Chapter Text
You were sitting down somewhere, the surface underneath you rigid and cragged. Uneven, but in a natural way, like a rock. Uncomfortable and all too comfortable, all at the same time. In your hands were a set of tools, and material on which you were working away. It could have been a set of carving tools, though you weren’t quite sure, that just seemed most natural to you. You were interrupted by the sounds of giggling, and someone calling your name. Well, not quite your name, but something as familiar as one nonetheless.
Conversation happened between you, and someone you couldn’t see. Or, you should be able to see, but you… couldn’t. You couldn’t see them, you couldn’t recall their name. Or their face, or their clothes, or any of their personality, you couldn’t remember anything about them. But, you know they filled you with a happiness that was hard to find an equivalent to. Your hands were filled in a moment - one holding a thick, almost-too-heavy brush, and the other running through a head of coarse, kinky hair. So simple, to work with it, to style it exactly as they asked you to. It was relaxing. A simple ritual you had almost every day. Almost every day you would… no, what were you…? Hair, you had hold of someone’s hair, whose hair? Whose, whose, whose?! Whose hair were you just holding?!
Your sleeping panic woke you with a start, though your body didn’t dare try to sit up. Your eye stared up into the lightless ceiling of your room, tears already having formed and started streaming down your cheek softly. Your body lay still. You had woken up like this so often, you trained yourself not to rapidly rise into a sitting position. For a multitude of reasons, though the primary one belonged to the arm laid across your chest. Isabeau laid with his body faced downwards next to you, cheek pressed against the pillow so that his squished face was looking directly at you. Not so much as a snore came from his mouth. He was such a sound sleeper, you were surprised he ever managed to wake up in the morning. You didn’t have a problem slipping out from under his arm, and sneaking out of the room and into the hallway.
You were staying in a small hotel, in a quiet town on the way to Bambouche, travelling to reunite Bonnie with their sister. It was a quaint place, with friendly faces and delicious food and wonderful sights.You loved every second you were here, you couldn’t be more content. And yet, no matter how often you had a wonderful time with your family, that dream kept coming back. Dredging up from the depths of something, something, just something that you couldn’t remember. You had been having these dreams since the end of the loops. Mirabelle was taking care of you, during your craft exhaustion, and you let her comb your hair. And like she did every time during the loops, she brought up how you knew how to take care of her kinky hair so well. Why did you know? You were never able to find the answer.
You slipped silently into the bathroom at the end of the hall, locking the door behind you.
You stepped in front of the sink, on which rested a large mirror. Both you and your reflection reached out to the sink, and gently turned the faucet on. Water running just fast enough for you to hear, without disturbing others. The white noise kept you calm, and centered, letting your thoughts stay in place for a second instead of running and spiraling out of control. Well, without spiraling out of control as wildly.
You pulled off your gloves, cupped your hands and leaned towards the faucet. The water was cold, refreshingly so, as it filled your palms. It was a welcome shock to your system as it splashed your face. Helped you think straight. About your dream.
It wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, that was the problem - it was nice. Like a saccharin-sweet memory rising out of the dark abyss of what was lost. But the moment you held onto it, it disappeared. You couldn’t even remember what it was. It brought you… so much joy, and yet it was… it was ripped away from you so quickly. You could feel that deep, throbbing pain of emptiness in your chest. You could feel the way your eye burned when you tried to remember, and how your stomach seemed to knot as you thought about it again, and again. You didn’t even know what loss you were mourning, but it hurt so much.
The bare threads of moonlight shone in from a window on the far wall, illuminating your face in the reflection. That face. The face of someone you knew… nothing about. Your narrowed your eye, leaning forwards with your forearms resting upon the countertop. Your forehead touched the chilly glass surface.
“... I just want to remember.” You pushed the words out of your mouth, voice shaky and quiet. You didn’t even know why you were talking. Maybe an idle request to the Universe? Maybe you just wanted to whinge, regardless of whether anyone was listening. It was the one thing you didn’t want to talk to your family about, at any point. It’d just make you forget more.
“I just want to remember.” You repeat, feeling your eye burning again. You didn’t try to stop the tears this time. It hurt too much, to hold onto it. Trying so desperately, to cling at the edges of your mind. Emotions bubbling forth from nothingness, tainted with loss and pain, not even able to find their source.
“I… I just-” You swallow, hard, feeling your throat clenching. The words trail out of you one more time. Before you notice
That all too familiar
sickly
sweet
smell
“I just want to remember.”
The sharp sound of glass shattering snapped you back to your senses, no more than a second after the words left your mouth. The mirror you had been leaning against was cracked now - there was a large fracture bisecting the mirror vertically, right where your forehead rested, and tens of small cracks spidered out from that central break, like branches and limbs from a tree.
You slowly back away, trying - and quickly failing - to control your breathing. What happened, you didn’t do that, did you?! No, wait, that thick sweetness in the air, you - stars, you, you invoked wishcraft again, didn’t you?! No, no no no, you can’t - not after last time - but you didn’t mean it! You didn’t know it was a ritual, you were just, venting your stupid problems into a mirror! Please, please, don’t-
Your breaths turned into choking sobs as the sugar in the air seemed to suffocate you. Your back hit the opposite wall, knocking a single breath out of you. How long have you been struggling to breathe? You brought a hand up to your chest. You needed to breathe, you needed to - calm down, and think. Deep breath.
In
And
Out.
In, and out. You closed your eyes, and repeated. In, and out. You were still terrified, as you took another breath in, and out. But it helped you regain some lucidity, breathing in, and out.
You were able to force your eye open, and look at the mirror again. This time, noticing something wrong with your reflection. On your right, everything was normal. Your eye was still a shade ever-so-slightly darker from crying, but your reflection was normal. Your left, however, was different. First and foremost of those differences was your eye.
Your other eye.
You reached your hand up, and felt the smooth fabric of the eyepatch still fastened firmly onto your face. And despite it not matching, your reflection followed, an ungloved hand reaching up and carressing its own eye. As you focused, tried to understand what you were seeing, more differences started worming their way into awareness. This reflection was shorter than you. By an inch, maybe two. Their hair was longer. Almost as long yours was when you… When you found yourself on that shore. Their tips weren’t lightless. And their face, it was softer, younger.
You didn’t recognize this person. You understood that it was you, but you couldn’t recognize a thing about them. You stepped closer, scanning the warped reflection for any sign of familiarity. There… was none. Nothing, nothing, nothing you recognized! This person wasn’t you. You reached a hand out, to gingerly touch the mirror - but instead of glass, you felt the touch of skin.
Your hand jolts back. Your skin is burning, tingling, numbing, feeling a thousand tiny needles stabbing into it. You look down to your hand for just a moment, and back up to you.
You. That was… you. Right, you had your hair grown out, because you… wanted to match with…
And, you were shorter because. You hadn’t had a chance to wear heeled shoes. And. You didn’t know what dye was, or else you’d have made your hair lightless long ago. This was you.
Your hand was shaking, your eye began to burn more than ever before your breath was hitching again but you didn’t even think about breathing you were
happy. To be able to remember something you had thought lost, for so long. You wished you could see it, but understood it was a wild fantasy.
scared. Staring wish craft down again, again, after what happened last time. The sickly sweet scent made you
disgusted. You wanted to vomit. But you were so
Curious. Like a dark temptation, drawing you in. Didn’t you say the King needed to move on? To leave the past behind him?
You are such a hypocrite. You were crying now. You were too overwhelmed, you could barely breathe. Again.
You took a stuttering breath in, and out. You put your trembling hand on your chest, and took another breath in, and out. It took a minute for your breathing to even out. And longer for you to suppress the choking sobs, each one catching in your throat like a lump, threatening to bring with it bile and whatever food was left of your last meal.
You swallowed, hard, before leaning forwards. With your palms down on the edges of the sink, you closed your eye. There was a moment of hesitation in your body. You knew this was wish craft. It could be dangerous, it had been dangerous before. But… you’ve felt it. You’ve been touched by it already, and you’re okay. You have to be okay. You can’t go on forever, not knowing. You press your forehead against the mirror, right where the fracture bisected it.
The right side of your head touched nothing but cold glass, the sharp edge digging slightly into your flesh. On the left though, you felt the touch of someone’s skin. Your skin, pressing your own forehead against your other’s head. Your skin burned. And tingled. And went numb all over again. And the memories came flooding in like waves.
Sweeping through your vision
like tides.
Tides. Sweeping up the shore. Washing over your bare feet, partially buried in the lightless sand. Looking out onto the horizon, where the lightless sky sprinkled with pin pricks of light met with the grey waters. You couldn’t move your body. You were watching, like a play seen from the actor’s eyes.
You could feel the changes before you were ever physically aware of them. First was your eye. Even without any reference to your current eyesight, you could feel the difference between having and not having depth perception immediately. And though your body wasn’t much smaller, you could feel enough of a difference to know you were much younger than you are now. Maybe a teenager?
“Esther!”
You heard a familiar voice call out to you. You, you. You turned your head to see a boat being rowed slowly towards shore, with one man on each of it’s sides rowing and one at the back, sorting through a heaving net filled with fish, flopping and wriggling weakly. You stood, giving your body one long stretch, from toes to the tips of your fingers, before running to meet the boat as it touched land.
“Catch, fi!”
The one standing at the back of the boat, skin a much darker shade than yours and with a shaved head, tossed several things in succession - several baskets partially filled with different fish sorted out, as well as the net still brimming from the catch. You caught them with ease, lining the baskets up on the shore. Fi… it wasn’t your name. More like a, nickname, pet name? It felt nice, on your ears.
“Sort dese out, get ‘em down to granna Nadege; we gotta go back in, dere’s a big one!”
“‘Ow big, bòpè?” You responded in a voice that you never would have thought to be yours. It was so unfamiliar. Or, no… it was, very familiar, right. You had this voice, more or less, for 10 years. Even the accent - the accent you never thought you heard before, but was so intimately familiar to you. It was slightly similar to Vaugarde’s, but different in so, so many ways. So many… pleasant ways.
Your voice, that higher voice, the airy voice, that soft voice. You… didn’t like it. Not that you were sad to hear it. But it didn’t suit you. It was all wrong.
“Gwo gwo gwo, we all eat good for days!” he responded with a smile as he took a seat back in the boat. He grabbed a paddle, and helped push off of the shore and back out to the sea. Meanwhile, you kneeled down next to the net and began to sort the fish out by their quality. Fish best for whole roasting, fileting, breaking down for soup and stock, and the fish best put away for compost. As you worked away the time, a soft song came out in a fluttering hum underneath your breath. It was a song, so familiar, so easy. One you hadn’t heard before, one you didn’t know. One you always knew. From a play, a soft melody of long lost friends reuniting.
“Ez!”
Your head lifted instinctually, to see a stockier-looking person headed your way. Their hair was long, wavy and darkless locks leading down to almost graze the ground they walked on. Their face was rough, worn like it had been shaped by the spray of seawater. Their lightless pants, similar to yours, came up just past their waist, though they had no shirt on to cover their chest.
“Mèt bring back da fish, I see, where did ‘e go?”
“Back in de water, going after a big one.”
“‘Ow big?”
“Gwo gwo gwo,” you gave the same grunting affirmations as bòpè. No, it wasn’t just an affirmation, it was a word. Your tongue, your word for… big. Right, big, and three gwo usually meant that the catch was going to be massive.
“Bon!” They smiled, before kneeling down next to you and beginning to sort through the fish with you. “‘Ere, I got dis Ez. You go, Ginie is lookin’ for you.”
“Stars, what did dey do now?”
“Tried to ‘elp Joce sort some of ‘er supplies. A big ol glob o’ sweetgum got in ‘er ‘air.”
“Woy,” you breathed out exasperatedly, “gonna be an ‘air-owwing time, fixin’ dat one.”
They gave what you could best approximate as a sighing chuckle of pity at your joke before pushing you away slightly.
“Oh come on now, you know you’re de best at workin’ with ‘air.”
“Dat’s not a good ting, you know?!”
You both laugh as you push yourself back onto your feet, stumbling away. You turn around, walking backwards as you call back out to them. “And if dere’s any crabs in dere, save dem for me, Elie!”
“Ya, ya, I might save you one!”
You turn back around, and begin walking back towards… wherever you knew that you were going. The trek was a substantial one - ten minutes at least, starting along the lightless sand, leading to a mountain path upwards, cut out from a dense treeline. The canopy overhead was so dense, that the night sky was blocked out completely. Were it not for the wooden lanterns along the path, illuminating the way with four-pointed star-like crafted lights, you wouldn’t be able to see your own hand in front of your face.
The road up was an unsteady one, the upwards slope transitioning between dirt, rocks, and the occasional stairs at the steepest areas where one may lose their footing and hurt themselves. The path eventually evened out, and the tree line thinned, opening up into the small village you called your home. A simple place, built of mostly wood and thatch. The buildings were large, and numerous, each one seemingly designed to hold the entire population of your little town. The town itself was circular in its layout, designed around the hecticly-furnished center - there weren’t any roads or paths, and the town wasn’t dense enough to need them. It was small, simple. Happy.
You moved your way past the buildings, towards the center of town, where there was already a small congregation around a sturdy wooden table. A handful of the older folks in town, working away meticulously, knives cutting away with fierce speed. A kind of speed that’s difficult even for your future skills.
“Nona!” The eldest of the group looked up, flipping the knife in her hand with surprising dexterity for her age. Her face was deep with wrinkles, signs of age worn upon her like medals of honor. Her eyes were a deep lightless, not even a hit of any other shade among them, and her greyed kinky hair was pulled up into a frizzy bun. You had always thought it’d look better down, maybe in some didi braids, but you wouldn’t dare tell nona what to do.
“Esther, ‘ello. Don’t tell me Louis sent you ‘ome empty ‘anded?” The wrinkles in her face grew deeper, and she scowled, or maybe that was her naturally curious face. Even with the memories coming back to you, you weren’t sure.
“No, Elie took over sorting fish out. Bòpè is still out on de water - gwo gwo gwo.”
Her face fell into a soft frown as she heard Elie’s name, shaking her head as she returned to dicing the vegetables in front of her. “Dat boy, I swear, he needs to learn not to put his hands in oders work! ‘E gonna be de new chèf, dat don’t mean he need to take everyting into ‘is own ‘ands.” She gives a sigh, before sweeping the vegetables up with her hand and the flat of the knife, and dumping them into a nearly filled bowl by her side. “Gwo gwo gwo - going to be busy dis night, very busy. You can help?”
“Of course, nona! Let me just go help Ginette.”
“Yes, help clean up de mess she made on herself. Dat girl, she never learns. Gonna have no ‘air by de end of de year!”
You give a laugh at her sarcastic comment - before stopping as she looks up at you with a confused and serious look. It was not a sarcastic comment. Holding back the cringe you felt trying to warp your face, you moved past her, and towards the opposite side of town you came from. Towards where you knew was Jocelyn’s medical hut, even as your mind refused to conjure up who Jocelyn even was. Or… no, they said Joce, how did you know their name?
You were only halfway to your destination before you saw the door swing wildly open, and a kid came bursting out. Their skin was a darkless complexion, similar to yours, with grey freckles all about their soft, rounded out face; and their lightless kinky hair was frazzled, more than normal. They met your gaze, with eyes that had splotches of light in them, and quickly bolted in your direction.
“Sè, sè, sè!!!”
You braced yourself as they leaped at you, but still stumbled back as they tackled you into a hug. For such a small body, there was a surprising amount of force behind them. You wrapped your arms around them tightly and gave them a few pats on the back, before pulling them away and kneeling down to their level. Now that they weren’t tackling you, you could see the issue more clearly - their hair was matted down with thick sap that almost seemed to be spread around. Scratching her head, probably.
“Ginie, what’ve you been doing while I was gone?”
“‘Elping Jocy out wit de medicine!”
“And is dat why you’ve got a glob of gum in your ‘air?”
“U-huh!”
They smiled at you brightly, the light in their eyes seeming to grow brighter as they sparkled. You couldn’t resist letting out a small laugh - they looked so proud of themselves. You lifted them up, hoisting them to sit on your right shoulder.
“Alright, come on, let's get dat washed out.”
“Nooooo!” They pouted as you said this, kicking their legs gently. Careful to not kick you, though. “Just cut it out. Washing it ‘urts.”
“Weeeeeell, in dat case, maybe I could do a close shave, maybe even all de way down! I tink you’d look nice bald.” You smiled mischievous up at them, and they pouted before nodding. “Okay. Wash it.”
You gave a soft giggle as you carried them away, moving through town and past faces that were all too familiar and not recognizable at all. Each one held a storied history with you, you could tell. But those memories… they weren’t ready to be dredged up yet. Maybe never. You opened up the door of one of the many buildings, to find a large collection of items resting upon shelves and counters.. Some were metal or stone or ceramic, but most were made out of carved and chiseled wood. It was a storehouse.
You leaned down as you walked in, making sure not to hit Ginette’s head on the doorframe. A collection of knives was laid out on the lower shelves, nice and orderly, arranged by size. You grabbed one of the smallest of the collection… paring knife, right, a paring knife, and slipped it carefully into your pocket first. Then, slipped to the opposite side of the shack, where a small collection of objects were laid out. They were wooden, with a narrow handle that flared out into a wide, flat paddle. And on that paddle were a bunch of what looked like animal hairs, or some other firm but still slightly flexible material.
… A hairbrush, right! You grabbed it and similarly pocketed it, before grabbing Ginette by the waist and lifting them up to one of the highest shelves you couldn’t reach..
“Grab me a big bowl if you will please Ginie.”
Ginette giggled as they were hoisted up, and reached their little arms as far up as they could. With a bit of stretching from the both of you, you heard the rattling of wood, before Ginette gave you a little “got it!”
You lowered them back onto your shoulder, and took the bowl from their hand, before leaning back out of the building. And beyond town, following another densely covered path. The trees were so thick, it was hard to see where one’s bark began and the other’s ended, especially in such lightless conditions. Ginette swayed back and forth upon your shoulder, causing your body to list slightly with each movement. You could feel your shoulder aching from her weight, with or without her swaying. But you didn’t mind it so much, especially with how happy she seemed.
Finally, the path emerged onto a small clearing, sitting upon a river bank. The water trickled by quickly yet quietly, its source a spring upon the highest peak of the mountain and its destination down at the sea. With a grunt you took a knee, lifted Ginette off your shoulder, and set them down. They ran off to a nearby rock, as you stepped onto the river bank. You bent down, and dipped the bowl into the water. Letting it trickle in, and fill the bowl, before lifting it. The water was clear, almost completely so, darkless and beautiful. Perfect for drinking, cooking, cleaning, anything - one of the many boons the island provided you. One of the many gifts from the Universe.
You carefully carried the bowl over to the same rock Ginette was waiting at. You set it down, before taking a seat, getting Ginette to sit down in your lap with their legs crossed, and picking the bowl back up. You put a hand on their forehead, and use your other to hold the bowl just behind and below their head. With a gentle push, their head leans back, until the entirety of their hair is submerged. You leave them like this, for just a moment, to make sure their hair is entirely saturated, before lifting their head up again.
The water trickles down and out of their hair in little streams, first making the soft sound of rain into the bowl and then hitting the fabric of your pants with a duller sound. You reach over their head with the bowl, and place it gently into their lap.
“‘Old on to dis, keep it real still for me, okay Ginie?”
“Okay sè!”
With that, you pull the brush from your pocket and dunk it into the water bristle-side down. Once, twice, three times, before bringing it up to their head. You gather their hair up with one hand, and hold it just taut enough to be straight without hurting their scalp. You start the brush at the roots of their hair, and pull it downwards.
The first snag you reach and manage to muscle through with a yank, you hear them whine.
“Owowow…”
“I know sweet ‘eart. I’m sorry, but dis stuff is difficult once it’s dried. I’ll do my best to be gentle.”
You live up to that almost immediately, starting at the roots once again and pulling down. You hit a snag, and rather than yank, slowly force it through. With a few softer, but still firm tugs, you manage to separate some of the clumps in her hair. With much fewer protests this time, as well! But, it’s still going to be a long job.
“Hey, sè?” Ginette speaks up as bring the brush back to the roots of her hair. “Your vle jou is coming up soon, right?”
“Yes, just anoder week.”
“What you gonna ask Linivè for?” They turn their head upwards slightly as they ask, tilting their gaze to look up at the tapestry of the stars.
“Well,” you chuckle as you start your answer in time with another stroke of the brush. “I’d wish that I never ‘ave to eat any more vegetables, ever again.”
“But dey’re so good! And good for you too!” They respond with an appalled voice. You’re certain if you could see their face, it’d be a scowl.
“I cannot stand de crunch! You know dis!” You laugh, sensing that Ginette wanted to turn around and grill you, but was too careful of the bowl in their lap to make any kind of sudden movements. There was a moment of silence, as you finished another stroke, two, three, before they spoke up again.
“... Is dat really what you’d wish for?” Their voice was soft, almost sad-sounding.
You hesitate with your next stroke of the brush, lingering far too long on the roots before letting out a sigh. You brush once more. “No, no. Honestly, I still don’t know what I want to ask for.”
“But it’s coming so soon! You gotta have some idea!”
“Dere’s noding much I want right now..” You get the brush stuck on a particularly stubborn snag in the hair. “I’m fine wid my life. I’d most want to use it on someone else, but we’re not allowed to wish for oders, woy.” You try to contain your feelings, but exasperation comes through clearly in your sigh.
“But, but, you told me one ding you did want, sè- ow.”
You chuckled, the brush finally managing to break through the snag. You look at the brush, to see the clump of gum stuck in with some torn-off hair. You should have just cut that one, instead of hurting her by pulling it out.
“I’m so sorry for dat one, Ginie. Now, what was dis dat I told you about?”
“You said, you don’t like your body dat much, or your voice! You wanted to change it, right? Use your wish for dat!”
You look away from Ginie at that. Down, instinctively, at the ground. At yourself. You hadn’t been focusing on it too much. But, they were right, your body was… wrong. Not literally, it was fine, you weren’t warped or distorted like some kind of monster. But it felt wrong. The way your skin felt, over your body, it felt wrong. The way your body was proportioned, it felt wrong. The way your throat vibrated, every time you spoke, it was wrong. Not just the look, or the sound, but the feeling itself of your body, it felt wrong.
You smiled anyway, and gave a soft chuckle. You pulled the paring knife from your pocket, and began running your fingers on the opposite hand through her hair.
“De rest of dese are gonna need to be cut out,” you mumble to yourself before returning to the conversation. “Maybe, but dat would be kind of a foolish use for a wish, don’t you tink? Dere’s body craft, if I ever want to change how I look, or sound.”
“But dat takes a lot of time, and you might not get it right de first time!” They answered, so curiously and sweetly as they looked up into the watching eyes of The Universe. “We are part of Linivè, so if you ask it for de body you want most, den it should know what to give to you!”
You were silent for a moment, as you ran your splayed fingers through their hair. One of them caught on a glob of dried gum, and you were quick with the knife - slicing it off and taking only the smallest bit of hair you had to. You could do this and style their hair up to hide any big blemishes.
“... It’s not dat I don’t want dat, Ginie.” You respond in a hushed tone. “But tink of de people around us. ‘Ow it might feel for dem. To see someone dey knew, someone dey watched grow up, change so suddenly. To leave behind someting important like deir body.” Your words were half truths. That was a part of your concern, but not the whole of it. “Wit body craft, it’s an adjustment we all make. But to change overnight…”
“I don’t tink it's so bad.” They interrupted you. “It’s not selfish to want a body you like.”
You stop. Your whole body freezes for a second, as Ginette seems to read your mind. She always could, you felt like you were good at hiding your problems, but she made it seem like you were an open book. You smiled, before cutting out one last glob of sweetgum.
“Maybe you are right. Dere, last bit is out. Now, ‘ow do you want me to style it up today? Twists, didi braids maybe? Or ‘ow about dat knotted updo? I still tink it would look great on you!”
“Just medium twists, please!” They looked back at you, with eyes shimmering as if they had reflected the surface of the night sky above them. The infinite smattering of stars, contained within those beautiful eyes. You gave them a smile, and a soft pat on their head.
“Anyting for you, Stardust.”
They gave you a large toothy smile, before turning back forwards. There was a soft sound, like the banging of wood, in the back of your mind. You paid it no attention.
You took hold of their hair, hands moving so naturally. You had done this so many times before, it was muscle memory now. The same sound of slamming against wood rang through the back of your head, louder now. You still paid it no mind, as you tilted your head upwards.
Staring into the infinite tapestry of the Universe, you gave a smile. Perhaps it did know. You were part of it, as much as it is part of you.
The third sound of banging snapped you back to lucidity. Not on the island, but in… a bathroom? Your head was against a mirror. You could feel something wet trickling down from your forehead. You could see it’s dark shade in your reflection. Blood. The sound of fast running water was just below you, gushing from a spout. How did you…
No, no, you knew where you were. You were in Vaugarde. You were in a hotel. You were in a bathroom. Your name was Siffrin. Your pronouns were he/they. Or, all of that is true right now, right? Yeah. Is, not was. For a moment, you were so lost in the memory you… You almost forgot. Stupid, you were stupid to trust wish craft, you almost screwed everything up. Again.
You realize someone is waiting to use the bathroom. You’re being rude, you’re taking up the bathroom space, you need to hurry up and get out.
“J-Just - Just a moment.”
You speak in your home’s accent at first, but are able to adjust quickly. Vaugardian accent, the accent you’ve known for most of your life. You grab a towel, and wet it with the running water.
“Frin?” You hear Bonnie’s voice. At least that was one thing you knew you wouldn’t forget. Them, their name. Any of your family, you could never forget them. “Are you okay?” Their voice was genuine. There weren’t many times that it was!
“I’m fine!” You speak through the door as you dab at the gash in your forehead with the damp cloth. And then at the mirror, where your forehead had been resting and a small pool of your blood was beginning to trickle down.
“Are you doing that thing where you lie about if you’re okay again?”
“No, Bonnie, I promise!” You set the cloth to the side and wash your hands.
“Super promise?”
“Super promise!” You bend down, and splash your face with cold water one more time.
“Super duper promise?”
There was a beat before you answered, as you wiped the water from your face. “Super duper promise!” As you answered, you unlocked the door and swung it open. You smiled down at Bonnie. A genuine one. They looked up at you with a concerned face.
“... Have you been crying?”
They could tell that easily? Your eye probably looked awful then, puffier and a much darker shade than normal. You didn’t pay attention when you looked in the mirror. You kneel down to their level, and tussle their hair lightly. You shouldn’t lie to them, you know that already.
“A little bit, yes! But I promise, it was nothing sad. I was remembering something important.”
“That’s a first.” They responded with a smile. You couldn’t help but laugh, which only made their smile wider and more mischievous.
“You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning, Bonbon.” You stand up, sidestepping and allowing them inside.
You slink back into the room, and manage to find yourself underneath Isabeau’s arm again. When your head hits the pillow, you’re out almost immediately.
And for maybe the first time you can remember, you don’t stir as your dreams start to drift to your home.