. At last, you’ve reached the sink. You start the faucet and fill the cup with water. You dump the water out and stop the faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip. The silence was punctured.
And you were alone again.

It was unnerving. God, you hated it. Your ears began to ring to replace the quiet. You place the glass in the sink again and look around the room. Many shadows but no monsters. Sighing, you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth. However, your hip suddenly hits the edge of the counter. You suck air through your teeth. F###.
Hand covering your side, you reach the bathroom with ease. It was right next to your room, so it was easy to find. The curtains move as wind enters the room. The windows were closed shut.
What’s with the sudden chill?

You turn to close the windows, only to find them shut. The curtains still dance but nothing outside could possibly make them move. Was it in your head? It had to be. You shook your head and entered the bathroom. You flicked the light on, staring in the mirror.
It was your reflection.
And yet you didn’t recognize it.

Your eyes were never this wide. This crimson. You lean against the door but don’t look away. Whatever was playing tricks on you, it would have to try harder. “What are you?” you whisper. “How are you doing this?”
As expected, you have no answer. You huff another sigh. The reflection was still staring at you, unmoving. You waved your arm in front of it, but the reflection didn’t do the same. You decided to tap on the glass.
Bad idea.

Something grabs your hand. An invisible force. It tugs you forward and claws into your skin. You tug and pull but your arm won’t budge. If you tugged any further, you were sure you’d tear your hand off. The force pulls you through the mirror and throws you onto the ground. But the floor wasn’t marble or wood. It was glass covered in a thin layer of liquid. It was tinted black with no reflection or mural of the other side. Still, you found yourself staring at it. You stand up and look around. Nothing pierces through the blanket of the dark.
Nothing except a singular eye.

It was identical to that of your reflection’s gaze. The only difference was that it had scarlet lashes. It narrows for a moment as you stare back. It wasn’t hurting you, as far as you could tell. Was it here to talk?

You sit down and cross your legs. The water doesn’t soak into your clothes. You wait a little while before kicking off the conversation. “Uh…how was…how was your day?” You ask. The eye opens up further. It blinks. Its upper eyelid eased to make a bored expression. You bite your tongue. Tough crowd, huh?
Another eye opens from above and stares at you. And another. And another. How many eyes does an eldritch horror need? You apologized, despite being unsure of what you did wrong. “S-sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.” The four eyes blink in unison, unphased.

Suddenly, something tugs your arm again. A dark hand grasps at your upper arm and pierces it with its claws. You wince. Another arm joins it and claws into the torso. You clench your teeth to fight the pain. The nails weren’t too deep, but they still hurt.
The water begins to rise. You try to stand up but can’t. The hands keep their hold. Oh no. You claw into the arm on your torso with your free hand. It doesn’t budge. The water rises. You struggle despite the fact you can’t move. No no no no no. The water keeps rising. You hold your breath. NO NO NO NO NO-
THUD!

Hardwood floor. Polished and sturdy. It hurt, but not as much as concrete. The claws were gone and left no wounds. No water filled your lungs. You were lying facedown on the living room floor. Not the bathroom.
Did you sleepwalk?
You turn behind you to find the bathroom door wide open. Must’ve fallen. You groggily push yourself up and close the door. You had to get to bed. You were too tired to think.
It could be saved for later.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

[Group chat: FlankFork027 and SolaceSets]

[7:20 AM]
YourUser79: Guys help
YourUser79: I sleepwalked last night and had another dream
YourUser79: I’ve never sleepwalked before
YourUser: Idk what to do
FlankFork027: Oh ####
FlankFork027: U good bro?
SolaceSets: Oh dear
SolaceSets: Have you been getting regular sleep?
YourUser79: Tbh, no
YourUser79: Couldn’t sleep bc of what happened
SolaceSets: Fair, but you should try to sleep
SolaceSets: You definitely need it
FlankFork02: Yeah take the day off
FlankFork027: Naps are gr8
YourUser79: Okay
YourUser79: I'll try
SolaceSets: Good
FlankFork027: Also keep your doors locked so you don’t do something stupid
YourUser79: Good idea
YourUser: Thanks guys
FlankFork027: No prob
SolaceSets: Get some sleep
YourUser79: Bye

-

You did your best to prepare for some good rest. Warm milk? Check. Melatonin gummies? No question. Washing the blankets beforehand? Tedious, but better than nothing. Thankfully, your apartment was right next to a laundromat. You grabbed your blankets and headed downstairs. Getting through the door was tough, but you eventually squeezed yourself outside.
Once you entered the laundromat, you found a free washing machine and shoved your clothes inside. Taking a few coins from your elevator endeavors, you paid up and got the machine running. Now all you had to do was wait.
That was the hard part.

You found yourself constantly nodding off and pinching yourself awake. You constantly checked the time left on the washing machine. 40 minutes. 39 minutes. 38 minutes. Why was it taking so long? Defeated, you lean against the machine and close your eyes.
Just a few minutes…

-

Restraint
A Poem by [][][][][]

I can tear through flesh
Without a second thought.
I can crush skulls
Break bones
Leave every living thing around me
To rot.

But I don’t.
I can’t.
While others are restrained by morals
I am restrained by a body. A vessel.

One that was never mine.
Even if I am free, I am not myself.
And it’ll stay that way.
It is better than what I had before.

-

Something nudges you awake. You wearily open your eyes, grumbling. What time was it? The cold metal of the machine forces you to sit up properly. You check the timer. 2 minutes.
Oh, thank god.
“Are you awake?”
OH SHI-

You jolt up and lean against the washing machine. The person in front of you steps away and puts her hands up. The silver pendant around her neck jingles. “Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
You nod in understanding and stand up. “How long was I out?” you ask, stretching your arms.
“Half an hour,” she said, tugging at the pendant. “That’s my best guess.”
Seems accurate , you thought. The washing machine beeps and you go to get your blankets.

“Does this…uh…happen often?” the girl asks. You shake your head as you open the dryer.
“No, just haven’t been getting the best of sleep,” you respond. The blankets are shoved into the dryer and you put your coins in.
“The 9 to 5 screwing you over?” she jokes. You shake your head again, smiling.
“I dunno, I don’t have a job like that,” you respond. You lean against the dryer. “Must be hell.”
“Sure is,” the girl sighs. She leans on the nearest washing machine and stares out the window. “At least it keeps ya warm and fed.”
“Yeah, but there are better options out there.”
“Options that I’m not qualified for.”
“Fair, but you gotta have some specialty, right?”

The girl shakes her head and crosses her arms. “I don’t have anything other people don’t,” she tells you. “I’m not special.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t do that kind of stuff.”
She tugs at one of her violet sleeves. “Can’t do it better than others.”
“That shouldn’t matter,” you bark. “It just should be about whether you can do something.” The girl thinks for a moment, eyes still on the window. “That’s not how it works, bud.” One of the machines beeps and she opens it up to grab her stuff. She stuffs her laundry in a basket and picks it up. She sighs and heads towards the door. “See ya.” She then leaves, closing the door behind her. The silver bell above it rings.
You check the time on the dryer. 21 minutes.

-

After you return to your apartment, you set the blankets on your bed. They were warm and soft on your skin. Perfect for tonight’s rest. You immediately crash onto the mattress and wrap the blankets around you. Your cocoon of warm blankets quickly lulls you to sleep as they embrace you. You were cozy. Safe. Finally able to let your guard down. To rest. As you close your eyes, you nuzzle the blankets and settle into your cotton chrysalis. All was well. All was calm.

-

New Body
A Poem by [][][][][]

Bugs get new bodies.
They shed their feeble forms
For freedom.
I have broken out of my chrysalis
And I am ready to fly.
Watch me
Spread my wings
And go.

I was never taught to fly
Yet I always knew.
You tried to take my wings away
But here I am.
I am no longer your apprentice.
I am a practitioner
Of the broken psyche.

I am no longer your reflection.
I’m the mirror you’re stare at
Right before bed.

-

You slowly blink awake. You’re still surrounded by warmth but are no longer trapped in the cocoon. You grumble and roll onto your back. You keep your eyes closed. You wanna go back to sleep.
Out of nowhere, your body sits up and you lean against the headboard. Staring back at you is the same eye from the night before. This time, however, it is just an observer. No hands claw into your arms. No eyes joined it. Just you and this otherworldly being. The golden iris darts around the room.
Wait.
Have you seen this before?

“Do I know you?” you ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper. The eye blinks and its lower eyelid raises. Its spotlight moves to your right where a notepad and pen lie. It then stares back at you. Did it…want you to pick it up?
Reaching for the pen and paper, you take the utensils and look back at the eye. The edges of the sclera pinch together to show satisfaction. Suddenly, your hand moves to the notepad and traces letters onto the paper. Was this really you? Those letters slowly appear to you, all rough and capitalized. The ink had sprawled out onto the page:
YOU SHOULD KNOW ME.

What?
Your hand trembles. The fingers squeeze around the pen. Before you could respond, the letters sink into the page, never to be seen again. This wasn't in your control. These weren’t YOUR words. But whose words were they?
“Uh…did we meet recently?” you ask. Once again, your hand moves to the paper. NEARLY A WEEK AGO. After a few seconds, the words disappear again. You maintain eye contact with the optic. It blinks, waiting for another response. “I don’t think I’m gonna recognize you when you’re…just an eye,” you respond. The eye narrows. Your hand moves over the paper and draws a bean shape. It then draws a round triangle up top and a few shading lines. It’s a pristine beret, accompanied by the words, DID YOU MISS ME?
Something catches in your throat. Wait.

“Folly.”

The name comes out in a whisper. The lower eyelid raises to present satisfaction. As the image dissolves, your hand begins writing something else. You watch as the pen indented the paper. IT HAS BEEN UNINTERESTING SINCE YOU LEFT. YOUR NAIVETE WAS DELIGHTFUL.
So, did she miss you? Or did she just want to toy with you? It was hard to tell with her. Your fingers tap on the notepad as the words fade away. Did she...want you to come back? Regardless, you knew your answer. “I’m not going back there,” you announced. “It’s too dangerous.” Your writing hand aggressively marks the paper. DOES THAT TRULY MATTER IF YOU SIMPLY COME BACK? YOU ARE STUBBORN.

Oh.

She knew. Holy sh##, she knew . You force yourself to take a deep breath before responding.  “I don’t want to die,” you stammer. “Even if I come back, I still feel pain.” The eye blinks and narrows slightly. “I don’t want to feel that again.”
Your hand moves again. The pen calmly traces letters onto the paper. WITHOUT PAIN, YOU GAIN NOTHING. NO RESILIENCE. NO STRENGTH. You pause, staring at the words as they slowly dissolve into the page. “Is it the only way?” you whisper. You shake your head.
Of course not. That’s stupid.

Your fingers tightly wrap around the pen. “That’s not the only way,” you cursed. “That’s NOT the only way.” The eye blinks. The golden iris loses its glow. Suddenly, your hand jolts and drops the pen onto the floor. It reaches for your neck and grips it with all of its might. You weren’t doing this. You couldn’t be doing this.
Your other hand reaches up to stop yourself from choking. As the windpipes thinned, Folly’s words worm their way into your ears. “What other way out would there be?” she asked. “What torture would you rather endure?”
Think of an answer. You have to think of an answer. You can’t let her be right. But your fingers were digging into your own throat. You couldn’t speak. Instead, choked-out breaths escaped your lungs. Your free hand couldn’t pull the other away. You were too weak.
…Was she right?

In the corner of your eye, more red eyes appear like stars at night. White seedlings sprout from the ground around you. The roots wrap around each other and lock you in place. The aspens were forming your coffin…
“Meet me in the elevator," she breathed. "Prove me wrong.”

-

You inhale. The air is stuck in the chambers of your chest. The air soon escapes your mouth in thin wafers as your hands finally loosen their grip. You stare at the ceiling for an ungodly amount of time. This was getting out of hand.
You sit up to check your surroundings. You were still on your bed but no longer had the blankets wrapped around you. They had been shoved onto the floor. The pile of empty paper on the nightstand’s bottom shelf decorated the blankets, scrunched up and folded. You stare at the sheets for a little while, thinking. about what Folly said. What you said. Your teeth grind against each other.

You had to prove her wrong.
You had to go back.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Finding and entering the Regeretevator was the easy part. The advertisements clearly stated its exact location and how to find it. The path was as straight as a rook’s trail towards Checkmate. You packed the essentials, such as snacks, water, and spare change. After all, you came WAY unprepared last time. You didn’t bother cleaning your bedroom floor.

As you entered the lobby, you took a deep breath. You start slow, taking small steps toward the elevator. But soon, you began sprinting, pushing the metal doors open.
Next stop: Infinity.

As expected, Folly was nowhere to be found. The elevator was empty compared to when you first entered. Split and Poob had entered beforehand, but that was it. You sigh. It was a matter of waiting for her to show up.
Three other residents lean on the railings, waiting. One of them tugs at their necklace, staring at it. Her foot taps to the rhythm of the elevator music. The elevator dings and the doors open. On the other side was a racetrack. You’ve seen this one before! This time, however, you decide to have a go at it. But before you get into the car, someone tugs on your sleeve. “Mind if I ride shotgun?”

You turn to see the girl with the necklace. Her hair’s in a bun and she has a black bracelet on her left arm. Have you met her before?
“What, you can’t drive?” you ask. She shakes her head.
“I don’t have a license.”
“You got here by Uber?”
“Nope. Walked.”
“That’s rough.”
“Tell me about it.”

You sigh and let her get in the front seat. You didn’t bother telling her whether you had a liscence either. Turning the key, you start the car and turn a corner on the racetrack. The controls of the jeep were finicky, but you played it safe. “Afraid to go over the speed limit?” the girl asks. “You’re a wuss.”
“No distracting the driver,” you sneer.

She crosses her legs and leans back. You pass through the first checkpoint and shift lanes to avoid the hammering rock. Why were those things on the road? Passing through the next checkpoint, you carefully take the next turn. Another car was far ahead of you, but you didn’t care. You’d rather take your time than end up dead.

The road to the next checkpoint was bumpy. You had to go slower to avoid popping a tire. The car behind you wasn’t catching up anytime soon. Looks like they had trouble with the controls, too.
“So, where do ya come from?” the girl asks. Your mind draws a blank but you keep driving. “Bloxburg,” you answer bluntly. “Near Jim’s Pizza.”

“Oh yeah, that place has the good stuff,” she comments. You turn right into the next checkpoint.
“You live near there too?” you ask.
“Nah, I’m closer to that one taco place.”
“That’s still pretty close.”
“The taco place is closer.”

Her eyes squint for a moment. You ride over another set of bumps, gripping the wheel tightly. “Wait…weren’t you at the laundromat yesterday?” she asked. Oh, that’s who she is. You nod, keeping your eyes on the road. “What the hell’re you doing here?”
“Getting some answers,” you say bluntly. “Now can you please save the questions for when I’m not driving?” Another checkpoint. She sighs and leans back in her seat. “Fine.”

The rest of the ride went smoothly. Some bumps here and there, but no rocks floating above your head waiting to crush you. At the end of the track, you and the girl hop off the jeep and sit on a random couch. “Now can I ask the questions?” she asks. You nod, crossing your legs. “Alright. What’s your name?”
“YourUser.”
“Wow. How unique.” The sarcasm bleeds through the air.
“Yeah, 79th in line,” you snicker, clicking your tongue. “What about you?”
“Anchor,” she answers. “Just Anchor.”
“Really? There’s no other Anchors in the world?”
“Certainly the first.”

“Lucky you,” you huff. Anchor leans back, nodding. Her brows furrow in disbelief. But she doesn’t dwell on it. “So, you’re looking for answers, huh?” she asks. You nod. “What, you some elevator detective?”
“No. Just trying to figure something out,” you answer. You have to pause to figure out what to say next. “Have you seen someone named Folly, perchance?” You immediately bite your tongue. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that.
Anchor scratches the back of her head. “Hmm…I’ve heard of that parasite, but I haven’t seen her in person yet,” she says.
Parasite. Your nerves bunch up and make your skin crawl. You force the creeping scowl off your face. “Do you know anything about her?” you ask. “Motives, hobbies, anything?”
“What, is she your type?” Anchor’s lips curve into a smirk.
“I just wanna know what she’s up to. What she wants.”

“Uh…best guess? She’s into psychological warfare,” Anchor shrugs. “She toys with everybody to scare ‘em. No exceptions.” Your brows crease. Looking back, her conversation with Gnarpy was some pretty bold evidence for that claim. But that couldn’t be all, could it? There was always more. There had to be more. But that was all you would get from Anchor. She hadn’t even seen Folly, after all. Your investigation would need to take a pit stop.

Once everybody had finished the racetrack, you were brought back to the elevator. Anchor leaned against the railing and you stood parallel to her. No sign of Folly. Suddenly, your phone buzzes. You pull out your phone to see the notifications. A message from Solace. You decided to shoot a text back.

[10:25 AM]
SolaceSets: Hey pal. How are you?
YourUser79: I’m alright. Why?
SolaceSets: Just checking in. Any dreams to note?
YourUser79: Nope
(you cringe as you type out the seemingly obvious fib.)
SolaceSets: Are you sure?
YourUser79: Yep
(Solace takes a minute to respond. You hold your breath.)
SolaceSets: Okay. If you wanna talk about anything let me know
YourUser79: Got it 👍
Solace Sets: Stay safe, YourUser.
YourUser79: Thx!

The elevator dings and you put your phone in your pocket. You and Anchor walk into a steel room with a wide glass window. The whole floor was a factory lined with steel, wood, and odd gadgets and machines. A monotonous voice comes onto the speakers. “Hey, so some buttons are gonna-” Aaaaand the guy immediately starts snoring. Not that you could blame him. Anchor was right; the 9 to 5 is cruel. But the objective is clear: click buttons, get coins. Easy enough.

You walk around the factory to find a large shredder. Conveyor belts pour wooden mannequins into the pit, spreading sawdust everywhere. Weird choice of energy. But before you can press a button, Anchor tugs at your arm. “Hey. Heard of something cool here.” She pulls you into the room with shelves and pulls a snowball out of her pocket(how hasn’t it melted?). She throws it at the eye symbol on the wall, triggering a rusty door to open. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool.” You walk in to pick up some coins. Anchor grabs a flashlight from the hand of a mannequin, whose smile was far too fake. She clicks it on and points it to the wall to test it out. “Should come in handy,” she notes. You grab a flashlight for yourself, but something catches your eye. Something familiar.
Too familiar.

The pinched ovals on the white bark stared at you. Each shape was carefully carved into the emotionless eyes of wooden husks. The bark curved around the logs like racks of wallpaper. So many eyes. Too many eyes.

Too many…
“You okay?”
The hand on your shoulder makes you jump. You turn toward Anchor, attempting to hide an emotion you could not fully comprehend. The patterns of aspen trees were always pretty freaky. You just weren’t sure why…
“My aspens need tending.”
And then it clicks.
Why did you suddenly feel so queasy?

-

The next few moments go by in a blur. First, Anchor tugs at your arm, pulling you in an unknown direction. Fifteen seconds later, she sits you on the floor of the lobby. Time’s just some weird oobleck. Anchor shakes you by the shoulders to snap you out of a trance. She forces a bottle of water into your hands. “Drink slowly,” she orders. You abide and put the bottle to your lips. You swallow. The water’s cold.
“Thanks,” you exhale. Your fingers wrap around the water bottle. The lapses in your brain are concerning, but at least you weren’t hurt(or dead). You lean against the wall, sighing. You grab a snack from your bag and chow down. “It’s best if you go back home,” Anchor tells you. Her eyes are pointed toward the floor. “If you want, I can get you an Uber or something.”

You contemplate. You consider. You hadn’t found what you were looking for, had you? Not even close. Not only that, but you had merely started your search. What was the point of leaving now? You have to move forward. Straight ahead. But as you think of a protest, your innards twirl around each other. You buckle over. Anchor quickly shuffles to the left and grabs your shoulders, but everything loosens its grip. Your stomach settles. You sigh again. Dammit…

“Yeah, you need to go home,” Anchor huffed. She grits her teeth and inches closer. “Can you stand up or are you better off on the floor?”
“If I lean on you I can walk a bit,” you muster. Your shoulders slacked. The two of you stood up and walked to one of the couches. You lie on your side onto the cushions, letting your body lose its tension. Anchor sits up next to you. “What, you wanna sleep?”
Yeah, that sounded good.

“Yup,” you exhale. You felt heavier. Anchor leans against the couch and glances your way.
“I’ll call an Uber to get us in an hour or so,” she says. “That alright?”
“Yeah,” you mumble. God, you were exhausted. Last night’s nap didn’t help at all. It didn’t take long for you to doze off and lose consciousness.
Anchor wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was the elevator.

-

Sickening
A Poem by [][][][][]

It’s sickening.
My body has been perfectly crafted,

Painted,
Handled with the utmost care,

And it’s sickening.

I do not want this body.
I do not want this heart.
Every beat ruptures my ribcage
And begins an earthquake of

Indomitable rage.
I want to tear it out.
I want to tear it out.
I.
Want.
Out.

I do not pray to my carver.
I wish to wrap my hands
Around its brittle,

Weak
jealous throat.

I will choke

It out until I can

Breathe.
I seethe
With a river

Of rage
And dread.
My head
Cracks at the seams.
It seems
That the carver does not listen.

My body belongs to no one.
It belongs to the woods.

-

You weren’t sure how long you were out. It all went by in a blink. You get up and stretch your arms out, full of energy once more. There’s smooth marble underneath your palms. Did you roll onto the floor? How did it not hurt?
You stand up and look down. You can’t see the tips of your feet, but the marble floor has many swirls engraved into it. It’s a mesmerizing pattern. The spirals curve around and against each other like the stems of a sunflower. The carvings are charred like firewood and coal. It mimics a warped chessboard. This wasn’t the lobby, as far as you were aware. The tiles were all the same color. There were no patterns. Were you sleepwalking again? Yeah, that had to be it. You pinch yourself awake. When you look down, the floor is still white.

You pinch yourself awake. When you look down, the floor is still white.
You pinch yourself. The floor is still white.
…Okay, new game plan.

It’s only now that you see the skyline. Dark crimson, pouring at the seams. Spears of white bark pierce the heavens, reaching out like bony fingers. Plants tend to face the sunlight, and they all point toward the center of the sky. And yet, there’s no star. No sun. No clouds. Where was the light coming from?
You can’t see your shadow, so you can’t determine the light’s location. Or perhaps it’s because you’re dreaming. You don’t know yet. As you take your first step forward, your eyes lay upon another marble pillar. Rotting, twisting bark claws into the polished stone, constricting it. Everything is decaying. A crimson sea sits below with no visible seabed. The waves crash into the pillar and the trees surrounding it. A tall, dark silhouette sits on top, legs swinging on the edge. It doesn’t take you long to recognize her. But before you can call her name, Folly stands.
“There you are.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

You didn’t flinch. You never took a step back or trembled. When at the mercy of a primordial beast, the first thing you feel is familiarity. Of every human emotion one could feel, it was affinity. Not fear. Not dread.
Did your heart start beating again when you first returned? Were you still human?
Were you still alive?

“What do you want?” you ask. Your voice is stern.
“Hmhmhm…no time to talk, I presume?”
“Just answer me.”
Her clawed fingers curve forward and back in a waving pattern. “I’m curious about you, castle rook,” she hums. “You are not like the others.”
“...In what way?”

“You have questions,” she says, “and, somehow, the strength to ask them aloud.” Her boot taps against the pillar roof. “You do not fear death.”
But you did, right? Who wouldn’t fear death?
“You are…curious. Unsatiated. You always want more,” Folly hissed. “There is nothing that can satisfy you.” Her lower eyelid raises to hint at a smile. “It’ll drive you mad, ” she says. “Your longing for the truth will drag you to the darkest places imaginable. You will fall with nothing to catch you.” A pause. Folly stands up straight. “But..this void, as vast as it is, has an inevitable bottom. Somewhere to anchor your feet. Somewhere to go.”
“I’m not joining you.”
“...Pardon?”

You take a breath. The air smells like ash. “I’m not afraid of you,” you huff. “! don’t hate you. I’m not like that. But I’m not going to buy into your tricks.” Folly hums, tugging at her sweater’s collar. Twelve crimson glass panels rise from the sea and surround the pillar you stand on.
“What makes you so sure of that?”

Your teeth clench. The air is peppered with charred woodland aromas. She was planning something. You take a breath through your nose. Folly dissipates in a puff of smoke and reappears in front of you. “This is the cycle we are born in.” The mirrors begin to spin around. “This is just the cycle of life. Of abhorrence.”
“Then I’ll end it,” you hiss. Folly chuckles, clasping her hands together. And she bows.
“I’d like to see you try.”

-

These mirrors were a work of trickery and impure art. The panels dance around like hungry vultures. Still, you see her. Beyond tempered glass, she’s there. Her presence was unmistakable. No matter how fast the mirrors danced, you had center-stage. Folly had control of this masquerade, but you quickly picked up the pace and danced along. As she shatters the barrier between mortal and god, she laughs. It’s malevolent(benevolent?). “Smarter than I thought…how fun.”

There is a fine line between
Beauty and vice.
One is greatly rewarded.
The other is a hefty price.
They are tethered yet divided.
Isolated.

Together alone
Fuelling jealousy.

The glass walls fall and Folly returns to her podium. Pillars of red light lanced the arena. You stepped away from them as dark cylinders rose from the ground. They couldn’t pierce the sky like the trees, but they were still carved with care. Swirling patterns traced the maroon marble. They sank back into the ground one by one. The red beacons flickered out and the crimson walls returned.

A macabre performance as profane as the red rivers.
The stains of sin are but a mere sliver
Of true art.

You know the pattern. You think you know her by now. She had something to show you beyond the crimson window, but it wasn’t easy to pop the lid off a jar of fireflies. It takes so much just to catch them. They wouldn’t glow for much longer. To you, she needed to let go. To her, she needed to hold on.

Who am I behind tempered glass?
What poems will you never read?

When you open your heart, it bleeds through the carpet.
No surgery can seal it closed.
You get scared of white coats,

For where there are stitches,
There were and will be wounds.

Glass shatters. The walls come crashing down like a house of cards. Folly stands on her pedestal once more and called to the sunless sky. Hot red bolts smited the ground. They fizzled out and the air burned. Flying sparks sear your skin. In her domain, you are at the mercy of Folly’s scorching malice. And yet, her gaze pities you.
Who taught her this hate?

If this is where you bring me,
This is where you stay.
A final resting place for us both.
Painless agony.

Bite the hand that feeds me,
For I cannot be silenced.
I can go unfed for eons,
But I still need my teeth
To bite.
Give me something
To sink my teeth into.

Your eyes meet when she’s about to hop into a mirror. There’s a pause. An agonizing beat where your heart doesn’t patter. Instead, it sinks. Folly shakes her head and dives headfirst into the mirror. You still see the sorrow behind the glass, even when it spins around and around. But was that what she was truly displaying? Could it be false?
Could it be all for nothing?

She’s not doing this for you. You’re not doing this for her. It’s reciprocated apathy. Why do you help when it doesn’t get you any closer to the truth? You wanted answers, not a confession.
But alas, closure is a compromise, you say. Where it will lead you is another story.

Who am I to deserve pity?
Who are you to give it freely?

Finally, the glass breaks. Folly sighs, staring down at you. She’s about to speak when she observes your face. She freezes. Her fingers twitch. You’re still staring at her.
Who saw through the other first?
“Acute as always, rook,” she whispers. “You’re…far more observant than most.” She glances at the broken mirror behind her. “Persistent little thing you are.” Another parasite too fervent to die. Perhaps that is why she piqued your interest. Still, why keep prying at her? Wouldn’t that make you the same as her, if not worse?

You don’t say anything to her. Hell, you’re not sure there’s anything you can say. You fold your arms behind your back. Folly bows her head. “It appears your heart is still set.”
You nod without thinking. Folly stands up straight and her gaze falls onto you. “Do not attempt to grow so fond. If you are to continue, you will see the worst of me. And I will bring out the worst in you.” With that, she disappears. A cloud of shadow envelops you. You can’t see. Your body feels heavy…

-

“-User? Hey, you up?”
You awake in stages. When your consciousness returns, everything’s floaty. You’re heavy as a rock, but you feel the cushions of the couch you’re lying on. You can hear Anchor, but her voice is cloudy. You can’t move a muscle, and your eyes are glued shut. Your grumble, trying to get your body to wake up. Your fingers twitch. You sense Anchor shifting position on the couch and snapping her fingers. “Hey. Wake up.”

You groan again. You didn’t want to wake up. Still, you open your eyes, only to be blinded by the ceiling lights. Anchor moves to stand over you to block them. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she greeted, lips curled in a cheeky grin. Your blink several times without responding. “How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Like a rock,” you huff(granted, it wasn’t a lie). You push up your shoulders to sit up. “Lemme guess: place is about to close soon?”
“It…doesn’t have a closing time,” Anchor replies. “You were out for about an hour.” You rub your eyes, grumbling again. Your body was refreshed, but your train of thought was out of whack. “Talk about a powernap,” you scoff. Anchor puts away her water bottle. “Didja dream about anything?”

It wasn’t a dream, you stop to say. But your mouth doesn’t open. Like she’d understand. You sit up and swing your legs over the couch’s ledge. “I…can’t remember. I don’t remember most of my dreams.” Your tone was mellow, but your foot taps on the floor, anticipating Anchor revealing the lie. But that moment never comes. Anchor just stretches her arms out and throws an arm around the back of the couch. “This thing’s comfy,” she comments. You nod in agreement. “Yeah, no wonder why I fell asleep so fast.”

“No. It was because you weren’t feeling well and your body needed to refuel,” Anchor corrects. A pause. “You sure you feel alright?”
“Yeah. I don’t feel weird anymore,” you say. Slowly standing up, you face the elevator doors. Something about it makes your face fall into sorrow. You stiffen up to hide it from Anchor. She stands with you. “Ready to head out? Uber’s outside.”
Today had been a lot. No point in pushing yourself further. You let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah, let’s go.” The words came out like a somber melody. “Thanks. I owe ya.”
Anchor smiles and nudges your shoulder. “You owe me fifteen Bux, that’s what.”
“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

The ride home was quiet. The Uber didn’t ask for explanations and Anchor didn’t answer. The radio was at low volume. You’re certain you fell asleep at some point because Anchor had to nudge your shoulder. Her face is blurry when you stare at her. “Two minutes.”
Two minutes. Two minutes until you’re home. When you got in the car, the Uber said it’d take at least half an hour. Time just stopped, went over the speed limit, and somehow ended up in the fourth dimension. You need to change your sleep schedule…

You thanked Anchor and handed her 15 Bux as you exited the car. After watching the Uber drive out of view, you clumsily searched for your apartment key and unlocked the door. The air felt dusty. You stumbled up the stairs and entered your apartment. It feels so long since you’ve seen the living room…
It had only been a day.

First order of business: getting your sh## together. Eat real food, get some real sleep, and gather your evidence to solve the mystery. Okay, sure, that doesn’t sound like getting your crap together, but it’s close enough. You remember some salad ingredients in your fridge and go to work. Caesar salad was easy to make and a fairly healthy dish, too. Just what you needed. Once you finish blending the salad together, you take a bite. It tasted good! It’s not delicious, as it’s just a salad, but it’s still good. You end up eating the entire thing in one sitting. You must’ve been hungry.

It was best to let the meal sit in your stomach before heading to bed. You stand in the kitchen doing nothing. It then occurs to you that you haven’t checked your phone in a while. You haven’t sent anyone a text, either. Solace was probably worried sick…
You grab your cellphone to start typing your apology, but it nearly vibrates out of your hands. Sh##. Dammit. You hit the “Deny Call” button before you could see who called you. You were too tired for this.
You head to bed and crash onto the mattress. Pieces of paper litter the floor but you couldn’t pay them any mind. You’d deal with them in the morning. You quickly fall into a dark, dreamless sleep. Nothing plagues your subconscious tonight.
No sign of her tonight.

-

Do Not Justify Me
A Poem by F[][][][]

I am everything you could hate
And you have every reason to.
Do not justify me.
I am not to be redeemed.

Do not chain me
To your loving hand,
For I will dig my talons
Into the empty spaces between your fingers.
That pain will linger
And grow
For as long as you wish
To feel my constricting grasp again.
For as long as you want
My twisted mercy.
For as long as you are blind.
Do not justify me.
I am not to be pitied.

Do not justify me.
I am not to be loved.

-

5:20 AM. That’s the time you happened to wake up without any explanation.
Now you can’t fall asleep. You keep your eyes closed but you’re still awake like you just drank caffeine. Focusing on sleep was pointless. Counting sheep felt too silly. So, in a failure to overcome this spike of insomnia, you think back to Folly.
Of course, you think back to her.

You envied her. How her honesty could be both so poetic and cruel. Bold yet subtle. How she would not apologize for her nature. How she kept her heart unopened but her words spilled out. You envied her. But this poison would not get to your head.
It wouldn’t.

What do you tell such a lurid display of malevolence? How do you prove to the image of hate itself that hate is not the answer? No poem nor song could possibly appease this malice. No being could convince a parasite to go without a host. She insinuates and feeds off your torment. Without any negativity to give her, she could’ve just tossed you to the side the moment she got that chance. And that moment had already come to pass. She could’ve finished you.
But she didn’t. Regardless, your path still crosses with hers. She allows you to stand parallel to stagnant ouroboros. She allows you to read novel’s worth of poems locked in an angry heart. Poems only she would write. Poems only you would read.
Your mind keeps going back to the poems.

Something clicks like the frizzen and hammer of a gun. You sit up in your bed. The messages coded in artistic literature. The rhymes and the language. The lines and stanzas that remained in your head. They all came back to you.
The human condition is that of hypocrisy.
Too weak to see the damage until it’s too late.
Despite her origins of unknown animosity, her stanzas were elegant. Beautiful. They meant something both marvelous and vain. She had grown silent for tonight, for she had already given you her words. They were sent without envelopes.
They were on your floor.

You scramble for the lamp to illuminate the room. Wind seeps through the windowsill and shifts the scattered parchment. They were under your nightstand because you didn’t have anywhere else to put them. Now, they were scattered on the wooden floor like some elaborate puzzle. One by one, you gathered them in a pile, skimming the top of each page.
We Never Fall
Realm of the Restless
Restraint
New Body
What was with these titles?!

You put the poems aside, for you had already read them. They would go up on the wall with pins and string, a web of mystery and woe. God, you felt crazy. Who does this early in the morning, anyway? As you placed the papers on the bed, you spotted something new. This poem remains untouched, yet its writing was rougher than the rest. Still, the penmanship is eligible. The title immediately grabbed your attention.
Do Not Justify Me
…Pretty on the nose, huh?

If Folly didn’t want to draw you closer, why send these poems? Why does one throw bait into the river without the want to fish? You read over the words repeatedly to get an idea of its meaning. All you got was the same thing it said on the tin:
Don’t get close.

And yet, she’s sent all this literature your way. A perfect example of a hypocrite. Not like you’d call her out on it, though. Folly was more complicated than that. You stare at the rough handwriting for an ungodly amount of time. It’s not as bad as yours, but it’s pretty damn close.
You place it in the pile with the others and scan the room for any other verses. Most of the scattered parchment was empty on both sides. The blank pages were stacked under your nightstand as they were before. There was only one poem left. It was folded neatly like some postal letter. You open it up and read it thoroughly.
Something catches in your throat.

What I Cannot Know
A Poem by F[][][][]

I was born to learn, so that’s what I did.
I learned everything that I was meant to teach.
But some lessons and words were to be hid,
For they were out of my pitiful reach.

I did not learn warmth found in rich fire.
I did not learn attachments found in love.
Instead I found scorching heat and pyre.
Instead I found chains to sick gods above.

I cannot know what you call compassion.
I cannot know what you call sympathy.
You cannot know my gruelling call to action.
You cannot know my endless antipathy.

If this red sky at dawn fails to warn you,
It will be the last you see that hue.

The sonnet sits in your hands. You can’t tear your eyes off it. Only one question remains at the front of your mind. Dear Folly…what happened to you?
You pinch yourself. Why are you sympathizing with a dream demon?! She clearly doesn’t want you to pity her, so why do you feel bad anyway? God, you were helpless. You shake your head and gather the stack of poems on the bed. They feel fragile. You can’t help but be cautious when placing them on your desk. It’s not like they would shatter. Still, you can’t help but handle them with care.

The letters all spoke of resentment. And yet, they were so elegant. So profound. How could something so vile be so alluring? How did Folly conjure such literature? Hell–how did she get it into your apartment?! Did she somehow get your address?! No, absolutely not! You bite the inside of your lip in frustration. God, she was difficult. You stare at the stack of papers underneath the nightstand again. The parchment mound looks shorter than before…
Wait.

Your mind backtracks to one of your dreams. The paper. She used your hands to write her words. It clicks. It finally clicks.
She used you.

Something washes over you. You stare at the floor, then your alarm clock. 7:03 AM. Your fists remain unclenched. But they should be. You’re supposed to be angry. Your blood is supposed to boil. You should be punching a hole in the wall. How are you so calm? Why are you failing to find a reason to hate her?
You had too much empathy.
If you could toss it into the trash, you would. If you could bury it, you would. But empathy isn’t something material. It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.

God, you are helpless. Why are you roping yourself into this?! You could simply throw it all under the rug and act like it never happened! But it did happen. And you’ve still got questions about it. The elevator, the floors…Folly…
Why did you come back?

You snap back to reality when your phone vibrates. This time, you actually pick it up to see who it is. It’s Solace. You’re taking a deep breath without knowing it. You put the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey User! You missed my call last night!” Solace’s tone is cheerful but guilt still stirs in your gut. “Did something happen?”
“N-no, I didn’t hear my phone ring,” you lie. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay!” they reply. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out today!” You pause, sighing in relief. “Are you available around noon?”
“Of course!” Your voice is a few pitches higher. “Where are we meeting?”
“Jim’s Pizza,” Solace says. “I’ll pay-”
“No, I can pay for my own stuff.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m not a broke college student.”
“Okay! Hope to see you there!” Solace chirps. You both hang up at the same time. You stare out the window, the sun crawling out from the horizon.
Maybe things will calm down.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

You and Solace met at Jim’s Pizza at noon. You both wore casual clothing, with Solace having a grey jacket for an extra layer. It wasn’t that cold out. You grabbed a table while Solace went to order the food. You insisted on paying, but they refused. They really don’t have to do that for you…

“So, how’ve you been?” they ask, sitting down with two Bloxy Colas. You take a can and put it aside. “It’s been…interesting,” you say, lacking the motivation to lie. You don’t say anything about Folly, though. “Been trying to figure out the elevator and…the people in it. Nothing crazy happened to me, but it was a lot.”

Solace sighs. They sip their Bloxy Cola. “If things aren’t okay, you can say that,” they mutter, forcing a smile. One of the pizzeria employees calls Solace’s name. They stand up to grab a large pizza. Once they return, they pass you a paper plate and grab a slice.  “I told you, I wasn’t hurt,” you reply. “But I actually found out some interesting stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” they ask.

You take a bite out of your slice. “Well, there’s a factory that uses wooden mannequins as fuel,” you explain. “Not wood logs, just…mannequins. They’re not alive like Mark, though.”
“Really? That’s…odd.”
“Yeah, I know,” you reply. “Lotta weird stuff in that elevator.”
“I mean, what else is new?”

For the first time in a few days, you laugh. It’s a nervous chuckle but it’s enough to make Solace smile. Suddenly, it was easy to talk to them. So the words spill out of your mouth.
“Yeah, it’s weird because, in a secret room, they have normal logs. You know, the ones used for campfires. Why would they primarily use mannequins?”
“Yeah, weird,” they agree.
“But here’s the kicker: They were aspen logs. You know, the trees with eye patterns?”
“Yup.”
“Folly had mentioned she takes care of aspen trees. And she’s often tied to eyeballs and stuff. Does she have something to do with the mannequins? Are the trees magic? Why does she like aspens, anyway? Is it just the type of tree? When-”
“Woah, that’s…a lot.”

Your mouth finally closes. You look down at your pizza. Solace sits up straight. “So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…what about this…Folly…interests you?” they inquire. “I mean, there’s not a lot people know about her.”
It takes a moment to think of an answer. “She’s…mysterious,” you reply simply. “Because there’s not much known about her like you said, I’ve grown interested in…figuring her out.” Solace hums, sipping their Bloxy Cola. You have yet to open yours. They finish their can and put it to the side. Then they speak. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Solace straightens their posture, pursing their lips. They think of a response. “That’s…bold,” they say. Their voice is low. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” To be honest, you don’t. But you couldn’t give Solace any reason to doubt.
“I’ve been handling it just fine,” you assure them. “There’s no need to worry.”
“Sounds about right,” Solace comments, “but you’re still dealing with a dream demon. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“Which is why I’m trying to figure that out so-”
“She could kill you, YourUser.”

Man, what a way to go. Though, she had been given that opportunity more than once. You shake your head. “I don’t think she’d try it.”
“How can you be sure?” Solace inquires. “She’s clearly a threat. I’ve seen the other NPCs, and they’re scared of her for good reason. I’m not trying to discourage you, but…what are you trying to gain from this? Other than information?”
A pause. “Well,” you begin, “...I suppose I want to…understand her.”

Solace stares at you. All of a sudden you feel uncomfortable. They take a deep breath. “What more of her is there to understand?”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“Do you understand what malice is?”
Your lips refuse to part. A beat of silence passes. “That’s all that Folly is,” continues Solace. You don’t have the strength to refute. “She’s the embodiment of malice. A parasite . Pure hatred. End of story. There’s no reason to keep prying at her. She’ll kill you when she has the chance!”
“But she-”
“I know you want to keep going but…” Solace huffs, “it’s just that…I’m sorry, but do you have a death wish?”
“No, of course-”
“Then why are you so adamant on ‘figuring her out’, then?” Your chest tightens. Solace’s brows crease. “She’s bad news, man. Folly’s not telling you a damn thing. She’ll only use you for her own gain. That parasite toys with everybody and you’re no exception. She’s not going to change . I just don’t want you to-”
“Stop.”
Solace freezes. “What?”

“Just…just stop, okay?”
“S-stop wha-”
“No.”

If they didn’t understand now, they wouldn’t understand at all. God, they were supposed to be someone to talk to! Someone you could trust ! What happened to all that? Why weren’t they getting it? Do they even care?
Did they care in the first place?

You’re out of the pizzeria without a word. You don’t hear Solace say anything. All you had left was the cola you hadn’t even opened yet. As you walk home, you open the can and the drink fizzles. You take a sip. It tastes like nothing.

-

You f###ed up.
Of course, you were still seething from the absence of understanding, but you knew you f###ed up. This wasn’t an Irish goodbye, this was an asshole’s goodbye! Did you even think of saying anything before you left?!

You sulk in your bed. The cocoon of self-loathing keeps you warm. You tug at the corners of the blankets to anchor yourself. You should be texting an apology right now, but the chances of forgiveness were low. You just needed a break. You needed time.
And you’re running out of it.

Folly didn’t want you to come back. She made that far too clear. And yet you can’t stop chasing after answers. It was just like she said–you were unsatiated . But you wouldn’t be given anything now. You’ve taken more than enough. But something clicks.
Then maybe you have to give something.

But what do you offer to hate itself? Flowers wouldn’t satisfy anyone. They’d just wither too quickly. The blanket cocoon begins to unravel. You glance at the proverbs Folly had sent you, and suddenly, an idea appears. You slip out of bed and grab some blank paper. You weren’t the most artistic person, but you knew what metaphors and idioms were. If you could get on Folly’s wavelength, you could keep moving forward.
She gave you her language. Now it’s time you use it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

Quartz

A poem by [][][][]079

It remains free of stains or imperfections.
Despite the solus, it’s still clean.
Pristine.
You can see your reflection
If you stare long enough.
What does it show?

Ancient yet ageless.
Thousands of pages
In hundreds of books
In this library of art.
The white quartz is the perfect canvas
Yet it is untouched.
No painter to decorate its
Delicate form.
No muse to behold its worth.
The only image you see
Is your reflection.

It was catharsis incarnate. Every word drained your energy, but it was refreshing at the same time. For once, you could be honest with yourself. It felt good.
You hop into bed without any weight on your shoulders. There’s no trouble in finding sleep. All of that anguish finally has an outlet.
Perhaps this is what she felt.

-

[FlankFork027]

[10:14 AM]
FlankFork027: Hey dude! I have something you might wanna check out!
YourUser079: What is it?
Flank sends you a picture of an orb. It looks like a black hole.
YourUser079: Yo
YourUser079: Cool
FlankFork027: This orb thing is pretty important I think
FlankFork027: Haven’t found any articles or data on it tho
YourUser079: Where is it?
FlankFork027: Enphonso’s Pitstop Shop
YourUser079: Oh ok. Is that near Jim’s Pizza?
FlankFork027: It’s a floor on the elevator
YourUser079: what
FlankFork027: I can bring you there with a ticket
YourUser079: ####
FlankFork027: What’s wrong?
YourUser079: *Okay
YourUser079: tags
YourUser079: I’ll be there soon
FlankFork027: Cool :)

Here we go again.
The photo Flank sent you was low resolution, but you could see a dark circle and red light. It wasn’t any ordinary shop item. You also presumed it could be tied to…her…but it seemed out of left field. Regardless, you couldn’t tell Flank “sorry, you’re on your own.”
He could get hurt again.

The elevator is pretty full when you arrive. Mark’s back and Split’s vibing in the corner. Lots of other people, too. You stick yourself to Flank like a leech. If Folly were here, she’d toss you out the moment the doors opened(not that you would really mind). Flank puts a ticket into a slot near the elevator buttons. He presses some buttons and the ticket is accepted. “Thought you’d wanna see this,” he told you. “I knew you were investigating stuff, so maybe this could help ya.”

The doors open and you’re introduced to a gas station shop. A big smiley face sits at the cashier table. The shelves are filled with odd trinkets and wares, including a bowling pin with a face. And in the corner is a cold, dark orb. It illuminates the walls red and is surrounded with caution tape.
“That’s a big red flag.”

“Yeah, but it’s not well-guarded,” Flank replies. He snaps a picture of it. “Weird.” You inch closer to the orb. The air grows colder. “Did you see anyone interact with it before?”
“One guy touched it,” Flank says. “Nothing happened, but he left before I could see any other side effects.” He crouches, studying the orb. You keep staring at it. Your hand twitches.
You gotta touch it.
“Woah-hang on.” Flank grabs your arm. Your fingers start growing numb from the cold air. “Are you sure about this?”
“It’s the only way to find out.”
“Have you heard of curiosity killed the cat?!”
“Satisfaction brought it back.”

Flank stares at you with scrunched brows and pursed lips. Eventually, he sighs, letting go of your hand. “Just tell me if you notice anything wrong,” he tells you. You nod. You reach for the black orb-
…Nothing happens.
The elevator doors begin to close. You sigh in relief.
“You feel like you’re gonna explode?” Flank asks.
“Nope,” you confirm. You don’t feel any different.
Nothing at all.

-

Sunset
A poem by [][][][]079

You’re a sunset.
Warm and comforting, yet only there for a few moments.
A fleeting memory.
I went to see you in the sky,
But you weren’t there.
You hid behind the clouds
When I needed to talk to you.
My brain’s been too loud.
I want to let the noise out.
Where are you?

-

Outside the elevator stands a pristine pink dining hall. Warm flames and clean quartz surround you. Mozelle showers you with treats(and some rotten strawberries), promising a prize for this eating contest. But you’re not hungry, so you lounge in the elevator. In fact, you felt quite satiated. Maybe the orb had something to do with it.
To your surprise, someone new had entered. A little rabbit with a television head stood in the once-empty corner, swaying from side to side. The pastel colors perfectly blended with the kindling halls of hell. She exuded positive energy that permeated the ashen air. Such a happy little face!

The moment everyone returned, the rabbit was showered with petals and gifts. Her presence alone lit up the lift! She was a bright and sunny magnet, yet you weren’t pulled towards her. She didn’t matter to you. Of course, she didn’t do anything wrong, you just couldn’t see why everyone else was so keen on surrounding her. Flank seems just as indifferent. Instead, he decides to talk to you. “How’s your research going?” he asks. You tell him about the poems you’ve read. You don’t disclose the specifics, for your safety and Folly’s, but you can’t help but applaud her artistry. “That’s…cool,” he replies. “Didn’t know she was a poet.”
“Her poetry is just immaculate,” you tell him. “You should read it for yourself.”

The elevator doors open again. PartyNoob returns! He holds a green present wrapped in white ribbon. Flank stands in the subway but nowhere near the tracks. One idiot decided to walk on the tracks and the train horn started blaring. You didn’t see them again.
They’d come back later.

Poob opens the present and confetti rains everywhere. It gets in your face and you have to dust yourself off. Normally, this would’ve annoyed you. But not this time.
As the elevator carries you up, the rabbit’s face suddenly turns into a frown. Her eyes narrow, lost in thought.
“I have t-to admit, I miss how things were…”
“Just being with my friends…Not t-trying to take down a weird group of rock w-worshippers..”
Rock worshippers? What did she have against Dwayne Johnson?
Partynoob responds, “i remember rock worshippers! not anything else tho!”
“But what do you mean ‘how things were’?”
The rabbit suddenly apologizes. “OH SORRY! I was j-just uh…talking to myself!” She then mutters something you can’t bother to hear. You stare at Mark. He seems unaffected by this conversation. It didn’t matter.

The doors open to a familiar race car track. Flank goes to grab a jeep but you stay behind. You sit down on the elevator floor to rest your legs. Your mind is surprisingly calm. Instead of speeding at mach 10, it flows like a river. And the water is completely clear. It was a nice change. You felt…normal. Fine.
Good.

Once the race ends, everybody returns to the elevator. Flank sits next to you, arms hanging off the rail. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“I’m good,” you say. Your voice is flat. Flank hums and crosses his legs. He keeps his eyes on you. Has he noticed something? “Is…something up?”
“No, just…I’m surprised you don’t feel any side effects,” he responds. “Are you sure there’s nothing different?”
“Yeah, nothing new.” The numbness is a familiar feeling now.
“Huh.”

You both sit in silence. The rabbit turns to Mark, smiling. “I-if you don’t mind me asking,” she begins, “How does your s-stand get you around?”
“Well I’m glad you asked missy!” Mark replies. “Just like a bunny, I HOP to uh…well, anywhere, actually! Really builds th’ leg muscles!”
“I see…” The bunny stares at the ceiling. The elevator dings and the doors open. It’s nighttime out and a small house sits on a street. Poob exits and goes to a party in the house. You expect something else to happen. Poob continues partying. The sky is clear.
“Weird,” Flank comments, “I thought there was supposed to be a cool meteor shower.”
You’re not disappointed.

The doors close again. The elevator muzak kicks in and you’re leaning against the railing again. One of the ceiling lights moves like a manhole cover and drops a coin. It didn’t matter to you. Flank grabs it. The light moves back over the hole. “You think you could send me pictures of those poems you got?” he asks you. You shake your head. The elevator dings.
THUNK!

Everyone scrambles out of the elevator to see a yellow canvas. Antique wallpaper decorates every corner. The ceiling lights flicker. As Mark and the rabbit exit, a wild assortment of laughter echoes from afar. Another obstacle . Flank grabs you by the arm and starts running. “NOPE!”
You’re sprinting across the beige carpet. The cackling grows louder. The halls are filled with analog screeching and everyone is running in circles. The monster’s shadow towers over one poor soul as it lunges for its prey. Its flesh is carelessly patched and stitched together like a scrapbook. It then runs towards you, leaving behind a ragdolled body.
They’d come back later.

Flank lets go of your hand and heads east. Splitting up would increase your survival chances, so you head west. The monster is still following you. You end up catching up with another person, though you don’t recognize her. She’s wearing jeans and a red hoodie, and she looks scared. The mutant’s shadow passes over you and the analog screeching returns. It’s close. You lunge to the side to avoid it…
YourUser079 received the badge “Clover Slam!”

You get back up as the laughter ceases. You hide behind a wall and peep around the corner. Another ragdolled body lies on the floor. You didn’t think about it. Instead, you turn the corner and pass through a doorway cut into the wall. No laughter. No odd shadows. It was quiet.

As you tread the rough carpet, the floorboards don’t creak underneath your feet. Nobody else is around. You glanced around to see if you could find signs of life, but it was to no avail. You stare at your shadow. It’s too long to be casted by the ceiling lights. Their humming is getting louder.
And louder.
Your ears are ringing.
Bleeding.
You turn around-

Something has found YourUser079.

-

What am I?
A poem by [][][][]079

You don’t see me often.
I never had a reflection.
You only know I’m there when you want me there.

I have a collection of masks on the wall.
I can’t count them all.
Each one came from somewhere.
Sometime.
I wear them all the time.
What am I?

-

You’re on the lobby floor again. The tiles are cold. You groan and sit up. The pain of your demise was short-lived. Still, your body refuses to get off the floor.
But you were alive again.
You missed the feeling in your fingers. You missed the warmth of your jacket you didn’t realize had disappeared. You missed the itchiness of the tags of your shirt. You missed it all.

You look around for Flank, but he’s not there. Maybe he didn’t die this time, you thought. Still, something hangs in the air. It’s growing heavier with every breath. Your body starts shivering.
“Why are you on the floor?”

Your body whips around. Behind you stood a girl with spiky hair and square glasses. Her jeans had ripped at the knees. You sigh again and point towards the elevator. “Got caught,” you tell her. She just nods. “Yeah, me too.” Without another word, you start walking to the elevator so you could reunite with Flank. He probably knew you got back to the lobby by now, but you still needed to look out for him. But the girl grabs your arm. You instinctively pull it away. “Did I see you somewhere?” she asked. You stare for a moment, before shrugging her off. You walk toward the elevator. Your foot stops right before the door. You stare at the girl.
Where did this guilt come from?

She got caught. The monster of the canary halls found her. She was dead. When she looked for an exit, she happened to get in the monster’s path. But whose fault was that?
YOURS.
But why does it matter?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. She looks confused. She’s not going to forgive you. “It’s…fine?” she replies. “I mean…you didn’t do anything.” She just happened to be in the way. You glance at the elevator. Nobody’s there. Nobody cares. Why should you?
Why can’t you stop caring?
You look her in the eyes. “I have to go.”
You don’t bother texting Flank before leaving.

-

Why are you so upset?
You lean against the alley wall, heaving. The air is getting colder.
It shouldn’t matter.
Your phone buzzes but you don’t pick it up. You didn’t need these feelings to come back. You take a deep breath, but the cold wind strings your throat. You cough. Your lungs ache…
It will go away soon.

You forced yourself to focus on something else and pull out your phone with shaky hands. There’s too many notifications on it. Thinking about home, you pull out your GPS. Thankfully, your apartment wasn’t too far off. Just straight ahead. You sigh in relief. Not everything was going bad today. Your hands are still shaking.
You stand and face the sidewalk. It will go away soon.

-

[FlankFork027]

[2:34 PM]
FlankFork027: hey u good?
FlankFork027: where did u go?
[2:58 PM]
YourUser079: Home
YourUser079: Sorry I didn’t tell you
[3:05 PM]
FlankFork027: Dw it’s fine
FlankFork027: Did the orb do something?
YourUser079: Idk maybe
YourUser079: Felt fine until I got caught and the effect went away
YourUser079: Then I got overwhelmed by feelings
FlankFork027: Oh. U feeling better tho?
YourUser079: Yeah. The orb just messed up my emotions I guess
YourUser079: Or turned them off temporarily
YourUser079: Felt good at first but bit me in the ###
FlankFork027: Oh ._.
FlankFork027: Take it ez then
YourUser079: I will!
YourUser079: Got some crackers for self care
FlankFork027: Sweet
[3:19 PM]
FlankFork027: I’ll be heading home soon. Stay safe!
YourUser079: You too :D
YourUser079: Thanks

Dinner was short. Instant noodles, a slice of ham, and a glass of water was apparently enough to fill your stomach. The ham tasted better than normal. You decided on an early bedtime. Entering your bedroom immediately drains you of energy. You hop onto your bed. You look at the desk next to it. Your heart sinks without warning.

The poems you’ve written lie on your nightstand. They’re neatly stacked in a pile of envelopes. They sit beside the ones you’ve received.
Why can’t you stop caring?
It wouldn’t matter. Those words paled in comparison to hers. She wouldn’t bother reading them, anyway. With a heavy heart, you rip the top page in half. No muse to behold its worth. You tear another page. And another. Paper litters your floor again. The room was now filled with words in pieces. You brush the scraps towards your recycling bin.
It wouldn’t matter.

The heaviness lifts. Your heart rests on a calm sea. The last glimmers of sunlight kiss your window. You close the shades to block them out. It was time for bed.
You don’t see Folly tonight. Part of you wishes you did.
She would understand.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

Once upon a time, a monkey was made from rock.
Sun Wukong was carved from a little stone. The boulder sat on a mountain that flourished with fruit and blooming flowers. The stone was imbued with Heaven and Earth’s energy, along with the sun and moon’s power. An egg grew in the hollow stone as it split open. Soon, the wind caused it to erode and shaped it into a monkey. It opened its eyes and golden light illuminated the mountain. Soon, he would be titled king.

-

There is a path made of cold rock. It stretches on for eons. It is too dark to find any trace of comfort. The only way is forward.
Glass soles walk and kiss the path. Gravel bites the heels. Thin cracks spread up the ankles. Clear ceramic litters the solid stone. More and more feeling leaves this fragile body. More and more pieces are lost.
It is broken.
It was always broken.

Soon, its legs are too weak. It falls onto the ground. Glass shatters. It doesn’t have a heart to bleed. It is empty. It is to rest on the path to erode into grains of sand. It is to be forgotten.
But that is not where the story ends.

Something sees it. Not through it. Darkness circles the runtish prey, but never strikes. Instead, it pities.
“What has hurt you?” ask the shadows. “Why are you in pain?”
The glass vessel has no mouth to speak or scream or cry or
“You can stop hurting,” the shadows whisper. “You can find comfort. You can stay with us.” Darkness begins to blanket the glass body. This is the first time it feels warmth. “We can put you back together.”
Piece by piece, a new body forms. The cracks pull away and the fragments knit together. It is whole again. But it is still weak.

“You will find strength,” the dark sings. “You will find safety. You will find home.” It laces a cloak onto the vessel’s shoulders. It wraps around it like a cocoon. This is the first time it doesn’t feel fragile. “All we want is your compassion. Can you give that to us?” Of course, the glass mannequin agrees. It gives itself freely, and in turn, its body becomes warm. Soft. It is no longer transparent. It is something to be seen. It is alive.

Smooth skin cloaks its body. The vessel can taste the warm air. A solid stone sits in its chest and performs a rhythm. Bones and tendons move in harmony. The vessel reaches out its hands to fully grasp these new feelings. Its palms grow tender and hot as they hold onto something. The air becomes strong, but the wind is quiet. Lungs expand to cradle oxygen in a slow tempo. Something creeps into view. Fresh blood flourishes.
The vessel’s hands are covered in it.

Spiked hair. Ripped jeans. Mangled bones. The perfect ingredient for a devil’s ambrosia. Delicious yet utterly revolting. A horrible beauty. Every ounce of warmth fizzles out. This is the first time the vessel sees color. The shadows sit on its shoulder.  “Beautiful, is it not?” The robes are pretty in velvet. The colors bloom from the sprouts of ichor. Stained unholy hands tremble, but the dark reaches out to hold them. It stretches across the reddened palms, smiling. The vessel feels cold again.

“We are proud of you, dear.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

What have you done?

Why did you not care?

You could have changed things.

You could have done better.

But no.
You chose not to.
You chose to kill.
It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.
It’s all your fault.
It’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s
NOT
You
R

Fa

U
L

T

It’s not your fault.

-

The ceiling light is hanging by a thread. The curtains block out the sun. Sweat soaks the mattress. The air is dusty.
The time is 8:40 AM.
You wipe your eyes and sit up. You sniffle. The air tastes stale. The nightstand still has poems on it. None of them are yours though they were written by your hands . Staring at the ceiling didn’t do anything, so you got out of bed. Your jacket sits in the laundry basket, though you don’t remember putting it there. You didn’t bother changing the rest of your clothes last night. You open your closet to find some comfier clothing. Dry skin flakes off your fingers as you pull your arm through the sleeve of the sweater.

For once, you decided to make toast rather than just pour cereal from a box. The bread goes in the toaster as you pour yourself some milk. Cars beep outside and the streets look busy. Pigeons pass by and say hello. The toaster pops and you spread butter onto the bread. It tastes really good! You need to make toast more often.

Today, your schedule had quite a few gaps. Organization was not a strong suit. While figuring out things to do, you glance at your bedroom door. The room’s too dark. Opening the curtains reveals the sunrays kissing the skyscrapers. The light stretches over your nightstand. It feels empty. The whole room feels empty.
You stare at the clock. 9:15 AM.
You want to sleep already.

-

Work was hell on earth. As per usual.
You barely stayed awake. The buzzing lights hammered your senses. It dragged on for an eternity. You were stuck. It was hard to snap back to reality when it was over. Time had lost reason. Maybe you should've asked for another day off.
But you had been gone long enough. And you had been using that time quite recklessly. Why did you need that vacation, anyway? You barely recall the email you sent to the company. For some reason, they were more than gracious.
They took pity.

But there’s no point in checking. What’s done is done. You careen toward your bed the moment you step into your room. It’s not clear if you were actually asleep, but you definitely lied there for a few hours. Finally, you roll onto your back, mind buzzing with runaway thoughts. Remember the DVD logo bouncing across the screen? It’s like that but at ten times speed. You glance at your nightstand. Poems sit neatly in a stack next to blank paper. You recall Folly’s words with perfect clarity, but you’re unable to recall yours. Those scrapped poems are far too murky. You couldn’t remember.
But it didn’t matter.

You pinch yourself. It should matter! If you keep having memory problems, you’ll never survive the work week! But, wait, can’t you just reread them? Right, the scraps are still in the recycling bin from last night. Just put them back together! Easy as pie! You push your body off the bed and stretch out. You head to the corner of your room.
The recycling bin is empty.
But…that’s where you put them, right? Was your memory that bad now? Eyes dart around the room. When they return to the bin, you finally notice a stack of papers underneath. Curious, you pick up the bin and take the papers. They’re held together by Elmer’s glue and Scotch tape.
They’re your poems.

They were put back together with much more care than when they were first created. The rips and tears blended into the uncleaved parchment. The paper is smooth under your fingers but much less delicate. Scouring the stack of poems, you can’t help but keep a gentle grip on the paper. But while you remember writing three poems, there were four pages. The fourth, you discover, was written by someone else. You recognize her handwriting all too well.

This Rose
A poem by Folly

Envy is a toxin.
And I have consumed it

To use against my prey.
And it spreads.
It spreads

Until decay is all that’s left.

But this rose will not die.

The soil is brittle,

But this rose is too stubborn.
It picks up its feet
And goes.
Every heartbeat

Shakes the earth
To break the dirt apart.
This rose

Has a good heart.

This rose has its thorns plucked;
Petals tucked
Into each other as they wilt.
This rose soared
Over the walls these toxins had built.
This rose is too stubborn to die.

This

Rose

Will

Fly.

Precious as always.
This one stood out. All of Folly’s previous poems spoke of malice and aggression. This one was just…elegance. There were barely hints of her malicious demeanor. But you still knew it was her. “Who else would it be?” you mutter under your breath.
You gently place the poem on top of the others. The repaired poems still sit in your hands. You stare at Folly’s poems as you hold yours. Cars honk and growl outside. And suddenly, you’re hit with a passion. A creative spark. Your poems go on the nightstand’s lower shelf. A blank page leaves the stack of paper.

Ecosystem
A Poem by [][][][]079

Cars honk.
Ceiling lights buzz.
This city is a noisy ecosystem

But it is safe.
Sometimes,

I want to break away from the system.
Why must I adapt?

Black sheep.
Lone wolf.
Fish out of water.
I am an animal
In claustrophobic captivity.
Could someone set me free?

Or do I make a new key

For an old lock
And rock the boat?

Seaweed slithers on the ocean floor.
Fish feed on the grassy snakes
And eels sneak up behind them
For a bite.
This ocean is a cruel ecosystem
But it is quiet.

I cannot be loud.
I cannot be cruel .

Your handwriting was eligible, but not as refined as Folly’s. The new poem sits on your nightstand face-up. You glance at it one more time before preparing for work.
You don’t need coffee to get you through the shift tomorrow.

-

Moving Forest
A Poem by Folly

I cannot be loud
But I must be cruel.

It is quiet in the forest

And it will stay that way.

I am the hunter,

These minds are my prey.
Rivers run

But they cannot hide.
They must abide by the tides
I set in motion.

The woods are always moving
But only to my rhythm.
Must I continue this symphony?
Can I start again?

Can I go back?

You got a response.
It’s sitting in your hands that morning. You can’t help but hold the page close to your chest. Marble engravings in a scarlet sky flicker in your mind. The rivers below rose and fell to her whim. I must be cruel. Tragedy continues to lace her literature. But it’s warm with emotion. Something that was hard to find in your words.
Packing your things took longer than it should have, mainly because your brain couldn’t focus on anything but her words. Thankfully, there was still enough time to take the scenic route to work.
There’s a pond nearby. It once housed a load of geese, but they disappeared years ago. The sun glitters in the horizon but distorts in the unmoving water. The pond is still. Nothing moves.
You think about it all day.

Still Water
A Poem by [][][][]079

It runs deep

But I keep it behind my lips.
It collects rust
And I must remain true to the scripts.

Parasites don’t linger here

But there’s something in the water now.

It has vowed to ruin me
But I’ve already let it inside.
And so it has festered

Something new.

The water is never clear,
But it’s not as hard to swim through.

Was it too on the nose? Or too subtle? It’s not like you had the guts to have anybody look it over. You sigh and place it on your nightstand. You’re finding it hard to fall asleep. You get a glass of warm milk before hopping into bed. It must’ve done the trick, because once you’re under the covers, you’re out like a light.

-

You wake up on the floor. But it’s comfier than you thought it’d be. A blanket had been carefully wrapped around you. The nightstand is knocked over. You groan as you sit up. Your back leans against the side of the bed as your eyes adjust to the sun bleeding through the windows. There’s a pen and paper at your feet.
The poem doesn’t have a title.

-~-~-
A Poem by Folly

So similar yet different.

Insects too stubborn Pressure creates diamonds

But bread needs to rise.
Not everybody has learned that lesson.
I want to lessen the pain.

One gained freedom.
All it took was a helping hand
That was unwanted.
One I cannot hold understand.
Our eyes see through false hope
And cannot help but cling to it.
I should have stayed gone .

One was given a gift
To which they refused.
You cannot run forever.
Fate is a funny thing.
It is something to accept.
To foresee.
Why be

So avoidant?

Another remains careless yet kind.
They remind me of the gre concrete roses.
Growing without soil and drinking from unclean water.
How could they let me in be honest?
I should have stayed gone .

Something so fragile remains so bold.
I’ve been told
To be careful. with
The cracks and faults put themselves back together.
I am tethered to an anchor

And you’re a seagull feather

Lost at sea.
I will not drag you down with me.

I will not drag you down with me.

It’s been revised. Multiple words are crossed out or covered in pen scribbles. The scrapped words have been stripped of meaning. Something’s hanging in the air. The words repeat in your head. I should have stayed gone.
You shouldn’t have , you whisper.
You smack your cheek. Dammit. You were talking to dead breezes! You sit on the floor for ages, knees bent.The words repeat. I should have stayed gone. The sentence squeezes your heart. The air grows heavier. There was only one word swimming through the entire passage.
Regret.

She shouldn't have to feel that way. Fingers crease the paper and you begin to yearn for something better. Something better for her . Whatever situation Folly was in, she didn’t ask for it. Nobody would want this. She didn’t have to hold onto hate. She could turn it into something else. Folly had all sorts of talent that others could see. Her words hold power, truth, and other virtues you couldn’t begin to name. She could share that talent.
Folly could write about more than anguish. She could make poetry books and sit in a cafe. She could grab some coffee and fill the shelves of a bookstore. She could continue to inspire you with her clarity and poise. She could live a normal life. She could learn to love .

But that’s a lesson you need to learn, too. For now, your heart is a lot less empty than it used to be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

The station was practically abandoned.
Subway trains passed by because there was no one to board them. Grime clung to the walls and ceiling. The jukebox kept repeating the same album over and over again. The neon lights flickered as a coin danced between sharp nails. Red eyes sat underneath a baseball cap and stared at an indent in the brick wall. The elevator doors were yet to open.
So what were you doing on the other side of them?

Pest hadn’t thought those grovelers would ever stray too far from the lift. The ascension was addicting, so much so that Pest ended up re-encountering some of them. They were all in it for the thrill. It was impossible to become unhooked. And yet, there you were, torn from the adrenaline and paralyzed by awkwardly prolonged eye contact. Pest grit his teeth together, fingers folded over the coin. You weren’t supposed to be here. You didn’t need his scowl to tell you that. But, in truth, you were there for similar reasons.
Answers.

-

You’ve been more active at your desk than normal.
The table was organized with pens and pencils and a paper stack underneath. The vase from your old residency now sits there holding a poppy and a pair of catkins(they fell from some aspen trees by the pond). Folly and your poems are hung on the wall with pins and old string. The sun casts warm shadows from the table and chair.
You often found yourself writing at your desk after work. All the stress and inconveniences from your shift fuelled your poetry. The catharsis seemed unmatched. What was once a cipher was now a hobby.

A new word entered your dictionary. Every new page, a new feeling was discovered with every cracked code. No one would understand this elegant dialect and how it was birthed from somber malice. Her words just resonated with you. The raging fire had pulled away, but its warmth remained.

It was laundry day. You usually don’t mind heading to the laundromat, but something about leaving that desk felt off. You’ve been sitting at that thing for WAY too long. You make it to the laundromat without issue and load the washing machine. You push a quarter in the slot and glance out the window. The reflected sunlight nearly blinds you.
“Funny seeing you here.”
You nearly lose your balance-

“Jesus! Anchor don’t-” you stammer, “-what on earth-”
“You’re THAT surprised?” she muses. “We’ve been going to the same laundromat for weeks.” Admittedly, she was right. You should’ve seen it coming. You lean against the washing machine and groan. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“What? It was just-”
“Don’t.”
A pause. You don’t remember your voice being that cold.

Anchor resigns and rolls her eyes. She sets her laundry basket on the floor. “You’re not usually this jaded,” she mumbles. Your gaze snaps toward her. “You’re not usually this insensitive.”
You catch your cruel tone and the words die in your throat. Your hands seal your mouth shut. Dammit, what was WRONG with you?!
“Okay, I’m sorry. I…I didn’t know you were…having a bad day,” Anchor conceded, “or week. I don’t know. That’s on me.” You lean against the washing machine, arms crossed. You don’t forgive her aloud, but you managed to maintain eye contact. “The 9 to 5 treating you well?” you ask.

“As well as it can,” Anchor sighs. “Got a raise last week, though.”
“Oh, that’s great!”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect it. I haven’t been promoted or anything.” She crouches to fill a washing machine with laundry. “Anything new with you, bud?” she asks.
You straighten yourself. “I’ve been doing some poetry,” you shrug.
Anchor blinks. She starts searching her pockets for something. “Have you been to the slam poetry night downtown?” she asks. You shake your head. She pulls out a slip of paper. It’s an advertisement for a late-night tavern event.
“Where’d you find this?”

“It was slapped on a street pole,” Anchor says. “It’s at one of my favorite food places, so I took it. But it seems you’d like it, too.” You hadn’t gone out somewhere in a while. “Where is it?”
“There’s a subway train that takes us right to it,” Anchor explains. “Tickets only cost 5 Bux each. It’s next week so you can prepare.”
“Yeah, I can go–wait, prepare for what?”
“The slam. Duh.”

Oh, okay. Anchor thought you wanted to enter the poetry slam, not just watch it. You feel yourself shrink. “How big is the tavern?”
“Only fits a hundred people,” Anchor says. “But there’s gonna be even less during slam night.” So it’s not concert-size. You stop holding your breath. “I…I think I can do it,” you manage. Anchor approaches you and puts a hand on your shoulder.
“I know you can,” she smiles.

-

What the f### were you going to write?!
It had to be something new. The previous poems were for communication, not recreation. And this is your first introduction with good-ol’ writer’s block. Fantastic.
You groan as your head rests on the desk. Nothing’s coming to mind. You’re grasping at straws. You lift your head and sigh in defeat. This wasn’t going to be easy. You lean in your chair, staring at the wall of poetry. What were you going to do?

You have to find some inspiration. A scene. A thought. A feeling. Anything you could write about. You walk around your apartment multiple times. Nothing’s jumping out at you. You move the curtains and look out the window. The streets are beginning to buzz less and less, and the sun is falling behind the architecture. Haven’t you written about cities before? Streetlights start to flicker. You head back to your desk and start a list.
Light. Streets. Noise. Shade. Movement. They’re all tied to the city but can still stand on their own. You smile. Now you’re getting somewhere! You begin to search your apartment again. Quiet. Solitude. Comfort. Warmth. Home. These could connect to what you have. The contrast of noise and quiet could be interesting, or maybe warmth can tie into shade and light! Or themes of movement could influence the noise and level of comfort. Maybe they could all come together and-
You stop yourself. This was spiraling out of control.

Okay, time to think small. You can still connect some words, but you shouldn’t connect all of them. Just two will do. You’re going to need more words before something finally clicks with you. For now, you need to get some food.

-

Insects too stubborn.
You knew this stop was abandoned. You knew you wouldn’t get on the train from here. You knew it would fly past you without care.
And yet, here you are.
A coin dances between sharp fingers. Pest’s gaze is narrow. The jukebox music glitches. Someone needs to make a move.

-

New day, new ideas. Your list of topics grows. Nothing’s written down yet but you had a whole week to do this. Most of your poems were made in less than an hour. Endless possibilities.

Some ideas come from your workplace. Routine. Slow. Breaks. Schedule. Coffee.
Repetitive elements could be useful. They create rhythm and cohesion. Or perhaps they set up the opposite.

Some come from your home. Windows. Bed. Mudroom. Safety. Space.
Your apartment was just right; not too big and not too small. You were unsure about moving out but it was all okay in the end.
But you don’t know why you wanted your own place. Independence was nice. However, it could also be lonely.
You could write about moving in. The changes and struggles that came with it. A story in lyric form! But as you rewound your memory to the past, it stopped itself.
You focus on the now instead.

Some words come from your present. Searching. Aspen. Messages. Curiosity. Longing.
It has been quite the month for you. So many new things that are no longer foreign. When everything in the elevator has disappointed you, Folly became the outlier. And where Folly kept her words and feelings close to her chest, you were the exception. The chase became a gentle stroll. This struggle became a dance.
Elegant indeed.

What were you before? In the beginning? What will you be in the end? After everything?
What were you before?
What was before?
Your head begins to hurt. Only one word comes from your past.
Stones.

-

なんでしょう?

╎  リᒷᒷ↸  ⍑ᒷꖎ!¡. ╎  ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣   ꖌリ𝙹∴  ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣   ℸ ̣ 𝙹  ↸𝙹. ᒲ||  ⍑ᒷᔑ↸  ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣ ᓭ…

得る以上 あなた自身.
I  リᒷᒷ↸  ||𝙹⚍∷  ⍑ᒷꖎ!¡.
なぜ私が?
╎  リᒷᒷ↸  ℸ ̣ 𝙹  ⎓╎⊣⚍∷ᒷ  ᓭ𝙹ᒲᒷℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣  𝙹⚍ℸ ̣. ᔑʖ𝙹⚍ℸ ̣   ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ  ᒷꖎᒷ⍊ᔑℸ ̣ 𝙹∷.

なるほど...
∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣   ↸𝙹  ||𝙹⚍  ꖌリJ∴?  ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣   ᓵᔑリ  ╎  ↸𝙹?
あなた 必要 滞在する 離れて. 彼女から.
╎ ᓵᔑリリ𝙹ℸ ̣  ↸𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣

絶対です, 川崎.

-

It was time.
It took a while to find the station, but Anchor thankfully gave you directions. You ended up getting there quite early, as the train itself was nowhere to be seen or heard. You and Anchor sat on the bench. “Got your poetry?” she asked.
“Yep,” you nod.

People start heading to the platform. You follow suit as the train horn starts blaring. The wheels begin to screech against the rails and grate your ears. Soon, the train comes to a slow stop. Anchor takes your hand and hops on.

The two of you sit down and you stare out the window. “Did you invite that Fork guy?” Anchor asks.
“Flank said he was busy,” you say.
“So, I don’t want any spoilers,” Anchor began, “but is it a happy or sad poem?”
“Are those the only two emotions you can name?” you joke. Anchor chuckles. “Okay, fair. Is it a love poem then~?”
“No! No, not that-” you correct. “I mean, it does have stuff about admiration but nothing romantic! Appreciation is the word I’d use. Not love.” You can feel your cheeks flush.
“If you say so,” Anchor teases. But she doesn’t push further. The rest of the train ride is quiet.
A coin dances between your fingers.

The wheels screech to a stop. The doors open and you head out of the station. As Anchor had said, the tavern was just across the street. The Glass Stud Tavern is decorated in yellow fairy lights and pastel hues. It’s a large shack with more than decent upkeep. Anchor pushes the crosswalk button and waits. The signal turns green and you start to cross. “I’m guessing you don’t have any poems?” you ask.
“Actually…” Anchor fishes for something in her bag at the end of the crosswalk. Sure enough, a nicely-folded paper sits in her hand. “I revised something I did back in middle school.” She puts the paper back in her purse and opens the tavern door. Dim magenta lights decorate the restaurant. More fairy lights hang from the ceiling and a bookshelf sits near the entrance. Anchor walks up to the front desk. “We’re here for the slam.”

“Oh, nice! We’ve still got slots open,” says the waiter. He pulls out a slip. “Table for two?”
“Yep.”
“You have your poems?”
“Yes,” you assert. You and Anchor show your papers.
“Names?”
“Anchor and YourUser.”
“Do you have any numbers attached?”
“She doesn’t. Mine’s zero-seven-nine,” you say. The waiter writes it down.
“Alright, great! Your table’s right by that window. The slam itself will begin in ten minutes. Anchor, you’ll go sixth. User goes seventh.” The waiter points towards a table for two. You and Anchor sit down. You take a deep breath. This is it.

“How many poets are there tonight?” You ask. “I know there’s at least five others, but we’re not last, are we?”
“I doubt it,” Anchor admits, focused on the menu. “There might be some people who aren’t here yet.” You nod and glance at the menu. A waitress arrives and asks you for drinks. You get a Cola while Anchor requests Witch’s Brew. You stare at your poem and recite the words in your head. A few more people enter the tavern. It’s still not crowded.
Odd. You don’t feel nervous.
You were instead met with impatience. Excitement! Confidence!
This is the first time you were so sure of yourself.

You get your drinks and Anchor orders a pretzel bowl. Neither of you have decided on a main course. You stare at the menu again. Anchor sips her brew and glances at the stage. “Any ideas?” she asks.
You shrug. “I might just ask for grilled cheese.”
“Good choice.” She takes another sip. The waitress returns with the pretzel bowl and you both order grilled cheese. There’s more filled tables now, but the crowd is manageable. There were certainly more poets than just the two of you.

Eventually, the crowd goes silent as one of the tavern workers steps up to the stage. She gives her spiel about the slam and how it works, what kinds of poems there will be, yada yada yada. The crowd cheers as she leaves the stage and the first poet arrives. He taps the mic before reading.

The man spoke of the countryside. A calm contrast to the buzzing city. But he claimed it was lonely and far from perfect. He hoped to find a balance between urban and rural. An in-between. Something just right.

The next poet sang about tyrants. Unmoving mountains that blocked the sunrise. But not every mountain was a tyrant. Some were ideals. Beliefs. Twisted justifications. They cannot be allowed to grow.

You stopped paying attention once you got your grilled cheese. Anchor didn’t eat hers. She was reading her poem, her fingers laced between the folds. And soon, it was her turn. She walked onto stage and took a breath.

Sailboat
A Poem by Anchor

I’m on a sailboat
In the middle of the sea.
And as far as I can see,
There’s nothing but blue.

Blue skies.
Blue water.
Blue lies
Between the waves.
Youth dies
In silence.

I must cherish this sailboat.
Fix the holes in the mast.
Make it last
As it drifts away from the past.
Time goes fast.

I cannot change the flow of time
Or the water
That carries me
To the unknown.
How can I know where it takes me?
I’m my own hostage
On this sailboat.
But I will cherish it.

I will fix this broken heart
For it still beats.
Still believes
In the wind.
‘Till death do us part
But we never got to meet.
But I will ride this sailboat
And see where it goes.

Nobody knows the wind.
But the wind will always know me.

Applause rises again but you cheer the loudest. A concept so simple was expanded into a profound metaphor. Anchor sits back down and starts eating her grilled cheese. “Dude, you were awesome!” Anchor smiles. Someone calls out your name.
Right. It’s your turn.
You stand up and straighten yourself. Poem in hand, you approach the stage.
This is it.

-

Looking Glass
A Poem By [][][][]079

How do you do it?
How do you take my breath away
And still show mercy?
How are you so powerful
Yet elegant?

You saw right through me.
Like a looking glass..
You knew I was more
Than an invisible wall.
After every break,

Every fall,

You didn’t give up on me.
So why should I give up on you?

You gave me your language.
Not something to decipher,
But something to feel.
Why should I give up on you?
The roses you planted in my head
Can’t grow thorns from your mask of disregard.
Your language is real.
It’s real and yet it’s unsaid.
You gave me your language.
I’ll give you mine.

I see right through you.
Like a looking glass.
Elegant.
Divine.

-

The crowd erupts with cheers. It hits you like a speeding brick and your cheeks flush. You quickly leave the stage, covering your face with the paper. You sit down, head on the table. You actually did it. Holy sh##.
Holy sh##.
“Hey, you did it!”
Crap you forgot Anchor was here-

“I guess I did,” you stutter. A shaky hand reaches for some Cola. You take a sip and swallow. It’s cold. “I guess the elevator’s a weird source of inspiration.”
“Mhm,” Anchor nods. “I’m guessing that hat lady had some prose.”
“Hat lady???”
“Y’know, Mach? The one with the wheel and fire?”
So that’s her name.
“Oh. I didn’t know she had a name.”
“Why wouldn’t she have one?”
“Fair, fair.”

You’ve seen her before. In the firewall obby, she sat on the rails, hammer in hand. You also met her in her office. She offered gifts for coins and the fountain was refreshing. Her dead-eyed stare was seared into your brain…
The next poet arrives and Anchor finishes her sandwich. You offer to split the bill but Anchor refuses. “You rocked it far more than I did,” she says. You look out the window as a city bus rushes past. The last poet leaves the stage and everyone applauds. The tavern begins playing music in the background.
“Got room for one more?”

You turn to see a tall college student standing at the table. They adjust their glasses. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Solace?!”
“You know them?” asks Anchor. You put the Cola can on the table. You could smell Jim’s Pizza again.
“Yeah, we met on the elevator,” Sol tells her. You keep your head down. “And you are…?”
“Anchor. We go to the same laundromat.” She finished her Witch’s Brew. “How’d you like the slam?”
“Great! Maybe I’ll have a go at it next time,” Solace muses. “You guys did great!”
“Thanks,” you mutter.

Solace pauses but then smiles. They pull up a chair. “The spring semester is coming up,” they say as they sit down. “I’ve got a few more days of break to go. Maybe we can hang out together sometime before I go back.”
“Wait, what major?” asks Anchor.
“Writing. Literature’s my minor.”
“Rad.”

“What about you?” Sol asks her. “Don’t you go to college?”
Anchor shakes her head. “Have a job near the subway instead. Not this station, but the one where User and I met up.” She leans back in her chair. “Have you heard of the Studlee Corner?”
Solace nods. “Yeah, the convenience store.”
“Yep. Kinda boring, but it pays well.”

You remember passing by the store on your way to the station. You haven’t been there, but you do know the sign needs fixing. You sip your Cola. “As I was saying,” Solace continues, “we might have time to meet up before the semester starts. Where do you think we should go?” Anchor shrugs, but you can only think of one place. “Maybe the elevator?” you speak out. “I know it’s not the best place in the world, but it’s-”
“I’m down with that!” Anchor chimes in. “Heard there are some new floors popping up.”
“Isn’t there also a “floppy hunt” of sorts?” Sol inquires.
“What the hell is a floppy???” you ask.
“Short for floppy disks. Thought it was obvious.”
“Geez, I’m not that old.”

Anchor laughs and the night goes on. Solace talks about writing and modern literature. Unfortunately, it goes in one ear and out the other. You keep talking and Anchor eventually pays the bill. Everyone keeps talking but no voice is too loud. The tavern is alive. It feels warm. Comforting. It feels right!
“Subway train’s gonna return in six minutes,” Anchor suddenly announces. “We should head out.” You nod in agreement.
“Ah, okay. Stay safe out there,” Sol replies. Everyone stands up and Solace waves as you leave the Glass Stud Tavern.

And there’s something in the corner of your eye. A familiar yet estranged feeling that has only appeared now and then. Perhaps it was deja vu talking. Perhaps it was paranoia. But you could not deny it. Diamond reflections speckled the glass. Golden fairy lights give them false pupils. The city lights paint the windows with patterns of warm rouge.
And there she was. The gaze of your unholy muse.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

Work was boring. As per usual.
You spin your pen around countless times and it’s making your fingers sore. The energy drinks failed to reap you of exhaustion. It doesn’t take much to tune out your coworkers. The last day of the work week was always this way, the weekend just out of reach. But the day goes by pretty smoothly all things considered. But BOY was it draining.
The ticking clocks were grating on the ears. You wish you could punch one in the face.
Your knees almost give out as you step into your apartment. Guess I’ll have an early bedtime. Might sleep in, too. You carefully put your stuff away and check your phone for the time. 4:50 PM. Sunset wasn’t in a few hours.
Great.

You sluggishly make your way to the kitchen. Searching through the cabinets, you grab some rice and start up the stove. You slap your cheeks to keep yourself awake. You can’t set this place on fire.
||𝙹⚍  ᓵᔑリ'ℸ ̣   ᒲᔑꖌᒷ  ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣   ᒲ╎ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ  ᔑ⊣ᔑ╎リ.
Rice wasn’t enough for dinner. You put some chicken nuggets in the microwave and keep your eyes on the rice. Eventually, you turn off the stove and grab a plate. You scoop some rice and put the rest in some tupperware. The microwave beeps and you get the nuggets. A very odd dinner combo but it’s good enough.

With dinner dealt with, you turn off all the lights and close the bedroom curtains. Thank god you got those blackout curtains two months ago. Sleeping in the afternoon would’ve been near impossible. You quickly change into pajamas and collapse into bed. You sunk into the mattress. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep. Damn. You didn’t know you were that tired…

-

The room is dark. Every little star is blocked out. The sky is beautiful, yet thick curtains guard it without reason. Gentle hands push them aside for the outside world to seep into the room. Neon lights blare and flicker, illuminating the busy streets. The city lights could never outdo the constellations. The sky’s tattoos glimmered and pushed away the clouds. Even the broken ones could be beautiful. They all decorated the violet sky with shapes and stories. The window’s reflection paints a familiar face. But it feels abstract; a twisted mirror. Two red diamonds stare back at it.
This body is not hers either.

It, too, is imperfect. But it is far more fragile and weak. Any unnatural force would break it in one fell swoop. And yet, your form was so carefully crafted. Flesh and bone are woven together to give the forsaken gift of autonomy. Free will. Choice. It was a shame you could not see what she saw in that reflection. Where you see flaws, she saw worth. Something so delicate should be taken care of. It should be cherished.
Your hand reaches for the paper stack and grabs a page. A pen dances on the parchment in cursive letters, for it was her new routine. This outlet channeled her heart so perfectly. Instead of chaotic lightning and shadows, rooted emotions were displayed on ink-scarred paper. But as Folly wrote, she kept glancing at the window. It was a longing she couldn’t ignore. She put the pen back on the desk and placed a hand on the glass again.
She hadn’t been outside before.

-

Leather boots click on the stairs to the roof. Covering the silk pajamas is a red and black hoodie. Folly kicks the door open(as she should). The lights soon grow quiet for her. She takes a moment to observe, shutting the door behind her. The city moves and sings under her(your?) feet. Wires stretch across the gaps. Somehow, a chaotic symphony holds itself together. She finally witnesses the world through your eyes.
It was nothing like that aspen prison.
She feels herself smile. Many of mortality’s creations did not inherit their fragility. They would outlast them. Yet, mortal kind continues to create. They build. Mold. Forge. As long as they exist, mortals would make things that would outlive them and their future generations. Fascinating, she thought. These creations were intricate fossils of all kinds of legacies; all kinds of stories. And who was she to not admire them?

She sits on the roof’s edge and carefully lands on a steel balcony. The ladder quivers underneath the weight. Folly eyed the cables and pounces on a recycling bin. She bounces from wall to wall until she’s on the other roof. She carefully slides between the wires and stands up. The breeze began to pick up its pace. Folly does the same.
She starts sprinting across the rooftops. She leaps to the next roof and lands nicely on her feet. She keeps going and circles the block. The wind is singing with her. The music flows into a beautiful tempo.
ℸ ̣⍑ᒷ hᔑ∷ᒲ𝙹リ|| ∴ᔑᓭ ᒲᔑ↸ᒷ ℸ ̣𝙹 ꖎᔑᓭℸ ̣.

Folly returns to the apartment roof and sits down. Her hand reaches toward the horizon. No one could ever count the stars in the sky. Few could tell the difference between them and faraway planets. But no one could mistake the moon. No one could forget its presence. And yet, few bothered to say hello.
Folly gave it her hand as she would soon give it to you.

-

The hoodie sits neatly on your desk chair. You hadn’t noticed it until now. The polyester smells like burnt aspen. The air is pure. There’s something sticking out of the front pocket. You unfold the parchment and let it sit in your hands. To your surprise, only the beginning stanza is in fine cursive.
The rest varies in font and boldness.

Urban Symphony

A poem by Folly

Nothing could prepare me for this.
How could something be so bright yet gentle?

The urban symphony spans across the horizon.
It is nigh impossible to kill the sound.

The strings hang from the concrete columns,

Singing in electric chords of copper wire.
The brass horns blaze without rhythm

And bring this orchestra to life.

The chaos lacks tempo but it still sings
There is something more to this discord.

The choir refuses to sing as one.

Many voices, many stories.

They all will become

History in time.
Voices will be lost

But not unheard.

They echo as long as the living know language.
The world refuses to be silent.

It refuses to remain violent.
It refuses to remain still.

She had been outside. She has seen the city and heard everything it had to say. And somehow, she had translated it into poetry. Her words hold warmth. Beautiful.
You feel your cheeks turning pink. You carefully hang up the poem with the others.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. The blush fades from your face. Who would call you at seven in the morning? You pick up the phone and respond. “Hello?”
“I need your help.”
“...What’s wrong, Flank?”
Flank takes a deep breath. There is weakness in his words. “The elevator, there’s…t-there’s something wrong here,” he stutters. “There’s something that doesn’t belong.”
“What is it?”

“The boulder came from the gas station store,” Flank replies. “The one with the orb.”
ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⊣╎⎓ℸ ̣.
You stood up straight. “What?”
“It burned someone in the elevator,” he shudders. “One of the mimics left on the subway, and the beetle didn’t go in. Then-” He tries breathing through his nose. You snatch the hoodie. “J-just give me some backup. Ugh, the smoky smell’s gonna kill me.”
You’re already heading out the door. “I’m on my way!”
The smell of burnt aspen grows stronger.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

I had the power and I could change nothing.
You could not be saved.
And for that, I am sorry.
I swear to do better.

-

You have to hurry.
The lobby door is kicked off its hinges. You sprint into the elevator and almost run into a wall. Flank is in the far left corner hugging his knees. You kneel in front of him. “I’m here.”
Flank just nods. The air is thick with soot.

You stay in front of your friend and glance at the root of the problem. A granite idol sits in the corner with three eye holes and a smile. It remained pristine despite the sprinkles of ash on the floor. It shows no regret.
You show no interest.

The elevator dings and the doors open again. Blocky canyons reach far above a desert canvas. Someone approaches and you take Flank by the hand. You hear the swirling sand closing in. The checkpoint is straight ahead.
Everybody climbs the studded peak and you pull Flank close. “What’s up with the boulder?” you ask. “Why’d it kill the regulars?” Flank only shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
His voice is weak.

The sand pulls away and another safe spot arises. You pull Flank toward the square platforms and hop toward the fiery ring. You keep Flank close to you. The other grovelers are backing away. They’re scared of you.
Good , you mutter. They should be.
The sandstorm ceases once more. Everyone rushes to the new checkpoint. Flank tries not to cling to you. The desert debris radiates an immense heat as it closes in. You roll up your sleeves. The others are backing away further.
They all leave once the elevator doors close.

Flank pulls you into a far corner, hands on your shoulders. “Okay. Okay…” He takes a deep breath. He tries to speak but nothing comes out of his mouth. You pull Flank toward you again, looking over your shoulder.
The smiling rock is facing the wall behind it. You see right through it.
Bastard , you hiss.

But it’s not the only thing in the elevator. To your right, a chicken-hooded Robloxian stands with shadows cast over its face. Its grey clothes appear nice and casual, but you can’t help but see them as cultish robes. Flank glances at the new guy before grabbing your shoulders. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What?”
“I’ve got some tickets for the elevator que. There’s somebody who can get that thing out of here.” Flank glances at the rock and the chicken guy again. “But I can’t use the tickets in succession. We’ve got a few floors before I can use it again. We have to wait.”
“Sounds easier said than done,” you murmur.
Flank shakes his head. “Yeah, I hate that you’re right.”

The doors open to the racetrack. Both of you have seen it before. Flank looked toward you for some kind of approval. He glances at the track. “I’ll…I’ll just be outside. Stretch my legs, y’know?”
You nod wordlessly.
As Flank leaves, your eyes track him to the line of jeeps. He doesn’t hop into any of them, instead pacing back and forth on the starting line. Your eyes keep dancing between him and the rock. Suddenly, the silence breaks.
“Have you seen the grace of Icarus?”

That mechanical voice came from the shadowy robloxian. You don’t bother answering. It speaks again. “It appears he has given us a gift. A reunion.”
You try to ignore it. This guy’s not making any sense.
“We have longed for your return.”

Chills run down your spine. What? You meet eyes with the creep. Have you seen him before?
You shake your head. That can’t be right.
“Why deny the grace you have been given?”
You don’t respond. Cotton blooms in your throat.
“You are lucky. We long for your virtue.”

Finally, you manage a weak yell “What are you talking about?!” You’re backing the lunatic into the corner. Nails bite into your palms. “What do you want from me?”
“We are preparing for the prime, of course.”
This was not worth your time. You snatch the collar of his hoodie but cannot lift him off the ground. “Shut it.” The command goes unfollowed. The shadows of his face shift. There is curiosity, but it is far from innocent. “What are you waiting for?”
You didn’t bother answering him

THUD! The lunatic’s thrown to the ground. Its face remains unchanged. Anger flows through every vein, every thought. The fiery feeling had never felt so good . You try to push it down. You stand over the lunatic as your vision is painted red. You throw a punch. It collides with thin steel. Bruises form on your knuckles. You throw another but it fails to connect.
Someone grabs your wrist. You turn your head.
Flank tries not to look you in the eyes.

The crimson washes away. All of that frustration is lost and the adrenaline is fading. Now you feel nothing. Empty. You back away, lowering your fist. The elevator doors close. The rock is still facing the other way. It has been forever since you’ve felt so…hollow. So weak . Your legs give out. You sit against the wall. One of the ceiling lights flickers.

The lunatic stands as Flank sits beside you. It lacks the bitter grudge that you feel should be there. It lacks everything. It, too, is empty. Every emotion is null and void. Every pain is nonexistent.
Your mind poses it as some twisted reflection that it could never be. You feel sick.
But at least you're feeling something.

-

[Group Chat: YourUser079, Anchor, SolaceSets]

[10:14 AM]
Anchor: So when should we head out? Noon?

SolaceSets: Yeah sounds good

SolaceSets: What about you, @YourUser079?

[Chat With SolaceSets]

[11:29 PM]
SolaceSets: User? Are you there?
SolaceSets: lmk

[Chat With Anchor]

[11:34 PM]
Anchor: Are u ok?

Anchor: Can u call us back?

Anchor: Pls?

-

SLAM!
The back wall bursts open. Two robloxians slid down the wooden ramp. Solace freezes at the sight of the rock and Anchor approaches you. “Is everything okay?” Flank glances at you, expecting an answer.
Solace hits the rock with a textbook. It does nothing. “Sh##.”
Throughout the chaos, the lunatic locks eyes with you. His placid face makes the butterflies in your stomach fester. “You are just like them,” he claims. “Avoiding fate.” The elevator doors reveal purple-striped walls. Poob’s house.
“They have not taken their role, either.”

“Hey, what the f### are you talking about?!” Anchor asks. “This ain’t a puzzle, chicken head!” The lunatic merely glances at her. “You do not understand the true mercy of Icarus.”
Solace stops hitting the rock with the book. “Icarus isn’t a god, he’s a mythological figure.”
You knew the difference. Figures face hubris. Gods deliver it.
The apostle ignores them. He’s still staring at you. You step in front of Flank to keep him out of its view. It observes you for a moment. “You have been adorned with his divinity,” it remarks. “You have been chosen to bear witness to the prime and the many cycles to follow.”
Gift. Rock worshippers. Numbness. Fate. These things shouldn’t click together but they just do. It’s making your head spin. It shouldn’t make sense!
“Do you understand?”
You stare at the lunatic. Butterflies dance in your gut. “Understand what?” you ask.
“Who you are.”

Everyone’s eyes are on you and their gazes hurt to look at. Your hands are shaking. It shouldn’t make sense. You’ve been searching for answers for so long. They’ve always come along in cryptics or indecipherable code. You have gotten nowhere. And now, you’ve become desperate.
“Who am I, then?”
The apostle studies your weak expression, only to look towards the striped walls of Party Noob’s home. “You are what they could not bring themself to be.” The unholy rock begins to turn. “Now we can truly experience the prime in all of its glory.”
“And why’s that?” Anchor barks. “Why do ya need YourUser of all people? They’re not anything like you freaks!”
“We cannot do this without the One.”

The final nail pierces the coffin. The puzzle pieces click and lock into place. No. Nonononono-
“Bullsh##! If you want a job done, do it yourself!” Anchor.
“We have already taken our places. We have been waiting for the understudy.”
“If they don’t want to be involved, then you won’t make them. That is their choice to make. Not yours.” Solace.
“That would merely delay the inevitable. Icarus must grace us.”
The rock sees through you. Your skin is nothing but glass. It knows you are empty. Your vision begins to tunnel. Muscles constrict and your stomach swims. You can’t focus. It hurts. It’s too much!
“USER!”
Flank.
Your friend shouting is the last thing you hear. After that, your ears can only ring. The world grows dark.
There is a bell that tolls somewhere in the world.

-

…

Once upon a time, a heretic was made from rock.
Before, they were made of glass. Too fragile to tread any path. The shadows of comfort took pity and gave them true life. In return, it had taken a true life. They were forgiven. They were loved.

There is one path to follow for the rook. The Chariot wheels the idol into place. The idol rids the domain of the impurities. The impurities stalk the Chariot.
But the rook could not travel in a straight line.

They, too, did not understand. And they, too, ran away from destiny. The prime was perfectly set up for them and they had abandoned it. The world moved on and cycled through its incarnations. The path changed shape but not direction.
The heretic overturned the Chariot. And thus the heretic became the Fool.
And saints do not answer to Fools.

-

Everything’s hazy.
You only gain some clarity as Solace kneels before you. They’re saying something but you can’t read lips. Flank’s backing away from the buttons and Anchor’s pulling him toward the back corner. You lean against the wall as Solace keeps your head up. The elevator doors are opening and a tall shadow casts itself on the metal floor.
SMASH!
The elevator rattles . Hundreds of gravel bits paint the metal floor. A woman dressed in purple stands before you all. When her eyes meet yours, there is morbid clarity. Red light fizzles as the shadow dissipates. Burgundy decorates the office to contrast the cold grey outside. Mach’s shadow stretches across the carpet floor. Judgment is nigh.

The judge waits at her throne. You stand before her, hands tied. With a sigh, Mach shakes her head. “I am sorry,” she laments. “You should know how dangerous they are.”
You nod wordlessly.
Her grip on the hammer tightens. She takes a breath and shakes her head. How could someone so powerful look so…remorseful? “I’m a coward,” she musters. “I can stop this. I can just end their ‘chosen one’ and…”
“i remember rock worshippers! not anything else tho!”
“I just can’t.”
Woefully, you understand. Part of you wishes you didn’t.

Mach attempts to meet your gaze, only to look back down at the Banhammer. The woman stands from her office chair, mallet in hand. “I swore I would do better.” Dread hangs from the ceiling windows and blocks out the sky. The woman steps forward. Every step echoes through the hall. The hammer rests over her shoulder. “I will do better. I must.”
You knew where this was going, but did she have to do this?
Well, it’s not like you have a choice.

The woman moves forth. Flank calls out your name and runs toward you, only to be knocked back by Mach’s power. He hits the wall hard enough to leave a dent. Anchor and Solace shout his name but you can’t follow. Mach stands before you, face laced with crimson veins. Intricate lines indent her skin, glowing like hot metal. All she can manage to give you is a gentle bow. She cannot look you in the eyes. The Banhammer smolders with power.
“It was nice to meet you,” says Mach. “Goodbye.”

Given the woman’s name, you pray she makes it quick.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

Here she was. The harbinger, the savior, and the catalyst.
The poet. And the muse.

KA-KRAK!

The glass roof shatters . Red lightning shakes the office and knocks you off your feet. Thunder shakes in your ears. Shards and debris litter the carpet. The lights start burning red. Mach looks toward the sky. “What in the-”
The shadows stretch and crawl all across the room. The lights flicker and some of the bulbs shatter. You get back onto your feet. Anchor calls for you.
“Now’s your chance!”

You’ve gotta go.
You turn and beeline for the elevator. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Mach has her eyes on you. Go. Run. Leave. The lights burn red. Footsteps rush behind you. A hand reaches from the darkness-
SHOOM!
It pulls you by the collar of your hoodie.
Multiple voices call your name. Everything becomes dark.

-

It feels like you’re floating. Your feet aren’t touching the ground. Are you dreaming again? You’re not sure. Most dreams feel warm. This feels cold.
Fractured skies whisper hello as your eyes blink open. Gold and violet cracks paint the endless void. Paintings, trinkets, and other forgotten things float but remain still. A gentle hum moves through the empty space.
How can darkness be so…vibrant?

Your feet meet solid ground somehow. You cannot see where it ends, starts, or shifts. All you can do is have fate. You recognize many things from the elevator’s many realms. They hang in the air like holiday ornaments. Mozelle’s treats, Jeremy’s princess cage, Bugbo’s rock basket…
Melanie’s head…

Wait, where ARE you right now?! Is this some weird dimension? You look around, confirming your solitude. Something tells you you’re not supposed to be here. Your guts start to fight each other. It hurts. Is Flank okay? Did the elevator close? Are Anchor and Solace mad that you didn’t meet up with them? Is that lunatic still yapping?
Are you…
Pfft-nah. This sh## too bright to be death.

Okay, so where are you then? Why is there so much stuff lying around? Is this some magic dimensional storage unit??? What the hell is going on?! A groan escapes your mouth. The hood is thrown over your head. Just keep walking. There’s gotta be an exit somewhere. Maybe your friends followed you? Yeah, maybe they can help.

You call for SolaceSets and wait. They don’t call back. No one does.
You call again. Again, no response. Just silence.
They’re not coming for you.
You shout FlankFork’s name. He doesn’t appear to hear you.
You yell it aloud. Somebody has to hear. But all that comes after are the echoes.
He’s not coming for you.
You scream for Anchor to help you. You beg. Plead. Your throat hurts from crying in vain.
Everything hurts.
She’s not coming for you.
Nobody is.

Nobody’s coming for you. You’re alone. You’ve always been alone. You’ve always been alone and you will be alone for the rest of time. Because nobody cares. Because nobody’s coming for you.
Nobody’s coming for you.
Nobody’s coming nobody’s coming nobody’s coming nobody’s coming nobody’s coming
Nobody is here.
Nobody but you.
“DAMMIT!”

Your fists slam against the invisible ground. Your knuckles bruise further. There is no reaction to your frustration. Just echoes. Fragments. The glowing cracks do not waver; do not flicker. Everything is in stasis.
Everything…expect a star.
A faint, flickering star.

You’re dragging yourself toward it. Every step is heavy. The hoodie is a burden. Everything hurts. And still, you persist. You continue to reach for the fading light. “Please, give me something,” you whisper. The golden glow slowly dims as you get closer. By the time you truly reach it, it’s not a star at all. It’s not something made of light.
It’s made of wood.
Aspen wood.

A charcoal diamond is carved in the broken crescent. A web of cracks spread from the shape. Splinters kiss your delicate fingers. The bark is old and rotten. It has not been given care in ages. There is something missing. Wait, no. This is the missing piece. The key part that was lost to time. This is the other half.
Her other half.
Your knees give in. You don’t know why. They just suddenly give in without your permission. Pins and needles crawl between your fingers. Your hands are shaking. Something sits on your cheek. It rolls off your chin and splatters on the ground. Tears. You’re shedding tears. Why are you crying? Why is it hard to breathe? How can you stop mourning for something you never witnessed? How can you stop mourning for innocence you never had? How can you stop?
Please, make it stop.
Make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop-
Silence and grief consume. Everything hurts. And then it doesn’t.

-

I Need No Requiem

A Poem by Folly

You do not mourn lost things.
You do not mourn what is not yet gone.
They are still waiting to be found.
Waiting for you.

You do not tribute to the fallen
Who still have plenty to fall.
You do not honor the heroes
Who have not yet saved the kingdom.
You do not thank somebody
For something they haven’t yet done.

You do not mourn what is not yet gone.
No requiem is for the living.

-

Starlight.
You don’t know how you know. You just do.
This is starlight.

Starlight is warm. It’s not the kind of warmth you’d get from a fireplace or sunny day. It’s the warmth that just wraps around everything like a blanket. You don’t just see it. You feel it.
A white desert spans across the horizon. Abstract figures stand in a black sea. The bright canvas world forces your eyes to adjust. Eyes on the walls keep looking away. In the corner of your eye, there’s a tall staircase. You trudge up the steps. Your body feels heavy. You finally reach the top, leaning against the wall. The sky is pitch black outside.
Someone is waiting for you.

You don’t run. You take your time. The white blades of grass crumble beneath your feet. Footprints are left behind. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Almost there. And soon, you’re standing side by side with stagnant ouroboros. By her.
Folly sits with her legs crossed. Her hands sit in her lap, fingers tapping a lost rhythm. You sit down without a word. Legs crossed. Hands in lap. Darkness paints the sky, yet the world is bright. One question keeps spinning in your mind.
Why did she save you?

She’s not looking at you. Her hands are clasped together in her lap now. It’s far too quiet for your liking. Your lips purse as you try to come up with something to say. Damn, this is hard. Sighing, your head bows down to look at the ground. Your fingers lock together. “Thanks,” you mumble.

Folly’s head turns slightly. Her back straightens. She chuckles to herself and shakes her head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
“I expected some form of question to spill out of your mouth.”
…She has a point. You exhale through your nose. “That’s…fair.” You shrug.
“You know it wouldn’t have mattered, correct?”
“...What?”

Folly chuckles again. “She would have changed nothing,” she says. She looks up toward the sky. “Someone so powerful…would then be powerless.” A pause. “It wouldn’t be worth it. It was never worth it.”

“Because I’d just come back,” you mutter.
“Exactly.”
The question still lingers. So why did she save you? You’re too afraid to ask.

Your thumbs dance around each other. Your palms are clammy. The air remains still. Folly puts her hands on her knees. “To think you would stand out…above every soul in that place…” And then she trails off. You swallow. “What?”
She sighs and leans back. “The people in that elevator are moths being drawn to an irresistible flame,” says Folly. “No matter the circumstances, they always return to the pain. Each for their own reasons.”
“What was yours?” you never ask.

“Hmhmhm…Adrenaline is a wonderful distraction, isn’t it?” she muses. “It’s why so many return after being knocked down. No matter how hard they fall, they crawl back. Because they want more. They always want more. ”
She was right. You told yourself you wouldn’t put yourself through that again. And yet, here you are. But you weren’t after the adrenaline, right? You were here for the mystery. The intrigue. Not the rush of brushing by death’s door.
But you got what you wanted, in a way. You have the answers. So how much longer until you, too, are chasing after that feeling?
Your stomach twists.

Folly’s legs uncross and she sits on her knees. She’s thinking about something. She’s always thinking about something. And finally, she speaks. “They remain ignorant to the cycles they put themselves through. Even when it leaves them with nothing in return.”
“Because they’re feeling something,” you respond. “Because it’s better than what you had before.” You know exactly what that’s like.
Every ounce of feeling was cherished. No matter how utterly revolting and ugly it made you. Because you were feeling something.
…What did you have before, then?

“And thus, it repeats.” Folly stands. She’s fixated on the horizon, boots clicked together. “There’s nothing you can do to help them. The cycle of indulgence just continues. These mortals yearn to distance themselves from emptiness. They keep repeating the same things, over and over, to the point where the cycle in itself becomes empty.” Her hands fold behind her back. “Because nothing ever changes.”
“It becomes the same,” you respond.
“Correct.”

You stand up and stretch. The hoodie smells like aspen leaves. Your mind keeps going back to the boulder, as much as you want to forget. If everyone just kept coming back, why did it snuff them out? Was it a warning? A threat? An attempt to get them to not return? If so, why did it keep doing the same things over and over? Was it, too, stuck in the loop?
“Why doesn’t it just…stop?” you mutter. “Why does it keep burning them if they just come back?”
It wouldn’t have mattered.
Folly’s head lowers.

“The one they call ‘Icarus’ was always empty,” she confides. “Nothing could stray it away from itself. It is unable to take in any feeling for itself. ‘Icarus’ keeps building up its wax wings to inevitably have them melted by the sun. No matter what it does, it is always empty. And, when they depart, its prey feels a fraction of that void. They, too, become empty.”
Empty. That word is beginning to tug at your insides. It’s sickening. Much like that rock. Much like that lunatic. Much like-
“You understand that feeling, don’t you?”
“...Unfortunately.”

Folly looks toward the ground. She straightens, palm resting on her chest. “Is it really that unfortunate?” she questions. You can only bite your lip. “Or…is it better to run away? To be chased by the truth for eternity?” No one can run forever, that much was obvious. The world didn’t allow exceptions to that rule. Folly had a point, as per usual. She then turns to you, her scarlet eye contrasting the monochrome void. “You didn’t run away,” she claims.
“What?”

“You understand that feeling,” she repeats. “You know what emptiness is. Willingly or not, you’ve accepted it. You’ve embraced it.”
What was she getting at? Something tugs further at your insides as you try to comprehend her words. You haven’t run away. You haven’t run away because you didn’t know what to run from. And now it’s caught up to you. But emptiness, despite its name, is no gluttonous wolf. It wishes to exist in tandem.
“Is that what I’m supposed to do?” you mutter.
“...Not exactly.”

Folly’s form turns. She’s fully facing you. Never has she appeared so strong and so…vulnerable. Then she takes a knee. Her clawed hands gently take yours. You don’t flinch. Her hands are so warm…
“You are nothing like them,” she proclaims. Her grip becomes firm. “You are not empty. You are full of life. Emotion. Depth. You are far more complex and intricate than any of their pawns. Far more than any soul of this elevator. Your potential is something that rock will never get its hands on because you are nothing like them.”
You keep staring at her hands. Her fingers are tipped with bright crimson. “You cannot accept the idea of being empty. You are not a shallow vessel through which fate runs its course. You are not a myth. You are a person. You are…somebody.”
Somebody. When was the last time you were told that?

“This is no place for someone like you,” Folly continues. “It is not right. It is not right to tether you back to the path from whence you came. It is not right to drag you back to the roots you’ve left behind. Because…you had left them behind for good reason.”
You left because it wasn’t right, you tell yourself. Her gaze softens as it meets yours. She brings your hands closer together, clasping them in her palms. The abyssal sky somehow becomes just a little brighter. The entire world blooms into a glowing white void, the darkness withering away. You keep her hands close to your chest.
“You need not come here anymore,” she whispers. “This cycle ends today.”

-

The lobby. You recognize the ceiling by now.
So…did you die again? Or were you just sent back here? Can’t say for sure.
Well, you don’t feel like death. The first few times you didn’t feel quite right. Your skin was paler and it was hard to get off the ground. You don’t feel like that this time.
So, you didn’t die. Cool. Great.
So how did you-
“YourUser!!”

Three robloxians burst out of the elevator. They rush toward you and wrap their arms around your torso. They’re constricting air out of you but it’s impossible to refute. You can feel tears soaking into your hoodie. Your arms complete the group hug. “Uh…hey guys.”
Solace looks up at you. “Really?! That’s the first thing you say?!”
Oh. Oh, they thought you were dead. Oh no. You swallow and clear your throat. “Sorry, uh…I’m okay, just…can you maybe not squeeze the air outta me?”

All three of them let go one by one, yet they still surround you like vultures. Big, overprotective mama vultures. Eh, can’t blame them.
“What the hell happened to you?” Anchor asks. It’s the first time her voice cracks. What are you supposed to tell them?
“I wish I knew,” you huff. “I have no idea how to explain all that.” Your eyes keep darting to the floor. Why does this all feel so awkward? Flank suddenly hugs you again, albeit with less force. “Just don’t disappear on us, okay?” he pleads.
A smile escapes your lips as you pat him on the back. “I’ll try my best.”

Solace stairs at the elevator lift. “I think that’s enough of the Regretevator,” he claims. “For like…at least a week.”
For at least forever.
“Yeah, no way we’re heading back,” Flank agrees. You just nod, body starting to lean against him. Oh, yeah, you were exhausted. With a capital E. “Anchor, can you call an Uber for us?” you ask. Without a word, she nods and pulls out her phone. You limp towards the nearest chair and sit down with a huge sigh. The room falls quiet again. The silence feels…empty.
Empty. The word makes the inside of your mouth go sour.

“Why do we keep coming back?” you mutter. “If it goes on forever, why keep reaching for the top?” Multiple heads turn to you. Solace’s expression is unreadable. Anchor glances at them, then at Flank. “Sh##, you’ve got a point.”
“Do you…wanna leave?” Flank asks. “Like, for good?”  It’s only now you realize how big of a decision–a commitment–this was going to be. You take a deep breath. In, out. “Yes. I do.” The answer hangs in the air for a moment, but then Flank sighs in relief. “Good, neither do I.”

Anchor glances at her phone. “Uber’s here,” she says. “Everybody owes me five Bux.” Solace immediately pays up, shuffling through their bag and handing the cash over. Flank offers you his hand and you take it. Your legs are weak, but you manage to stand. The four of you head for the lobby door without looking back. You lean on your friends, not knowing if they’ll catch you. You exhale, not knowing if you are truly living. You wonder, not knowing the long path ahead.
But one thing was for certain–you were not coming back.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

Two weeks.
Two weeks since you left the Regretevator.
Two weeks since you left that hellhole.

Things are normal again. Things should be normal again. And they are. Work’s the same. You still wake up early. Anchor still goes to the laundromat. Solace’s enjoying their classes. Flank’s active in the group chat. It’s like nothing has changed in the slightest. You should be happy. And yet, it’s making your blood boil.
Why is it like everything’s the same when it’s so clearly not?

You’ve been ordering takeout more often. Every time you’ve tried to make a decent meal, the click click click of the stove has made you flinch. You don’t know why. It’s like you’ve been cursed or something. Who are you kidding, you’ve always been cursed. There’s no denying it. You’ve always had someone else’s blood on your hands. You’re always pretending to be something so innocent–so delicate. But, in the end, you’ve always been this symbol of destruction. This…abomination.
The one who started the fire that’s eating you alive.

You don't know how it started. You just know what it is now. The oven is caked in withering flames. Its blight has spread all across the apartment without mercy. You’re trapped in a mess of your own making. Glass-like cracks burn into your skin. Alarms blare in your ears. The scent of charcoal is constricting your throat…
It hurts it hurts it hurts it HURTS-

A gasp for air. Everything’s shaking. Your hands–your body, everything’s shaking. Your fingers claw into the mattress sheets. Your bed. You’re…in your bed. Home. You’re home. Not there. Not the place you’ve lost. Here. Home.
A loud sigh escapes your lungs. Goddammit.

Okay. Okay, you just need to calm down. You need a reality check. Something that explains why you feel like sh##. A reminder of why this is happening to you. You can’t just forget everything again.
Take it back to the top.
Okay, so, there’s a cult surrounding the Regretevator. Said cult worships a god stuck in a boulder. Said boulder commits arson. Said arson is a cycle because the boulder will always be empty empty empty empty
The boulder’s called Icarus. Icarus is not a god but acts like it is. Icarus needed a vessel for…something. A prophet, likely. They chose someone to play that role, but they ran away. So they found an understudy–a replacement.
…That is, until the vessel came back to the elevator. Then they didn’t need the understudy anymore.
…They didn’t need you anymore.

You force yourself out of bed and glance at the nightstand. All the papers are blank.

-

You’re heading to the bookstore today. It’s the weekend, so you have the day off. You need something to do. Something to think about. An escape. A distraction.
The bell rings as you open the door. You flinch. You’re hit with the strong scent of coffee beans. Ugh. There’s a beige corner decorated with earthy tones and StarBux advertisements. Turns out this bookstore is also a cafe hybrid. You quickly make it to the other side of the store. Coffee shops have too many people and too many smells. It’s not your vibe.

Once in the safety of the actual store, you stick yourself in the middle of the shelves. You look through a random row of books, glancing at the titles on the spines. Unfortunately, none of the titles catch your eye. It’s off to the next row until your phone vibrates in your back pocket. And again. And again.
Damn, when’s the last time it’s gone off like this?

[Group Chat: SolaceSets, FlankFork027, Anchor]

[10:43 AM]
[SolaceSets]: So if MR is leading the elevator operation
[SolaceSets]: Does that mean the elevator is just some kind of trap?
[FlankFork027]: No
[FlankFork027]: Cause everybody keeps going back to it
[FlankFork027]: Why would they fall for the same trick twice???
[Anchor]: Good point
[SolaceSets]: Okay, but what’s it for then?
[FlankFork027]: Idk… :/
(It takes a while to notice you’re biting your lip. Hard. So much for distracting yourself…)
[Anchor]: Cult stuff definitely
[SolaceSets]: Specify
[Anchor]: Idk maybe they’re sacrifices?
[YourUser079]: No, that’s not it
[YourUser079]: It’s the same reason why most people go there, actually
[Anchor]: Wut
[FlankFork027]: ??? huh ._.
[SolaceSets]: ?
[YourUser079]: The stuff on the elevator gives ppl adrenaline
[YourUser079]: Something to feel. A distraction.
(Nobody types anything for a solid minute. You search another shelf during the silence.)
[FlankFork027]: So it’s like that cola?
[FlankFork027]: U know. That one
[SolaceSets]: Elaborate Fork?
[Anchor]: U know EXACTLY wut he’s talking about bruh
[Anchor]: The one that got banned years ago cause uhhh bad habits
[SolaceSets]: …Oh
[SolaceSets]: Oh I get it now
(Another beat of silence. Your fingers trace more bookspines.)
[SolaceSets]: #### man
[Anchor]: huh
[SolaceSets]: Tags
[SolaceSets]: We need to update to Tixcord man
[SolaceSets]: We deserve to curse. As a treat
[Anchor]: lol
[FlankFork027]: Dam right! XD
(A brief smile grows on your face. But it quickly diminishes.)
[YourUser079]: Back on track…
[YourUser079]: So, MR can’t feel anything. Emotionally at least
[YourUser079]: Ppl who regularly visit the elevator r there because of the adrenaline
[Anchor]: I hope it feels pain
[Anchor]: Evil #######
[Anchor]: Bass turned
[YourUser079]: Only to have it taken away from them
[YourUser079]: It’s almost like MR wants them to feel the way it does
[SolaceSets]: That’s…weird
[YourUser079]: So, when they respawn, they look for that feeling again
[YourUser079]: Cycle repeats
[SolaceSets]: Ah
[FlankFork027]: Oh :/
(Another beat of silence, this time much longer.)
[FlankFork027]: So how do we stop dis
[FlankFork027]: Can’t let ppl keep dying and stuff
[SolaceSets]: Maybe we can go back and warn them
[SolaceSets]: Tell them to leave so MR doesn’t get them
[YourUser079]: I thought we agreed not to go back
[Anchor]: Good idea
[FlankFork027]: We should set up a time and do it together
[FlankFork027]: Weekends will work best
[Anchor]: Afternoons are best 4 me ;)
[SolaceSets]: Me too
[SolaceSets]: 2-3pm?
[YourUser079]: No
(You almost whisper the word aloud. Your hands start shaking.)
[Anchor]: Y not?
[FlankFork027]: ?
[FlankFork027]: R u busy during those times?
[YourUser079]: You cannot go back.
[YourUser079]: Not again.
(not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not-
[FlankFork027]: Why tho
[SolaceSets]: Wdym?
[Anchor]: Yeh how else r we gonna stop this
(you can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t
[YourUser079]: You can’t!
[YourUser079]: Do you really think they would listen to you?
[YourUser079]: *us
(No one responds. The silence is killing you. It’s too empty empty EMPTY-
[YourUser079]: You know nothing about those people.
[YourUser079]: You can’t help anybody if you don’t know what they’re going through.
[YourUser079]: After all, we’ve practically been eavesdropping on all of their conversations.
[Anchor]: True but it wasn’t 100% intentional
[Anchor]: We’re not there for the gossip, we’re here to stop them from getting hurt
[YourUser079]: Why would they trust you?
[YourUser079]: Why would they let you help them?
[FlankFork027]: Uh u ok User?
[SolaceSets]: Because we want to help
[YourUser079]: Why would they listen to a stranger?
[YourUser079]: What good would you even be to them?
[YourUser079]: All you’ve done is run away.
[YourUser079]: All you’ve done is stand by and watch.
[FlankFork027]: Yu wait
[FlankFork027]: You’re scaring me
[YourUser079]: You’re not a hero. God, you’re barely even a person!
[FlankFork027]: Pls stop
[YoureNoOne]: You’re nobody!
(Nobody nobody nobody NOBODY-)

And all of a sudden, there’s clarity. Your composure returns. The past few minutes are a blur. How long have you been sitting against the shelf? Why is your entire body tensing up like it’s prepared for Dwayne Johnson to sucker punch you in the face? Wait…oh hell, what were you thinking?! What the hell were you saying?! What the HELL did you say to them?! Your thumbs instinctively go to type an apology, only to find the keyboard wasn’t prompted up on your phone. Instead, there was a message.
“SolaceSets has kicked you from the group chat.”

-

It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.
They won’t be mad at you forever! Hell, they might not even be mad at all! They just did that to give you time to breathe and think. That’s all. Just breathe and think. Breathe-
There’s not enough air.

Cotton’s in your throat. You can barely hear yourself wheezing. It almost sounds like a dog growling. It’s pathetic.
The tears make everything harder. Any second you could choke on them. Your hands cover your mouth to keep the waterworks from suffocating you. But you were suffocating anyway.
It’s just a damn group chat. You’re overreacting. Just calm down-
You can apologize. They’re still your friends. They still like you! You just lost control and said something bad! It’s no big deal! It’s not your fault, it’s the elevator! Ugh, you should’ve stayed at home. But what else were you gonna do with your impromptu break–rot in bed? Did you even deserve such time? It’s not like you did much work overall. They were being nice to you, dammit! How could you take that for granted and-
“SHUT UP!”

…You collect your thoughts and throw them out. The last of your tears drip down your cheeks. The rest of your body feels dry. Too much thinking. You’re doing way too much thinking. One thing at a time. Just breathe.
There’s a knock on the door. “You almost done?!”
The noise startles you, but you force yourself to stand. Right. You were in the bookstore bathroom. The sink is still running(since when did you turn it on?). You wash your hands and face, drying them with cheap paper towels. Act like nothing happened. No blood, sweat, nor tears needed to stay put and regain composure. Just act like nothing happened, like you’ve been doing for the past two weeks.
You turn off the sink and leave the bookstore without a sound.

-

[Email sent [][][][][][][] ago]
[To: [][][][][][][email protected]]
[From: [][][][][][][][][][][]@bloxmail.com]

Greetings, [][][] Rivercape!

We have accepted your request for time off due to [][][][][][][][][][][] and [][][][][][][][][][][]. You will have [][][][][][][][][][] off before you are called back to work. We hope you use this time to recover and stay safe.
Sincerely,
[][][][][][][][][][][]

-

You brought the house down. It’s taking you with it.
To think you’ve grown familiar with the odors of ash and smoke was but a fluke. It still claws at your lungs. It knows how to torture you. The dark, grim atmosphere contrasts that of the bright surrounding display. The flickers of scarlet light taunt you–no. They thank you for their creation, and shall give you a fancy goodbye. One last cruel light show.
One last-

The phone is ringing. The house is on fire and the phone is ringing. God, it’s so grating on the ears. You reach for it, cursing the fire that licks your sleeve. There’s a voice on the other end. “Hello?”
They could help you. They could save you from the mess you’ve made. They could get you out. You could ask them for help. But instead, above all the things…you ask for a joke.
“A joke?”
“...Please.”

And so they tell you a joke. It’s a joke about the weather, specifically the rain. Ironic, considering the inferno surrounding you. You want to smile. To forget about the hellfire that is your home. Finally, you allow yourself to laugh. At yourself. “Oh, shit...”
“Huh?”
“Are you really joking at a time like this?”


And, just like that, the fire is gone. No warmth. No bright light. Nothing. Just chipped paint on the ceiling and shallow breathing. You kick all the blankets off of you. God, you’re shaking like a pathetic foal fresh from the womb…
You finally take a deep breath and hug your knees, cursing under your breath.

The time is 1:04 AM. Barely past midnight and you’re wide awake. In and out. In and out. Easy does it. It wasn’t real. It was never real. It’s fine. You’re fine. You just need time. Time you barely even have. When’s the last time you’ve said goodnight to someone? When was the last time someone made you dinner? What about the last time you were tucked in?
Crud.
Your cheeks are warming up. Not helping. There’s a song in the back of your head trying to soothe you. Can you remember it? Maybe. It’s been quite some time. You catch yourself humming the tune, the lyrics still unknown. Did this song exist before you? Or was it crafted solely for your comfort? You search for the song again, swimming deeper into your memory. One by one, you string together the words.
Let the fire die
Let light leave the sky
The day crawls toward a close
Forget your worries and woes
Can’t forget that. Even if you do, it will still exist. It will always exist. Messy letters scrawl onto a new page. The ink of the ballpoint pen gives the song a concrete form. Now you have it with you.
Now you can’t forget.

-

A coin rolls between your fingers. The thin metal is cool against your skin. The office noises are all tuned out in favor of the clink clink clink of the platinum white coin. The thin, rectangular hole in the center stares at you. You catch yourself humming that lullaby from last night. How many coins do you still have? Are they worth anything anymore?
A stack of empty paper sits next to the printer across from you, and your eyes keep glancing at it. The coin keeps dancing in your hand. You’re not waiting for something interesting to happen, are you? No, you couldn’t be feeling that withdrawal. Not after the nonsense you’ve been through. You lean back in your seat, but not too far to fall over. You kick the desk to push the wheeled chair back. There wasn’t anybody around, as far as you could tell. Another glance at the printer paper. The coin rests in your palm. Nobody would notice just one paper missing, right?
Yoink.

Silver Lining
A Poem by Rivercape

It’s going to rain soon,
But it won’t last forever.
The air is growing colder
But it won’t last forever.
I’ve lost touch with you,
But it won’t last forever.
There’s a chip on my shoulder,
But it won’t last forever.

It won’t last forever. It feels more like a reminder than a poem.

-

The rain is light. The percussion hitting the outdoor metal pipes rings so smoothly. The droplets pitter-patter on your coat. The concrete darkens and soaks up the water.
A sign sits on the sidewalk away from the rain. The sandwich board is painted in cozy greens and blues. The cursive text reads “New StarBux Coffee Shots!”, pointing to the door to the bookstore. You slip right through the entrance. The scent of coffee isn’t as strong as yesterday. Your hand slips into your back pocket, instinctively reaching for your phone.
Maybe they’ll forgive you.
You shake your head. Not now.

The coffee bean fragrance crawls farther across the room. It’s so bitter. You have to bite your tongue. Your leg thumps against the floor. Maybe you should just leave. Last time you were here, you let the words slip. Last time you were here, you shut yourself in the bathroom. Last time you were here-
“Can I help you?”
Oh sh##. People. Your weakness.

A tired young woman sits at the StarBux counter. Her newspaper cap is on sideways and her curly hair has been scrunched into a bun. It’s hard to make eye contact with her. “I’m fine,” you tell her.
“It doesn’t look like it,” she says. Her arms are folded on the counter.
“How can you tell?” you ask, trying to act dumb. The barista shakes her head at you. “It takes one to know one.”
You force out a laugh with next to no emotion, sitting down. “What’s on the menu, then?”

The tired lady looks at the big menu behind her. “Coffee, mostly. Thought that was obvious. What’s your preference? Latte? Expresso? Black?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” you claim.
“You should,” she tells you. “Looks like you need it.”
“I don’t think so-”
“Oh, I know so.”
“I’m not interested in caffeine,” you say. “Doubt it even works on me half the time.”

The barista crosses her arms. Her index finger fidgets with her nametag. “Josei”, it says. She studies you for a moment before booting up the coffee maker unprompted. “Want whipped cream with that?”
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Giving ya some decaf, dingus.”
You didn’t even have the chance to look at the menu. “I didn’t even ask-”
“Too bad.” Josei pours some coffee into a small cup. “So whipped cream or no?”
You’re not winning this game, are you? A defeated sigh escapes you. “Yes, please.”

And so she gets the whipped cream. Maybe a little too much whipped cream. She puts it on the counter and slides it toward you. “There. It’s on the house if you don’t complain.” You stare at the drink for a moment. You carefully pick it up and take a sip. It’s less bitter than anticipated. Not bad. Josei sits across from you, studying your face. “Guess it’s not fun where ya work,” she smirked. You shake your head. “Nope.”
“But you haven’t quit yet.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Not sure what else I’d do.”
Josei sits and thinks for a moment. Her fingers tap alongside the counter. “Well, what do you like to do?”
“Hm?”
“What do you do for fun?”
Your hands fold together nervously. “I, uh…I write stuff…sometimes.”

A pause. The coffee shop music stops, stutters, and starts again. Josei’s eyes travel from you, to the bookstore, then back to you. She grins. “You think you can fill those ol’ shelves over there?”
“N-no! It’s not-” You take a breath. “No. I write for fun. I don’t do it for money.”
“But you can. C’mon, try and live a little!”
Says the tired StarBux barista, you don’t say. You’re biting your tongue again. Josei stands up straight, arms folded. “I can tell you have a lot to think about. And that’s a lot to write about. You look like you’ve seen some sh##.”
You want to say you have. You’re still biting your tongue.
“I mean, I’m no therapist–let alone your friend–but you can use that sh## as an outlet! If it’s fun and it helps you breathe, then why not make it your job?”
You stare at her, both in disbelief and awe. It’s a lot to think about. All you do is take another sip of coffee. “I…can’t believe I heard those words come from a minimum wage barista’s mouth.”
Josei shrugs. “Me neither.”

A breath. Another sip of coffee. You taste more whipped cream than the actual drink. Turns out that’s all that’s left in the cup. You force yourself to stand. “Aight, Imma head out.” Three quarters and a dime slide onto the counter toward Josei. The cup goes in the trash and you go get the door. “...Thanks for the coffee.”
All Josei says before you leave is, “No problemo.”