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It’s been two and a half years since the end of the loops.
It still doesn’t quite feel real at times. You feel like you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment when you’ll close your eyes at night and open them the next morning to that awful, awful meadow or the roof of the Clocktower. But… only sometimes, which is better than always, like it was for the first several months after.
You’re still traveling. Not always with everyone – after about half a year of all traveling together, it became a little unrealistic to continue like that. Mira had things she needed to do back in Dormont. Nille wanted Bonnie to finish school. Isa wanted to catch up with his family, and Odile needed to visit her father back in Ka Bue.
So one by one, they split off, and they came back, and you fell into a new routine. It was hard at first, but there was always at least one other person willing and able to stay with you, and everyone had made it clear you were more than welcome to visit them whenever you wanted, while they were away.
And… sometimes, lately, you’ve even traveled alone for a while. It’s not as lonely as it used to be, knowing you have not one but four places to come home to. And it’s nice, to see a play in Poteria and think, I should take Isa next time we’re here together, or find a cute bow that you know Mira would love and pick it up for the next time you see her. The little reminders that even if you’re on your own right then, you’re not alone, not really. You have a family. Isn’t that wonderful?
And yet –
And… yet.
There’s a part of you – different from the part of you that will never truly leave Dormont, that’s still trapped in those neverending two days. Or… maybe not so different after all.
… There’s a part of you filled with some emotion you can’t quite name, always on the periphery of your vision, no matter where you are or what you’re doing. An ache in your chest that never quite leaves you alone. Sometimes it’s quieter than others. Sometimes it’s all you can think about. But it’s always there.
You… you haven’t seen Loop again, since they disappeared that day under the Favor Tree.
You kept hoping, for a while, that they’d show up. Waltz back into your life, as insufferable as always, flip you your coin back and insult you, and maybe it wouldn’t be like they’d never left, but they’d fall right back into place just as easily. That they’d smile, that maybe it’d even be real, that they’d tell you they’d been up to this or that since the last time you saw each other. That they had a life, that they were happy. You kept hoping…
They never did.
And you’d look for them – stars, you’d spend the rest of your life searching if you thought there was a chance they were out there and just hadn’t found you again, but –
But a person with a star for a head tends to stand out. You probably would've heard if there was someone like that walking around. Unless they somehow became human again, but then you're pretty sure they'd look like you, and you would've heard about that too.
And, even more than that, it’s a gut feeling. Something you know the same way you know the proper way to wish, the way you know the stars in the sky even without remembering their names, the way you know the orbit of the planets around the sun.
You know, you know, you know, they don't exist anymore. And that feels –
It feels like a piece of you is missing. Like they ripped your still-beating heart out of your chest and took it with them when they left, like they said they would.
You thought about wishing, once. Just once. Or… just once, seriously. The thought’s crossed your mind about a thousand times, but you refuse to entertain it. The risk is too great for something to go horribly wrong, for your wish to be twisted in a way that just makes everything worse. And if you managed to bring them back only to get stuck in a time loop again as a result, you know they’d never forgive you.
So. It can’t be worth it, and you can’t allow yourself to think about it.
No matter how badly you might want to.
(Stars, you want to so badly, sometimes.)
The smallest things remind you of them. In a strange inversion of how it is with everyone else, you'll see a play and think Loop would've liked this, or notice something in a shop and wish you could – and regret that you can't give it to them. You avoid Favor Trees like the plague – the sight of them hurts far too much. You see them in everything, and it only hurts more every time because it’s never actually them and it never will be.
It all comes to a head one day when you're visiting Mira. You don't often, because Dormont is still far too familiar to be comfortable, but… at least once a year, you try to. It's not fair to make her always be the one to come to you, after all.
You’re not staying for long, though. You feel kind of bad about that, but any longer than two days and it’ll start to feel too much like… well. Like an endless series of the same two days, repeating over and over and over and over and over and –
So. You’re only here for a day and a half. You feel bad, but Mira’s reassured you she understands, and you’ll just make the most of the time you do have here.
You’re catching up, right now, talking about what you’ve been up to since the last time you saw each other a few months ago. Mira’s teaching a class, apparently! About what she learned as a Savior – more specifically, the things she learned from traveling to different parts of Vaugarde, when you were all gathering the orbs. You couldn’t be prouder of her if you tried.
And you tell her about what you’ve been up to, too! You’ve visited everyone else, stayed a few weeks in Ka Bue with Odile, and traveled with Isa to see Bonnie and Nille for a while too. It’s been – nice. Really nice.
And then you start talking about what your plans are for while you’re here.
“Siffrin,” Mira says, watching you carefully, and you're not sure why until – “I'm going to go visit the Favor Tree after my class this afternoon. You don't have to come with me, but if… if you'd like to, I'd love to have you.”
And.
Oh.
The others… still don't know a lot about Loop. You’ve never talked much about them, not wanting to give away their secret without their okay, and that's not something they can give anymore. But they all know that you miss them. It'd be hard not to.
So Mira knows what she's asking, right now. And you…
You don't want to. You know it'll hurt, like being crushed, like bashing your head into a rock, like choking on pineapple, like a dagger to the throat –
You know it’ll hurt. Favor Trees in general are already painful enough, but this one in particular? Even the thought of going there and not seeing them feels wrong, wrong, wrong.
But… you've never properly said goodbye, have you? So – so you should, probably. You owe it to them, probably. And maybe it'll help you feel better. Like… closure, or something.
So you nod. Just once, jerkily. And so you wait (in Mira's house, because even after this long you know you won't be able to handle the House) until Mira’s class is over.
And when she comes to get you, you’re still filled with dread, but you haven’t changed your mind. You still have to go.
Your feet feel like they're weighed down with lead, more and more the closer you get to the tree. You barely force yourself to walk past where Isa always stood, because Loop would never show up if he was still there (and you never fully understood why, not until it was too late –) but Isa isn't here. And neither is Loop.
As if on autopilot, you walk over and take your usual seat, close your eyes like if you don't have to see the empty space across from you then you can pretend they're still there, and –
You… realize
you can't
remember
their voice.
It – it sounded a little different than yours, you know it did, but was it higher? The way they spoke, their cadence, did they ever slip back into a more Siffrin voice when they were being cruel? When they were being kind? You don't remember!
They asked you not to forget them (right after promising you'd see each other again they lied they lied they LIED) and you – and you –
“Siffrin-!” You jolt back to awareness to see Mira kneeling in front of you, looking worried. Ah. You – you forgot. That she was there. (Typical.)
Sorry, I'm sorry, you try to say, but the words don't make it out through the tightness of your throat. You feel a little light-headed (and there has to be a joke in there somewhere, about that and about how Loop had a star for a head, but you can't quite put it together right now).
“Siffrin, breathe,” Mira says gently, hands hovering like she's not sure if she's allowed to touch you right now. You must look really bad, then, for her to revert to that. You –
Stars. Not the point. She said to breathe, so you breathe. It's shuddery, and you can't hold it for long before it all comes out in a whoosh. The second time goes better, if only a little, and the third goes even better than that.
And you're starting to think maybe you've calmed down, except then you remember the time Loop asked you to breathe with them, way back at the beginning and you choke on the breath you were halfway through taking because you forgot. Just like you forgot the sound of their voice. Just like you forgot your home. Just like you forget everything –
“Change, Siffrin –” filters through like you’re hearing it from underwater, before someone takes one of your hands. Your mind doesn’t catch up in time to stop the full-body flinch from jolting through you, and the person – Mira, it’s Mira – drops your hand like a hot potato.
“Sorry!” she says, shrinking back. “Sorry, I just, you were kind of – um – scratching, and it looked like it hurt? And you weren’t responding, so I – I didn’t know what else to do…”
You… were?
Slowly, you process that your arm hurts. Oh. Whoops. You… didn’t mean to do that. Didn’t mean to worry Mira, but also didn’t mean to hurt yourself. You’re not sure if it makes it better or worse that it wasn’t on purpose, that it was probably an automatic response to feeling like you messed up.
“I’m okay,” you tell Mira when you get your voice back, because you don’t want her to feel bad for trying to help. “I just, um –”
You. Stop.
How can you explain it? Or, well, you know how, as in you know the words you’d use if you were to explain it. It’s just. It’s… still hard. Part of you still desperately wants to deflect, to say you’re fine so you don’t have to talk about it. Even if you tried that, you know Mira wouldn’t believe you. But you also know that you could probably give her something small, let her think you’re opening up, while still hiding the problem at the core of things.
It’s… way more tempting than it should be, and you hate how strongly you’re considering it. You’re supposed to be better, you’re supposed to –
“One of the students in my class is a huge know-it-all,” Mira says abruptly, and you blink, confused. “They always interrupt me to ‘correct’ me, even when I was about to say the exact same thing, and I’ve been trying very hard not to let it bother me because the class is going to be over in just a few weeks but it really makes me feel like – like I’m not… supposed to be here, teaching. Like I really haven’t learned anything my students couldn’t just figure out for themselves. Because if they can, then why would they come to my class for it when I’m just – when I’m just me?”
You… don’t really know where this is coming from. But you’re always happy to talk to Mira, and it’s a nice distraction from your own distress, if only temporarily.
“If they wanted to figure it out themselves, they wouldn’t be taking the class to begin with,” you say. “They don’t have to be there, so there’s a reason they are. Because they want to learn what you’re teaching, and they want to learn it from you. Because you have a lot to offer beyond just knowledge of a subject. One bad student doesn’t change that, it just makes them disrespectful and mean.”
“That’s… true,” Mira says slowly. “They – they aren’t that mean, really, though! I think they just – they like knowing things. And they like making sure other people know that they know things. And maybe they just! Don’t think about it! And…”
She pauses, shakes her head, and starts over. “No, you’re right, it is disrespectful. I… thank you, Siffrin. I think I really needed to hear that.”
“Of course, Mira,” you say, smiling warmly. You’re glad you could help.
“So,” Mira says, and tilts her head. “What about you?”
You blink. “… What? What about me?”
Mira shifts forward, expression turning determined for some reason you can’t quite figure out. “I talked about something that was bothering me. So it’s your turn, now.”
… Oh. You understand now. This was a trap. That’s… surprisingly devious for Mirabelle. You’d be proud if she wasn’t using it against you.
“Um,” you say, mind automatically whirring to try and find a way out of this. Before you remember, You’re going to have to talk to them from now on, and your throat gets tight all over again.
She’s asking because she cares about you, you remind yourself. You’re not a burden, you’re not forcing her into it. She wants to know.
“I… I’m scared of forgetting them,” you admit. It comes out small and quiet, and you’d be a little worried that maybe Mira couldn’t hear it, if not for the way her expression melts into sadness. “I forgot what their voice sounds like, I don’t want to forget more. I’ve already forgotten too much, I can’t…”
You trail off, unsure how to continue. There’s no way you can say you owe it to them to remember, because while that’s the truth, it would probably raise some questions you really can’t answer.
“Oh, Siffrin…” Mira doesn’t seem to expect you to finish that sentence, at least. She reaches out, then hesitates. “Is – would a hug be alright?”
You nod, and a second later Mira’s arms are around you, soft and warm and safe. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back, and tears spill over, streaking down your cheek as you cling to her.
“I don’t think you’ll forget them,” she says into your shoulder. “Your home was… because of external things. And it’s messed with your memory, but not to that point, I don’t think. But! If you want! You can always tell us about them? So that way, even if you do forget somehow, we can remember for you, and remind you.”
It shouldn't be a surprise after all this time – this is one thing you have talked about with all of them at least once – but the fact that Mira knows you were thinking of your country, about how you forgot it too, makes you feel a little warm inside, even through your grief.
“Besides, I’d like to hear about them! You don’t really ever talk about them, you know? And they’re important to you. Well – they're important to us too, of course, because they helped us save you! But it's… not the same. We don't know them like you do!”
You… give the idea some thought. You’d like to talk about them. About how they helped you, about what they meant to you. There’s a lot you’d have to leave out, though, like their identity. Or how mean they could be sometimes, because that’s not something the others would understand without the context you can’t give them. And you really don’t want them to hate Loop.
You still don’t want to forget the stuff you can’t say. But there’s Crafted journals that only open for the owner, or even just simple locked journals, you could use to write all of that down. So that at least it’s somewhere, in case it slips from your mind like so much else has.
And even leaving all of that out, there’s still a lot you could say, right? Like…
“Sometimes,” you say, voice thick from the tears. “Sometimes I’d go to the Favor Tree, when… when everything got to be a bit too much. And – or, I mean, I’d go there when I needed help, or needed to talk, or something. But I’d also go there when I just needed to… rest. For a bit. And we’d sit there, and just exist together. With the quiet and the wind and the leaves rustling and the birds and… just us.”
You went there more and more as the loops dragged on. When you needed a break from everything, when something you thought was a lead blew up in your face, when you couldn’t look your family in the face and say the same stupid blinding lines one more time without breaking.
You think, sometimes, that maybe they needed it as much as you.
“That sounds really nice,” Mira says softly. “Or – or, well, as nice as anything could be in that situation-! But. But… I’m glad you had each other. I’m glad, at least, you weren’t entirely alone.”
“Me too,” you say. “I… I don’t know how it would’ve turned out, if they hadn’t been there.”
(Except that’s not true, is it? You do know. You know exactly how it would’ve turned out. You saw it with your own eye, just what would’ve become of you without them.)
“I don’t think I would’ve made it to the end,” you amend, because even if you can’t tell the full truth you need Mira to know just how important Loop was. “I would’ve given up, and… I don’t know what would’ve happened, but it would’ve been bad, probably.”
(You do. You do. You do.)
“Siffrin…” Mira sounds so sad. You hug her a little tighter, in the hopes of squeezing some of that sadness out. “I’m sure you would have made it! You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know!”
You shake your head. You appreciate the thought, but it’s… nowhere near as simple as she’s trying to make it sound. Even aside from the fact that you would’ve lost your mind so much sooner without anyone to talk to about the loops – “No, I wouldn’t have, I – we never would’ve beaten the King to begin with, probably. There’s… he had this attack, and it’s – it was impossible to survive without a shield spell. And I never would’ve found that spell if they hadn’t pushed me to ask around, to look for one.”
“Right…” Mira says, like she doesn’t fully agree but doesn’t want to argue about it. Which. Is fine, at least for right now. You want her to understand, but… that can wait. “Well – either way! I’m glad they helped you. I’m glad you weren’t alone. And – and I’m glad you’re talking about them, too, um. Thank you, Siffrin. For telling me.”
Your throat gets horribly tight again, and you squeeze your eye shut to keep more tears from leaking out. All you can do is nod. She’s so kind to you, even when you don’t – even when you feel like you don’t deserve it.
After a few more moments, Mira pulls back from the hug. You’re disappointed, but she quickly takes your hands instead, so it’s… not all that bad, really.
“I’d love to hear more about them, and I’m sure the others would too, when you see them again,” Mira says, squeezing your hands. Carefully, like you’re fragile. You would be offended, except you kind of do feel a little fragile right now. “But, um. Do you want to head back to my house? It’s… starting to get a bit late.”
… Oh. She’s right, you find when you look around. It’s not dark out, not yet, but the sun is starting to go down. You… you probably should go, shouldn’t you? But…
“I, um – I need to do something first, if that’s okay? I’ll meet you there.” You manage a smile, and it must look at least mostly genuine, because Mira nods after a moment.
“Alright, Siffrin. Don’t be too long, though?”
You nod. “I won’t. It should just be a few minutes, promise.”
“Okay, okay,” Mira says. She squeezes your hands once more, and then walks back down the path to Dormont, and you’re left alone, sitting on the root of the Favor Tree.
It feels wrong.
Not… that it hadn’t already. But it was different, with Mira there. Now it’s just you, so Loop should be here, too.
But they aren’t. And they never will be again.
… You’re still here for a reason. Focus, Siffrin. You can break down later.
You get to your feet, walk over to their side of the tree, and.
Hesitate.
You’ve lost a lot of your past. But some things you’ve kept, subconsciously, like the Wish Craft rituals, and others you’ve learned. Whether through some book or other you found on your travels, or something you said and then immediately forgot, that someone else wrote down for you.
This particular thing, apparently, is something you’d mentioned once offhand. Something Odile had written down, had shown you after you forgot. It’s not something you consciously remember, but when you read what she’d written, it… felt right. It made sense.
You don’t have the paper with you right now, but you remember what it said. A tradition, from your past, for when you visit someone’s grave. And this is the closest thing Loop has to a grave, isn’t it?
You’re supposed to leave something you’ve carried for a long time. And you know, you know, their coin would be the most fitting, out of everything you have. You’ve kept it with you this whole time, on a chain around your neck. Hidden under your cloak where it’ll be safe, safe, safe. It felt… wrong to keep it in your pocket, like you did with yours. But this way you can still reach for it when you need to. Feel the cool silver in the palm of your hand and know that it’s proof. That they existed, that all of it really happened, that you didn’t dream them up or something silly like that.
You can’t bring yourself to give it up, though. You can’t. Not when it’s all you have left of them.
But. But. There’s something else you’ve carried, something you’ve had with you for nearly three years now. You’re hesitant to leave her behind, too, but. She’s seen the world with you, she’s seen more than she ever would have stuck in that House, in the loops, never seeing the light of day again. You think… you think she’d be happy with this. You think she’d like to be here when you can’t, so Loop doesn’t have to be alone.
You carefully pull the doll out, kneel down, and set her on the root, right where Loop used to sit. One last time, you make sure her clothes look nice and neat.
“Keep them company, okay?” you say, quiet tears rising to your eye once again. You… don’t like saying goodbye. But right now, Loop needs her more than you do.
If your life was a play, the way you’d seen it for so long during the loops, this would be when the main character has some sort of revelation. About how their lost loved one will never really die as long as they keep them in their heart, or something like that. And they would be content with that, and the grief would melt away in favor of fond remembrance, and everything would be okay.
But it’s not a play. And in reality, nothing can ever be that simple. It hurts to talk about them. It hurts to think about them. It hurts, knowing they never got their chance at a happy ending. Knowing they never will. And, selfishly, it hurts knowing you’ll never see them again.
You think it’ll probably hurt for the rest of your life. And knowing the hurt will likely lessen as time passes doesn’t make anything any easier now.
But. You think maybe that's okay. Because you think the thing that hurts most of all might be the thought of forgetting them, of moving on and leaving them in the past. The thought of it not hurting anymore, because wouldn't that mean they weren't important enough? Wouldn't that mean you didn't care enough?
You know that's not what Mira would say, what Odile and Isa would say. Maybe Bonnie, too, they're… probably old enough to understand this sort of thing properly. You know they'd all probably say that Loop would want you to move on, to be happy, or something like that.
But that's exactly why you can't tell them, at least not this part of things. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. So you'll have to hold onto this yourself. Cling to the pain, keep their memory alive, so that at least in some way they’ll still be here.
You’re the only one who can, after all.
You get to your feet and turn to leave, but pause, taking one last look back at the Favor Tree.
“Goodbye, Loop,” you whisper into the leaves. “And thank you.”
And for just a moment, you can almost imagine them echoing your goodbye back to you, before the autumn breeze blows through the trees, taking the memory of their voice once again.