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It was so sudden.
The abrupt splintering of old, rickety wood as it gave way beneath the axe. And him emerging through the jagged hole left behind, offering her a hand. She didn’t trust him then. She didn’t know him.
But she did later.
His entrances were always like that, she thinks. Always coming from nowhere, alive and successful and, sometimes, vicious. And always rescuing her.
He might have thought the same of her. Every time he had to jump an impossible length– there she was. She would always catch him, haul him back up, and they’d continue.
It was always the same.
Always the same…
The first time he interacted with the T.V. gave her a weird feeling, but she was able to overlook it, all thanks to the constant danger they were in. She didn’t know what he was doing, but every time she would pull him out he seemed alright.
She doesn’t remember when she first noticed, but she remembers him in the Pale City, during the collapse. As they were running, she tripped. But he didn’t stop, (... a mirror image, maybe..) he left her, and he came out unscathed because of it. It was a small change, and it only really mattered to her after…
The T.V. He let that thing out.
She held her hand out, tried to get him away from it. But he just stared.
She begged him to take her hand, but he didn’t, and eventually she had to run and hide. (he was always supposed to take her hand..)
And she tried again, to grab his hand, but he couldn’t take it then either. And then she was taken away.
Then he… changed. All at once.
He was so different when she saw him again. Mono– with the paper bag over his head, and the trenchcoat, and the soft voice– was different. His bag was gone, for one. And he had strange flecks coming from his body (reminiscent of him…) and his voice..hurt. It hurt her head.
Worse, he attacked her. He was so, so different. He took away her music, something he knew gave her comfort. He did it on purpose, too, it was no accident.
She awoke, music box in pieces, to find him standing there like he always did. She.. barely recognized him. As they ran, she kept going when he stopped. She made it to the other side first, and, as always, she turned and held her hand out.
And, as always, he jumped.
But.. she didn't pull him up. Because it wasn’t the same, was it? Mono– the paper bag, the coat, the voice– wasn't the same. She didn’t know him. Worse, she didn't like him.
She would always pull him up.
She didn’t this time.
She let him go. Watched his face turn to horror as her hand pulled away from his. She turned her back on whoever it was that she left behind, because she didn’t know him.