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The first time you catch your reflection, you do not notice anything glaringly off about yourself, per se.
You are still in Dormont and you are not supposed to be up and about; or, the local healers predicted as much. In fact, you're not even supposed to be conscious, what's with the capital T Tantrum you managed to stir and extensive Craft use on top of your frail state. It had shown too, as your party, — and everyone else, actually?? — hovered over you like hens over eggs, but a string of events here, an innocent smile there, and you were able to beg out your alone time in the bathroom for fifteen minutes to at least do your human needs.
It's then that you manage to see a glimpse of yourself.
The face that greets you in the sink mirror is… gaunt, you think is the word. Paler than even the most darkless shade you can name, with small, barely seen beads of sweat running down your brows. There is a significant shadow under your eye that you doubt existed before your eternal two days in Event Horizon, and you think you can see your veins in whatever places your patient clothes don't cover. The cloth is also sticking uncomfortably to your body, and your breath is just a bit too shallow to be healthy.
You make a disgusted face at your reflection. Stars, you really do look five steps away from keeling over.
You may be understanding now why every person you've met so far was adamant on sitting you down somewhere. Your mouth will still twitch at every such suggestion, of course, because sitting primly on your sorry butt is driving you, well. Not insane, you think that ship had already sailed, but it certainly didn't help. You are ready to admit this.
You kind of-
No. No, you resolutely do not wish you were better. Wishing has only made everything worse, every time. So you don't. Easy as that!
You reorient your words in your head and want to be better, instead. Wanting is allowed, right? To not have this stupid fever that chains you to bed every time you dare to hope you won't get dizzy while standing up. To not worry Mira and Isa and Odile and Bonnie more than you already did with that little stunt of yours. To be holding cups and plates without minute shaking, standing without heaving, back on your own two stupid legs without the tremors so you could leave this cursed, blinding town behind-
You
just barely notice that you gripped the sink. The texture of it is a little strange without your gloves. It's smooth, but not the way Orbs were, rough sanding making it funny to the touch. It almost feels brittle under your hand, like it's made of glass instead of sturdy stone.
…It's grounding. A little bit pathetic, too.
You do two or three rounds of your breathing, storing the imminent breakdown somewhere in a box. You will reexamine it later, probably. If you remember that it's there until it's too late, ha.
You take a deeper breath than before. You hear the scatter of feet outside of the bathroom's door, people minding their business. Someone is laughing, and paper gets thrown on the floor somewhere to the right. The celebration in Dormont is still going from what you grasp, if you focus, echoing through the thick walls. The House doesn't groan, but it's louder than it ever was before, and you get lost in the sounds until the world filters back fully in your senses.
Your head is blissfully calm, for once.
When you open your eye, you notice with a surprised jolt that you had bit your lip. A lightless shade cascades down your chin like a taut string, and huh. You didn't even notice it was bleeding, and bleeding so much . It's duly pulsing, now that you're aware, and you wince, a little, when it pulls uncomfortably on your expression.
You run your tongue absently over it, and do not notice how strangely metallic your own blood feels in your mouth.
You stare dumbly in the slightly warped reflection of yourself in the river and wonder, briefly, if you're hallucinating. Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time, but.
It's been two days of travel. You do not want to remember how sobby and miserable you got after stepping out of Dormont and going farther than the secluded clearing you and Odile discussed familytales, or the path you took Bonnie to train, or the other field where you went stargazing- but you do. Your nose was running, your hands were shaking and Isa had to, very awkwardly, half drag you on your way until your body decided it had enough excitement for the day and abruptly stopped producing tears. Your eyes, — even the dead one, — were so itchy after the whole thing, and you sniffed after every step. Mira had a little bit sympathy to spare about your condition, but, alongside others, was just happy and relieved when you started to whine about it after a while.
Overall it was the best thing you've experienced right after those adrenalin-fueled moments before the Craft sickness took you under a second time. Although with your track record, is it that surprising, really?
In any case, it's been some time since then. After trial and error, — and sitting out of action, and more bottling up, and snapping about feeling useless, and a lecture of you need to say these things, Siffrin, — you managed to put yourself back into the traveling mindset, which you were quite rusty in. Your task for today was a simpler one, if only to remind you how camping in the wild worked instead of critical need, and it was to get more water from the brook not far from where you and your… friends settled for the night.
…You're trying to stop calling them family. It's hard not to, sometimes.
The brook is clear. The water in it is drinkable, you remember Odile saying, and you had already been through this spot. You don't remember it, but you also don't remember more than you do, so you trust everyone when they tell you that. The day has been good.
The day has been good.
You stare into the water, and the you from the other side stares right back. Not the lightless version of you from the House, the one that told you cruel thing in voices of your loved ones, for once, but you. Pale and darkless, hat covering your face from the setting sun, unkempt hair — and you shouldn't find it strange, the water isn't magic or anything like that, but something in this image isn't right when you squint at it, and- there.
The shade your hat is casting on your face is what makes it weird. The shadow itself is fine, you think, but something pinprick-tiny is dancing between where it's falling, like someone made a hole in your brim. You hope it's nothing that can't be fixed, because your stomach is already twisting on itself at the thought of separating with one remnant of your home, void gaping. You lift it up a little to see the underside of-
It's full of stars.
…It's full of stars???
There are a myriad of light dots on it. They may be faint, but noticeable still, especially as it gets darker — scattered across the brim, twinkling on it, disappearing and reappearing in and out. You, tentatively, run your thumb over them, and they still feel like normal cloth, your trusty hat, nothing bumpy or uneven, but the thing in full is… just a little bit too smooth, actually. Like silk. The stars follow the motion, too, and you watch them repeat the pattern your finger made.
Like sheep running after the shepherd.
The thought startles you enough to yank your hand away and scramble to get the hat off of your head fully. It nearly falls into the water, but you expertly catch it before it can get wet. The pouch you took with you to get the water does end up more wet than it should, though, and you swear loudly when it also spills a little on you.
"Frin?" You hear Bonnie call nearby, because of course someone would come to get you, they can't risk another episode of you either having a panic attack at stupid reasons or dissociating and stalling the group even more- no, don't think like that, it's not- "Frin, are you there?"
You take a shaky breath. Store it, box it, keep it in. "Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, I got distracted by how-" Come on, brain! "- soppy I feel after everything."
"...that one was bad, Frin."
Yeah, you know.
You see Bonnie come from the side, — not your blind one, thankfully, — to look at you fully. They squint when they see your damp clothes, then at the hat in your hands; you nearly automatically angle it away slightly so they don't see the stars etched in shadows. They visibility hesitate for a moment after you do so, but before a wave of guilt could swallow and drown you, they're squaring their tiny shoulders and grab onto your hand.
You still flinch, but. You are very proud of the fact that it doesn't feel as much like a searing brand was put on the point of contact as it did before.
You hastily grab the mostly full water pouch when they start dragging you to the camp.
"I was making some Couscous for today — y'know, the thingy with salmonella-"
Your worry cracks a little to reveal a tiny smile. "Isn't it semolina?"
"That's what I said." Bonnie harrumphs. They tug you along with them for a beat, before continuing their talk. "And anyway, I was waitin' for you to come back, but you didn't, so I asked Dile where you are, and she said you're getting water, and you were taking too crabbing long, so I said I'll go get you and left Dile to watch the pot, but I 'on't trust her if it starts to get bubbly-" Their nose twisted and they, noticeably, started to pick up speed. "-so I need to get back, like, SUPER fast right now."
You nod attentively to their every point, even when they sting a bit, but also swallow a laugh that threatens to spill from your mouth at that last remark and start to run alongside them.
Odile is an adult, — in fact, even more of an adult than all of you, — but Bonnie is right to not trust her near any cooking appliances, if not the entire kitchen. While you may be oh so guilty for trying to create, allegedly, a 'Super Potion' that one time, you are pretty sure it was a fully conscious decision and on purpose; her food-making escapades, on the other hand, tend to blow up wherever she's following the instructions or not.
So you kind of worried for both Odile and the camp, and also the poor Couscous.
Fortunately, you do not walk onto any massacre. Bonnie proudly announces your presence with a loud yell, which makes Isa, rummaging around the camp, and Mira, checking if the firepit is still going, wave in your direction; and, naturally, phases absolutely no one. Odile doesn't even react as you set your hat far away in your tent, seemingly too absorbed into the Familytale to dignify the current shenanigans with any answer. It makes you wonder if she even heard that Bonnie left her to guard the pot.
The meal is a loud affair. It always is — or, what you remember of it always was. You get seconds, and Isa laughs at your jokes, and Mira passionately tells Odile about some book. You get lost in the noise, listening to it like a beloved melody, taciturn that you are.
No one pays attention when Bonnie plops near you. You blink at them, slow and satisfied. "Hey."
They huff at you, slightly amused by your behavior, but their expression quickly flattens into something… sad. You sit straighter, a shot of alarm going through your body straight to your guilt. You didn't mean to make them sad! You- you know you shouldn't hide something as trivial as you hat being a bit weird or something, so they're probably really disappointed in you for doing so. This isn't about the loops, or your urges, or- or- The apology is at the tip of your tongue already, but Bonnie still beats you to it.
"Did I…" They frown, then try again. "Did I help? By the river."
Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. Oh. Oh.
It's… For a beat, you wonder if you're allowed to do what you want to do. You hand twitches, and you clench it automatically. Distantly, you notice how the chatter slows slightly, your keen hearing picking the exact moment the words begging to drag themselves out of everyone's mouths. Bonnie is still your focus, though, so you see how their brows furrow, an emotion you never want to see again worming its way into their gaze and-
Ah, blind it.
You ruffle their hair under their hat. "Yes," You say, because they did and you aren't a liar- not anymore and not like that. "You very much did, Bonbon. That you for that."
Bonnie's eyes grow twice their size, and for a second you are worried that they will just fall out. That would be quite a gruesome image, actually, so you quickly put a cork on it when you hear their delighted giggle.
They try to mask it with a cough, unsuccessfully, but you do not call them out on it. Their chin goes upwards in pride, and they smile while sprinting away to the rest of the group, who far more expertly pretend they didn't try to eversdope.
You smile warmly at this, and for the rest of the day forget about the starry night in the shadows.
"Hey, Sif, was your hair always like that?"
You are still half-asleep, with toothbrush stuck in your mouth and completely lost in the morning routine, when the comment comes out of nowhere, so your only completely dignified and valid response, thank you very much, is, "Wughg?"
"Your hair," You blink away the blurriness to catch him motioning on himself to the back of your head, where your lightless hairdye still sits, not long enough to cut out in one swoop. "Was it always… this?"
You snort, putting the brush out. "Isa, my hair is darkless. Of course not, and you know that."
"That's… not what I meant."
Huh. "What?"
He seems a little worried, actually. You kind of jealous that he is already awake enough to notice things and be worried, — considering that it's relatively early morning, the inn is very warm against the autumn chills and they don't expect to continue their journey to Bambouche for at least another couple of hours, — but Isa doesn't worry for no reason- or, at least, doesn't show his worry for no reason. He is very much showing it now.
You glue your much more awake gaze back to the mirror. You don't see anything wrong with your hair, at first glance, but when Isa puts up the hand-mirror and angles it to help you see, your heart falls somewhere in your abdomen.
It's a far, far more vivid image than on our hat. Those are not just simple dots that can be brushed off as an intricate pattern, either; it's visceral in a way, you think, that is not supposed to be seen just by everyone. There's more swirls, hurricanes made of lights and shadows, that burn brighter and dim with your short breath. You move your head, shakily, just slightly, but the picture doesn't, staying a static thing even when you gain enough courage to run your entire hand through it. You tangle your fingers in it again, with purpose, just to feel the smooth nothing that is not your hair, and watch with something akin to a fear you had not expected to experience ever again as it, mesmerizingly, falls between them like water and-
Isa is calling to you.
You find yourself curled into a tight ball on the floor. When did you…?
"Sif!" Isa, that's Isa. He's calling you, right. You were looking at the back of your head where he said is-
Where he said is…
He's putting his hands on your disgusting, monstrous form like it's nothing, like you're still human. Breathing is so hard. It's so, so hard. Nothing goes into your lungs, because there's a Nebula in your hair, and you feel like a black hole is opening inside you. Will it open on your hair too? Will it swallow the Nebula there, like it swallowed your home, your memory, your entire self that you were forced to rebuild anew? Will the Universe let you go, at last, will It stop treating you as a joke for once in your cursed blinding life-
You gasp as you feel large palms on your face. You manage to focus enough to see that Isa is crouching in front of you- and it can't be comfortable, because the space is tight enough for you, let alone for two people, and a one with his proportions. He still holds you steady, though, face as serious as it can get. You feel like crying, but from the way Isa draws his thumb under your eye, you already are crying. Can you cry twice as much?
Can it even relieve you at all?
"...Are you with me?" He asks, noticing your attention. You nod haltingly. "Good. Can you talk?" You… nod again. "Okay. That's good. Do you, um, mid if we move this somewhere different and talk it out? If you want to?"
You stand up before he even finishes talking, and are shaking when you do so. Your limbs scream, and your head is muddy, but you still stroll towards your and Isa'a shared bed. He is uncomfortable, of course he is, so you must move even if you want to lie on the floor and never get up.
…Didn't Odile tell you to scrub this habit of yours clear? Ah, you fail at everything, don't you.
You kind of flop on the sheets face up like a starfish. Isa sits near your head, turning slightly to see you better, but otherwise not prompting you to talk. You don't even know where to start, honestly. You hadn't… Bottled that much, you don't think. Just hid the strange metallic aftertaste of your blood when you accidentally bite through your lip, and the stars in your hat that glow softly in low light, and strange visions when you just know something just might happen like that time you caught Bonnie before they could fall from a steep cliff-
Stars. No, you're absolutely hopeless.
You cover your face and groan in your hands. You half-expect for Isa to chuckle at your theatrics, but when you peek through your hands he is still serious, patiently waiting for you to spill your guts. You kind of hate it, sometimes, although you are still grateful that he doesn't approach this like Odile or Mira would've. The former would have already tried to pick you apart, and the latter would cry a river, and you don't really want either right now.
Not that you don't cherish either approach, but, well.
…Nevermind. That's not important now.
Your throat feels like it's full of sand right now, but you do need to talk. If only to admit that- "I… Don't know what is happening to me."
Isa says nothing, so you continue. "I- I hid a couple of things." Because of course you did, and your stomach clenches on itself in fear to see the sadness or, worse, disappointment, so you close your eye fully instead. "Not about the loops, necessary, it had- had been happening recently. I think it started with my, uh, my blood." You feel him shift at that admission. "I- accidentally! Fully accidentally, at some point bit my lip to blood and it was- it tasted weird, and I know that because-"
Because you were choking on it more times than you weren't by the end of you rope in loops, so you would know, so you do know, but you can't- can't admit that-
"Sif…"
You can't say that yet. Maybe you will manage, some day, but it's impossible for now. You clench your fists and just, will Isa to understand what you meant by that. Or will him not to, but just accept this as a fact that you know how your own blood tastes like, and that now it's weird.
You breathe in… and out. You do not look at him, still.
Continue. You must continue, so you do. "Then there was an- an incident, at the river. Remember when Bonbon went after me, because they thought I was taking too long? And after that I was wary around my hat for no reason?" It's so silly, saying this aloud, but, "I saw- there were stars, Isa. In it. The darker it got, the more visible they were, but I hid it so you- so you won't worry for nothing. It's not actively hurting anyone, so- I thought-"
"Sif."
You skip it past your ears. "And then it kept happening! I saw them under my cloak, too, but they were even less visible there, since no one- no one will look under it to call me out, so I kept quiet, and the- the weird reflexes! Not all of them are from the loops. Most are, but that one time I- when Bonnie nearly-"
"Siffrin!"
You quickly shut your mouth. Isa is now leaning over you, brows furrowed and frowning. Oh, no, you've upset him. He's disappointed, he's mad at you. He's going to revoke that confession after seeing you so broken, so blinding stupid and pathetic, for fearing over something so silly like stars in your clothes or hair. You love stars, why are you even afraid! You've- You're-
He gently pries your hands out of your hair and you flinch. He pauses, but does not rip his palms from you, just. Rests them there, to evidently prevent you from tugging at it again.
All you can think is that his touch still burns.
"I'm not mad at you." He says, before you can even formulate something. "I am… a little upset that you still think you should shoulder everything alone until you break, but I'm not mad. I don't think I will ever be, honestly, not… not at you."
You choke out, "You should be."
"Maybe. But I don't want to."
The sob that you let out at that is ugly. It feels disgusting, and you'd rather not cry again after crying not too long ago, but your body stopped listening to you in loops, so why should it start now?
Isa doesn't hesitate before scooping you up in a hug. It stings like needles and burns like wildfire all over, but you still want him to squeeze you harder. You want him to squeeze you enough to pop your lungs, to let your insides spill, for you to stop breathing at this moment. You want for his touch to burn off all of your skin, leaving only your carcass and ash. You want him to break your ribcage and see all the ugly bits of you, with nothing stopping him. You want to-
You cry. You cry until you are wrung out completely, until your nose is too stuffy to let in air, until you feel itchy and no longer unbothered by it.
You sniff. "That was awful." Again. Stars, it feels so, so awful to cry again.
"Yeah." He chuckles. "On the bright side, it's definitely a new record! Crying twice in one day? Unheard of."
You punch him in the shoulder for that, only making him laugh a little harder. You sigh before resting your forehead on his arm. You are so very, very tired now, and you will probably need to be on the move soon. You won't even have enough energy to pretend that you aren't tired — not that it worked when you had it, but one can dream.
Ah, wait. "Before I forget, can I… ask something?"
"Yeah? What is it?"
Well, here it goes. "If you notice… something else? Strange with me? Like today, I'd… preferred if it didn't become very…"
He humms an affirmative. You nod against his shoulder and say nothing more.
The next thing the Universe decides to change about you are your eyes, and Mira was the one to notice it first.
She is very hesitant to explain what is exactly wrong with it, wherever because it's bad or because she just doesn't know how, but a 'shade' slips between her carefully optimistic wording and you, you think, understand immediately what it means. She is wringing her dress anxiously, shooting you worried gazes when you don't react much to the news, and tries to back up a little to try reexplaining again.
You stop her before she attempts to do so a fourth time. "My eye has… a color?"
"S-seems so? If that's what the weird shade is?" Mira admits with great reluctance, then bites her lip. "The same one from where we… fought."
Ah.
Well, that makes sense. You should bear a scar from what you did, don't you? Your blood contains enough metal to supply a forge, your clothes are littered with stardust on the inside, your hair contains Nebulas no one ever saw, but that, of course, is not enough. Your crest, your sin, is too big to limit it with just those things.
"I-it's not always like that, though!" Oh, it seems your face soured from the way she started babbling. "It's only when light catches it weird — which is so cool, actually!!! It's, like, the coolest thing I saw in my entire life, if I'm being honest, because it's so strangely captivating, you know? It's like from that one horror that I read where was a shapeshifter that pretend to be a part of the group, but it couldn't correctly mimic eyes of the victim and-"
You… store the bitter thoughts about that for later, when you have the time and place to examine it and not have a mental breakdown, lifting your eyebrows instead. "So I'm a scary shapeshifter now?"
"NO!!!" Mira yells, making some passerby turn their way. "No, that's not what I meant!!!!! It just reminded me of that, I didn't mean anything by it, I just- I'm not- Siffrin, stop laughing!"
You can't. You missed the way she puffs up her cheeks when you playfully offend her. You missed the way her eyes narrow, but do not even try to hide amusement. You missed the way she reacts to this, these new things — for you, for her, for everyone. You missed teasing her and mean it. You missed-
Stars, you missed so many things.
Mira shoves you in the face, — the places where she touched you tingling like a fallen asleep limb, — and it no longer feels like thousands of needles. Her eyes are sparkling, and she's smiling so, so wide, and you suddenly are so warm it feels like you're about to burst. There are scars still, you know, where you craved constellations into your skin; there are new ones, too, where you catch a face of a stranger and know they will stumble and fall after fifty three more steps. Some are still bleeding, wound not yet closed, and some had scabbed over but opened again and again just to feel something new, and yet-
And yet. You might just be able to live with it.
Maybe even you can heal.
Odile snaps the journal shut after jotting down another note.
Siffrin is doing- no, not good. He isn't great yet, those things take more time than just a couple of weeks of travel with secure knowledge that he won't be abandoned and forgotten in the middle of the road. He needs a stable therapist, for one, and an accommodating environment. A house, a home to come back to. A safety net, and intricate understanding of what had happened and a clear knowledge how to make it hurt less instead of more.
Instead they're doing… better. Better is the right word for it, she thinks.
Better means progress. Better means he's progressing by leaps and bounds — even if relapses happen. Especially when relapses happen. Better means he doesn't immediately goes for the dagger when things get difficult; better means he doesn't try to go off and die in silence; better means he talks about his problems; better means-
Better just means better.
She watches Siffrin and Isabeau joke and tease the others. Boniface is having none of it, but Mirabelle is just trying to stifle her own laugh. It's peaceful. It's good.
It's… a relief, really.
Even when it comes with their new, strange, intricate nature, she is glad to see them regain something resembling what they had before the loops. What she remembers them as, but less in form of a front, more alive. It soothes something in her she never noticed was tense in the first place, but-
Siffrin ruffles Boniface's hair, making them yell in indignation. Odile's head hurts a little from the yelling, ears still ringing when the child tries to use tackle in revenge and makes Siffrin lose the darkless hat.
He still hides. There's still a shell around him. She doesn't think they can drop it any easier than she can, but.
She speeds her walk and, before she could be stopped or teased, ruffles Siffrin's bare head. They freeze, because of course they do, before gasping in such dramatic mock-offence it nearly makes her snort.
He is loved. And she thinks it's enough.