Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You dream of... the beach. How at night, the starlit sky bled into the midnight ocean, which blended with the sparkling, lightless sand. You could never quite tell where the shore ended and the Universe began.

You dream of canoes. How someone would take you out sailing when everyone else was asleep, just so you could see the stars on the water. You'd make a wish on the full moon together - usually asking not to get in too much trouble the next morning.

You dream of... little hands shoving an old canoe through the sand and into the Universe's embrace. Splinters all over your palms brought you to tears, but you were brave. You wouldn't cry while preparing the sail, even if you couldn't tie the knots right. You had to go! You had to find them!

You... still can’t say for certain who "they" are, but you were searching for someone important. A kid like you, but older. Darkless hair like yours, but messier. They meant something to you, and you needed them. You clung to them like glue, even when they got too annoyed to stand you - like an older sibling looking for a little space to breathe.

You dream of searching and searching and searching. You can’t see the end of the horizon, you can’t see anything past your swaying boat. You can’t feel anything but fear and fear and don’t be scared, be brave instead! You have to find them, you need to find them, you will find them!!!

You dream of capsizing. You dream of nothing.

You wake up.

You... wake up? No, that can't be right.

Except, you do. You stir to the sound of squeals and laughter. Your eyes flutter open to the last sight you saw - a nearly empty theater. You can't say for certain how long you've been stuck sitting on that stage, but your body doesn't ache. You actually feel well-rested and refreshed. 

Your stomach churns uncomfortably at admitting the curse of being frozen felt nice. You hate to say you kind of miss that feeling, as well as the dreams. A lot.

"Miss Lyra! Miss Lyra!" You perk up at your name being yelled, shaking off the gross feeling. The excited little voice was part of the group of children you volunteered to watch over. To hear it with such enthusiasm filled you with relief.

"Is everyone okay? Noelle, Avery, Bernadette?" You look around the stage, doing a headcount. 14 children, either laying down, sitting up, stretching their limbs, or clinging to you groggily like a lifeline. All unfrozen and unharmed. All safely accounted for. You'll be sure to thank the Universe when you get the chance.

Avery, the oldest, jumped up and practically ran circles around you as he yelled, "We're not frozen anymore, Miss Lyra! We're not sleepy anymore!" 

"I know! That's great!" You giggled, sitting up straighter to try and catch him.

"Noelle's still cursed, I think, Miss Lyra. Look." You follow Bernie's pointing to the little girl tucked under your arm, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"No m'nottt...!"

"Noelle's just groggy, no teasing our sleepyhead.” You smile, smoothing down her messy locks. A shred of hope lit up in your heart; their safety was all you could ask for, but there were still a few things you had to check before you’ve earned that sense of relief. “Now then, why don’t all of you stay here and do our morning stretches, and I’ll go check-"

"I wanna go outside!" Avery yelled, jumping off the stage and rushing up the aisle. "I gotta find my dad!"

With wide eyes, you nearly trip over poor Noelle and a few other kids to chase after him. By the time you're off the stage, he's already opening the door to the lobby. "Wait! It might be dangerous! There could be sadnesses!" You remember dodging a few of those things on the street as everything froze around you. They could've easily overrun the city since then.

Avery's already shoving the door open with all his weight, not even bothering to slow down. Blinding kids and their impulsiveness! "Nuh uh! S'just people out here!"

Just people...? The door slams behind him, and you're standing in the theater lobby alone, holding the door handle tightly. You’re supposed to rush out there. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s in danger? What if he’s already being attacked? He’s *your* responsibility, help him!!!

But. You can’t. Move.

Okay. Okay okay okay. Relax. He’s fine. Be brave. Be someone definitely not scared of what you might find on the other side of the door. Confidence is key. Fake it till you make it. Be fine. Acting~!

Open the door… now!

Now…?

Nnnnnnow……

… Okay, so you’re having a harder time playing the part now that it’s time to pull it open. Wonderful. Confidence down the drain. But it's fine. You're just paranoid. Just... put your ear to the door...

...

......

.........

And then you hear it. 

Cheering. Laughter. Crying. Chatter of a crowded street. Celebration of life.

Little footsteps catch your attention, and you look over your shoulder to see a group of curious gazes. "Miss Lyra...? Can we go outside? Is it safe?"

"I wanna see my mama...!"

"Me too! Me too!"

"My big brothers miss me. I just know it. So I gotta leave, Miss Lyra." Okay, that one made you chuckle. 

Well... You've only heard good things from the door so far. All that's left is to rip off the bandage!

Steeling yourself, you throw the door open- and nearly blind yourself with the sun. Your body must've forgotten just how bright it was! How long has it been...?

The second thing you’re met with is fresh air in your lungs, and it’s only then that you realize how stuffy the theater was in comparison. 

Outside, people flooded the streets with joy and relief on all of their faces. And in classic Cle de Lune fashion, they were chatting away, clinging to each other, singing, and laughing. Loud and intimate as if nothing’s changed.

Too deep in your surprise, the little ones surged past you to join Avery in the grass. "O-Okay, okay everyone! Just stay where I can see you! Your families will come find us!" A chorus of 'yes madame's echoed back, and you felt satisfied enough to keep an eye out for their family members while they played.

You sit in the grass close by, feeling the breeze against your face and watching the children run around as if they didn’t just survive the most harrowing thing they’ll probably experience in their lifetimes. Such sweet kids. Smart and creative and funny - you’re grateful that spark was left untouched. 

You think back to when the curse had first crept up on the town’s borders so fast that no one had enough time to do anything about it. How sadnesses threatened to swarm the streets if not for the defenders. The curse was the only thing that got you to leave your house for the first time in months because you just- you needed to do something. So you took the little one’s to the theater while their families went to pack or get transportation. None of them made it back in time, it was all just too sudden.

You just hoped they were on their way now.

But it’s okay! Things were looking up now! Your eyes flit between the excitable kids and the townspeople on the street. The celebration would probably continue long into the night, if you had to guess. The you from before would‘ve swooped in to join them, singing and dancing and finding your place amongst the crowd. Trying to blend in, to belong. But right now, you…

You just sit quietly.

It's not like you didn't want to. The kindness of Vaugardians was infectious. But... you're not Vaugardian. You're not one of them. You might've lived here most of your life, but it's not yours. People might trust you with their children, but they're not your friends. Not your family. And before, you would’ve tried. But it’s been so long since you’ve really interacted with anyone? You’re too rusty, too out of touch. You need a little more time.

… Your heart still aches for it, though. 

Is it selfish? To want something that's yours? Something more than just your journal of half-baked memories you get when you dream at night? Something more permanent than the people you’re constantly losing?!

… You're suddenly wishing for the kids to get picked up fast. You have something to do that couldn't wait another blinding day. 

"Lyra! Oh my Change, Lyra!" You scramble to your feet when you spot Bernadette's mother sprinting towards the theater like her life depended on it. By the time she reached you, she was out of breath. "I... I'm so glad t-... to see you...! Where's my- where is...?"

With a smile, you gesture to the other side of the staircase, where the kids were pulling up weeds and making grass salads. "Bernie, someone's here for you~!"

A gasp. A squeal. And then, "Mama!" You grin as the two of them reunite, holding each other with tears and laughter. They're so sweet, and you're glad Lorraine is okay despite everything.

You ignore the hollow feeling in your heart and the urge to run home and finish what you started.

The woman holds Bernadette on her hip like an infant, and you're almost sure she'd never let them out of her sight again. "Thank you for keeping them safe. If there's anything I can do to repay you-"

"Absolutely not," you interrupt her softly. "I was happy to watch over them. Just take them home and celebrate this day together, okay?"

"Aye aye, Miss Lyra!" Bernie exclaimed. And with that, they disappeared into the crowd.

One down, 13 more to go.

“Lyra…?”

You jump, turning to see an older gentleman staring at you like he’s seen a ghost. He was missing his long overcoat, and his clothes were in complete disarray - a rare sight for your well-dressed Head Housemaiden. His shiny wrist cuffs with the Change symbol on them were still perfectly polished, though. 

“I… I heard someone mention you took your students to hide in the theater just before the House got frozen. I tried to come, but sadnesses started getting in and I couldn’t get past them in time-“

He steps towards you like you’re some skittish creature. And you prove his point by stepping back.

Great, now he’s looking at you like you broke his dear old heart. “Haha, that’s okay, Monsieur Noé, we’re all okay…!” You laugh nervously.

“Are you? Okay?” He asked with concern. You feel exposed. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time. Not since-“

Aaand that’s your cue to shut this down. “Yep. I am great, thank you for asking!” Your smile is big and bright and fake. Noé doesn’t mention it, too kind to step on your toes. “If that was all, I’m really busy watching the children. I’m sure you’re busier than ever now, too. Sooo, I’ll see you around, monsieur?”

With the way he’s eyeing you - unsure, worried, loving - you were certain Noé would keep pushing. But he doesn’t, and you breathe. “… Very well. Then I’ll be going. It… was good to see you, Lyra, truly. And your help was invaluable.” You don’t think you did that much, but your heart was already eating up that sliver of praise. It’s what you lived for - that pat on the back, the job well done. It might be an addiction? And you might be in withdrawal?

The Head Housemaiden was already disappearing into the crowd before you could dwell on it further. Now it’s just you and 13 kids who are playing duck duck goose like their lives depend on it- oh, 12 now, actually. There are Noelle’s brothers coming in hot.

The sun moves slowly as time passes at a crawl. You're forced to tamp down your impatience as one by one, the children under your wing were given away to their loved ones. All the while, the celebration playing out before you turned into an actual party. It’s nothing crazy, some crafted string lights and a few tables with some food. It was meager, but Cle de Lune is still nothing if not efficient. 

The number of kids dwindled down quick enough as parents and whatnot were eager to reclaim their children. You smiled when a family member thanked you profusely as if you could’ve really protected them from anything serious. You stiffen when someone mentions the terrible awful no-good thing that happened before all this curse nonsense. 

The last child was taken home, and you try so hard not to envy the ten-year-old. No one would be coming for you to take you home or hold you like you were the most precious thing on this earth. No one would be there to tuck you in and hold your hand and tell you it was all a bad dream.

…

You stole a glass a wine from one of the tables and made yourself scarce.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The street leading up to your little townhouse was always bustling with life. It was the heart of the city and barely a block away from Cle de Lune’s House. But this? This insane crowd was almost suffocating - more so than usual. You’re happy for them, really! But you can’t…

You can’t stop thinking about the dreams you had while you were deep asleep. There were so many, not just the one where you went out to sea and never came back. They were clear as day before, but now you can’t... you can’t see them. You can only remember how you felt - how happy you could’ve been. How happy you were from before… before before BEFORE-

You half-expected Noé to be standing on your porch, his buff stature taking up the entire doorway. You kind of thought he’d be here to pester you some more like the worrywart he was, but… he’s not.

You walk in and pretend to be thankful for the lack of pestering.

Your front room was exactly how you left it that day, save for the thin layer of dust the curse graced it with (as if keeping your space clean wasn’t already hard enough). Everything was perfectly placed, excellently curated for people to look at and say, ‘Wow! That Lyra Durand sure is a clean, organized, and normal individual!’ A masterful farce, although you haven’t actually had any guests over to see it since you rearranged everything. You still made a face as you walked in, rubbing at your arms like it would wipe away the discomfort.

You were much more at ease further inside the house, which was also the same as before the curse. Your mess of a sanctuary, your disaster of a safe place. No one’s ever judged how your living room looks like a tornado made itself at home - no one’s ever been given the chance.

You ignore your war-torn living room, careful to step over books and papers and random clutter like you’ve done it a million times before, and head upstairs to your room.

It’s more of a mess than the rest of your home - if that was even possible. Old music notes, scattered journals, unused class materials, and countless pieces of crumpled up folding paper littered every possible surface (mostly the floor again). You side-step all of it with practiced precision, finding your place on the rug amidst the chaos. Then you pick up a fresh piece of paper from the endless pile and begin folding.

It's as if you never even left.

You’re aware of just how pathetic you are. The King’s been defeated, and everyone is free of his curse. You could be out there drinking and eating and dancing and laughing! You could act normal for once and celebrate with everyone else! You could ask Noé for your job back - he’d probably be overjoyed if you did! You could take this opportunity to Change, start again, leave the grief and sorrows and hollowness behind to make room for brighter days!

But you won’t do any of that. Because you’re a pathetic, stagnant black hole of a human being. Both the Change God and The Universe would be ashamed of you. 

There’s nothing else for you, anyway. Nowhere more important to be than here, no better use for your time than this. You toss the handful of paper stars you’ve already made into the giant mason jar nearby. Then you get right back to it.

No one would ever understand why this was so important to you. Just like how no one understands why you talk funny or why you write so compulsively or why you stare at the night sky like it’ll give you answers. Everyone here was so kind and respectful, but... they'll never get it. Not even your father could, no matter how supportive he was or how hard he tried.

And that's exactly why you have to do this. You need someone who will get it. You need that person from your dreams. They'll understand you. They have to - someone has to!!!

So. You're folding stars and filling up a giant pickle jar. A ritual you and your father learned of together through one of the countless journals he found for you. This will work. You've already put in months worth of stars before the curse. Your boundless effort wouldn't be ignored, right? The Universe hasn't been unkind to you yet.

(Ignore the loss of your home, culture, family, memories, and father figure, of course.)

No, no! It's fine! The Universe was really making it up to you by gifting you some memories when you wished on the full moon a while ago. Sure, those memory dreams left you incapacitated with a migraine for a while and you couldn't retain them for very long, but that's exactly what your journal is for.

As you fold, putting all your desire and intent behind each crease, you wonder what this person is like. You've wondered about them before on an endless loop since you first learned of them. You dreamed of searching for them on the ocean, in the woods, in a lightless void; time stretching on longer than that vast nothingness. Part of you wanted to go back to those curse-induced dreams and finish your quest. 

Do they follow the Universe or the Change belief or something else? How much do they remember? Could they take you sailing like they did before? HOW MUCH DO THEY REMEMBER? Do they feel as lonely and pathetic as you do? H O W  M U C H  D O  T H E Y  R E M E M B E R ? !

…

Hours blur together as you keep folding and tossing and folding and tossing. Before, you’d do a few stars then sleep like the dead through the rest of the day - you didn’t have the strength to do more than that… But you’re more determined than ever to see this through. You can’t stop and you don’t stop! Not until… you can't squeeze anymore stars into the container. 

You blink. It's barely sunrise now, and your hands ache something awful. You clench and unclench to relieve the tension - it hurts. The paper has left little cuts on your hands, but nothing deep enough to draw blood. Only now can you feel their sting... and your stomach growling.

You forgot to eat. Forgot to stretch. Forgot to sleep. Forgot everything around you.

But that's fine! It’s great, even! Because you finally powered through and finished setting up your wish! Dinner and breakfast could wait!

Without wasting another second, you screw the lid on the jar and rush outside with it in your arms. Your legs are a little shaky from sitting on them for so long, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind. The morning was still young enough for the street lamps to stay on, and the city was… quiet. You half-expected the party to go on well into the next day, but apparently even they had their limits. Good, you’d rather not be bothered in the middle of your wish ritual, thank you very much.

You stand before Cle de Lune's Favor Tree, out of breath with the jar of stars cradled close to your chest. Two beautiful Wisteria trees were intertwined as one like a loving, bonded pair. They were quite tall for their species, too - high and sturdy enough for someone to perch in it they wanted.

Your eyes flit between the tree and your wish jar. You've spent so so long meticulously filling the biggest container you could find. The bigger the container, the stronger the ritual - or so you were taught. Your fingers stung with paper cuts from the endless folding, and your sleep schedule was surely shot from this last all-nighter. But the pain and the exhaustion were nothing in comparison to your anticipation. Your excitement.

At the end of this jar, someone might be waiting for you. At the end of all your waiting, you might meet someone special. The Universe might lead you to a spectacular person.

Your sibling. A blood-relative.

The Universe didn't always answer you. Sometimes you'd make a small wish on the full moon and receive nothing. But with all the effort and time you put into this, you could only hope It was watching. Please. You can't just give me this information and not let me do something with it!

It’s selfish, you know. To wish for someone to meet you is selfish. It takes away someone else’s agency and leaves it in the hands of the Universe. Just because you’re comfortable with following blindly, doesn’t mean anyone else is. 

But you’re already at the finish line, no second-guessing yourself now. You can’t stand being alone for a second longer! So… So…!

"Please bring my sibling to me... Please bring my sibling to me... Please bring my sibling to me..." You whisper your wish into the jar another nine times, unscrewing the top as you do so. With a deep breath, you step forward and place the jar in front of the Favor Tree. Then you sit. And you wait.

Your faith has led you this far, it would be wrong not to follow patiently.

You're inhaling deeper than usual, looking for the sign. You're waiting for something sweet in the air, like candy. You always get what you wish for when you can smell it in the air. You inhale just as a big gust comes along, and-

It's like thick caramel in your lungs. Sweet, sweet success.

With a big smile, you scramble to your feet and look around. Any second now, a messy, darkless-haired figure is gonna walk straight out of your dreams and into reality and turn the corner and meet you. Soon you'll have someone who just gets it, and you'll be happy, and it'll be perfect.

...

......

.........

... Okay? Where are they??? Because you know what you smelled-

"Urnghhh..."

You flinch at the sound of someone groaning in pain. Glancing around, you realize it's coming from... behind the Favor Tree?

Confusion turns to excitement, but you have to tamp it down before you explode. Slow, cautious footsteps lead you around the tree, and you do your best to keep quiet. Wouldn't want to spook them, right? That'd be an awful first impression.

But when you stalk behind the tree, you're met with... someone there. Laying on the ground, unconscious.

"Oh my ever-changing stars..." you breathe, crouching beside the sleeping figure. You want to reach out and touch them - to shake them with this excitement boiling within you. But you instead just tap their shoulder and whisper, "Hello...?"

No response, just some mumbling that you couldn't make out. They're in a deeper sleep than you realized, and you... selfishly take advantage of the moment.

You don't do anything crazy! You just. Look. You know it's weird and a little creepy, but... is it really so wrong to stare...? You've been missing this person your whole life! A little staring is justified, surely!

Their darkless hair is just as unkempt as it was in your dreams, but it's longer and curlier now. With wide eyes, you note that it’s… glowing? Every frizzy strand a light source illuminating the grass beneath them. Like magic…! Respectfully, you do not touch (no matter how fluffy they look).

You try not to worry over the huge scar over their left eye. It was jagged and scary, but you can tell it’s long-since healed. You don't even want to think about who or what dared to hurt them like that.

Never again. You'll make sure of it. 

You move on. Their clothes are nothing to write home about, but you need a distraction from the concern caught in your throat. It was a simple outfit. Lightless turtleneck, pants, and boots. And just under the cloth of their shirt... something glowed just like their hair. You weren't about to check it because that's just another level of rude, but... It almost looked like the shape... of a star.

Well, if you weren't sure this was a gift from the Universe, you sure are now.

More grumbling dragged your attention back to their face. Their scarred, pale, sweaty face that was pinched with discomfort.

"Hello...?" You call out, tapping them again.

They toss and turn away from your touch, and you're able to discern a few words. "M'sorry... M'sorry, Stardus'... I'm d'sgustin', I didn't..."

Your heart broke at the desperation in their tone. You're not sure why they're apologizing in their nightmares or why they'd think they're disgusting, but... it didn't sit right with you.

Against your better judgement, you put a gentle hand to their forehead and gasp. It's worse than you thought. They're burning up; probably delirious from a fever.

You thought maybe you could let them wake up on their own, let them walk to your house without any help. Waiting would've been the polite thing to do. But this wasn't about to go away on its own - they needed your assistance or they'd only get worse.

You pause when reaching for them again. Something glitters against the moonlight, catching your attention. You scrunch your nose at the silver coin laying in the grass. It’s not worth your attention in the slightest, except…

It’s heads-up, which is good luck for someone like you if you were to take it. And- and it could just be a random person’s coin that was dropped, but what are the odds of it being here right now in this moment?! You believe in coincidence, sure, but you also believe in the Universe. Things happen for a reason, right? This coin is here because this person is here, isn’t it???

You pocket the coin for safe keeping and thank the Universe for this good omen.

"Okay... Okay, okay...!" You swallow thickly, looking the stranger over one more time. Then you carefully put your arms around their body and lifted them onto your back. "Alright, up we get...!" They were surprisingly light and easy to maneuver despite being completely limp and unconscious. Their weight only worried you further.

The trek back to your house is a slow, tiring one. Even with how light they were, carrying a limp body on your back is still difficult - especially for someone with noodle arms!

... At least no one was around to watch you struggle or question you on said limp body.

You try not to flinch or stumble whenever the stranger adjusts in your arms. They're still muttering in your ear about this "Stardust" character, and you... can't tell if they loathe each other or are madly in love. Just add that to the endless list of questions you have for them!

But before all of that, you had to get them home... in the guest bed... upstairs... and considering how much you’re already struggling?

You severely underestimated just how difficult this would be.

Chapter Text

"... So don't forget me, okay?"

He... promised.

He promised, but you know them all too well. You know just how forgetful and stupid they are. You know how unreliable they are! Hopeless, careless Siffrin! Can never retain the important stuff, can they?!

[You're not that important, don't kid yourself.]

At least he stayed with you until you faded away. At least you weren't alone in the end. At least you could finally rest peacefully. It’s all you could really ask for…

But you got too comfortable. You must have, because the cold vastness of the Universe didn’t hold you for very long. It was nothing. It was peace. And now it’s…

It’s softness beneath you. Why is it soft?

You don’t… want to get up. You don’t want to exist. But when have you ever been given a choice?

It feels impossible, but you force your eyes open to be met with… a bedroom. Big, boring, and plain. No longer one with the Universe. 

Your fingers brush over a thick duvet weighing down your body and the firm mattress under you. You turn your head [ow] to get a better sense of your surroundings. The room was uninteresting, barren, and layered in dust. Particles floated the air, illuminated by the morning sun rays. The mattress creaked as you tried to sit up, which- ow? Everything hurts and your head is spinning???

Yeah, no. You can lay here a moment longer to get your bearings… Where… are you, and how did you get here? And aughhghgh why does your whole body ache? You just woke up, and you already feel miserable! Or. More miserable than you did before, anyway.

Oh, and while you’re on the topic of stupid questions no one can answer, why are you alive???

You're... not sure how to react or what to do. Fear. You should be freaking out, right? You manifested in some random stranger's house and you can barely move without your body screaming in pain. You also have no way of defending yourself, so fear would probably be the appropriate response!

But you're just exhausted and in pain... and angry, now that you think about it! How dare the Universe drag you back to this mortal hell! Haven't you played along with Its nonsense long enough?!

... Obviously not, as you’re being shoved right back into the spotlight to reprise some role or other. If only you had a script or some stage directions to follow, at least. You don’t appreciate having to improvise…

Alright, enough stalling. Get up, Loop. You have to figure out what’s going on. 

With agonizing effort, you drag yourself up. Star-speckled hands shoved the blankets off so you could swing your legs over the side [you’re so much colder without it why are you so cold]. As your feet touch the floor, you realize you're... wearing clothes? They're simple and comfortable, but you tug on the cloth with intrigue. When was the last time you wore clothes? Only people needed clothes, and you... well, you're a star! Bright! Fantastical! Out of this world!

... Other. Not a person. Not human.

But for now, you can pretend.

On unsteady legs, you use the nightstand to pull yourself up. There’s an untouched glass of water and a book too thick to interest you even a little. You're able to take a little step. Then another. Your knee almost buckles under the pressure, you manage another. Wow! Look at you go! Such progress!!!

… How blinding pathetic you are, taking your first steps like a wobbly baby horse.

Those have a name. You can't recall. But that doesn't matter right now, don't get sidetracked~!

You successfully crossed the room to a desk in the corner - a full six steps! So you celebrate by collapsing into the chair and catching your breath. You’re not sure why you feel so fatigued or why your head feels a little fuzzy or why it’s darkless around your vision. Last you checked you were strong enough to (almost) go toe-to-toe with Stardust! And now…

Now you’re rummaging through a stranger’s desk drawers because that’s all the energy you can muster. It’s that pesky rogue-ish nature of yours; can’t help but snoop around! But you need as much info about your situation as possible, don’t you? You’re just being practical!

There‘s nothing useful here besides a letter opener, which you tuck away in your shirt sleeve. Just in case. Other than that, though? Newspaper clippings, travel pamphlets, an endless pile of letters addressed to and from various Head Housemaidens.

Ugh. For the sake of your own dwindling sanity, you only skim a few pages. Young girl in my care, amnesia, found at sea, blah blah blah! As you sifted through everything, though, you realized just how old some of these files were. A few letters and news clippings were dated over a decade ago.

You dare to peek at an article title because curiosity killed the cat like it always does, and it’s-

Local Island Forgotten? Bizarre Memory Loss Phenomenon Sweeps the Nation! (and what that means for your upcoming fishing trip)

You… put everything away. 

… Well, wasn’t that fun~?

The chair creaks as you slouch in it, and you hug yourself tightly to keep your hands from shaking. No no, this is fine. You’re so fine! You don’t care! It means nothing to you! You are fine.

It’s not real, but you try to focus on breathing. Something familiar and comforting… even if you don’t have lungs or a throat or any semblance of personhood. You’re not sure how pretending will help you, but you did with Stardust before! Surely it can’t hurt anymore than you already do!

So you try. You try to simulate breathing, and you… think it feels right. What an odd feeling - kind of cold. And it... aches in your chest. So you release the breath harshly and cough, and something darkless smacks you in the face?!

Clearing your dry definitely-not-throat, you reach up to touch the light fuzz around your vision. You thought this fuzziness was just part of your fatigue or something, but it’s tangible. Soft. You tug on it- ow. Yep, that is attached to your head.

… Oh. So that means…

…… You need to see yourself.

Your body cried out every step of the way as you scrambled to your feet in search of a mirror. You just have to know. It’s all you could think, ignoring the chair you knocked over in your haste to the nearest door. Your balance was completely off, and you nearly tripped over your own feet more than a few times. But you need to see yourself.

Things clattered to the floor when you knocked into the wardrobe, and a painting fell when you bumped harshly into the wall. But you managed to lean against it, following it to the door.

It opened, and you tripped right into a bathroom. How lucky! Clutching the counter like your life depended on it, you looked up into the hanging mirror, and…

You've never actually seen your new Universe-given face, but thanks to a dirt doodle kindly provided by your Stardust, you know what's supposed to be there. A pair of eyes. And pure starlight. That's it. But what’s reflected in the mirror is-

… You. 

Well, not exactly, but it’s pretty close if Stardust’s cute, disgusting face was anything to go on! Same hideous expression, same ugly scar, same darkless hair sticking up every which way [it’s longer and more luminescent than you remember]. You have… a nose and a mouth and hair and skin. It’s you.

You grimace unkindly as you bring a hand up to examine the rest of your body. Pulling at the top of your shirt, you can see where your skin ends and that body you’d grown so used to begins. Like everything below the shoulders was dipped into the Universe’s embrace. A lightless silhouette speckled with stars. That much hasn’t chanced, it seems. You could even see the familiar glow of the star in your chest through the fabric. You felt its heat pulsating with every inhale - an otherworldly substitute for a real, beating, human heart.

Something you aren’t anymore. Something you haven’t been in a long time. Something you’ll have to remind yourself of more often now that you had a convincing mask. A face you gave up the rights to…

But it’s fine. You’re fine! This isn’t the worst thing in the world! You’re alive and you’re wearing someone else’s face even though you never asked for any of this, and that’s all fine because it’s what the Universe wants! And It’ll make you follow kicking and screaming~!

You’re pulling at your hair again, and it hurts. But you don’t. Care. It makes you feel more real than you have in a while.

“Y-You’re awake…?!” A gasp rips you from your thoughts, and you turn wide-eyed at the figure in the door. She’d been so quiet and in your blind spot, and-

The letter opener gets its use as you pull it out and throw it at her. 

“Hey- ow!” She yelped, putting her hands up in defense. It barely left a mark. But you’re already stumbling back further into the bathroom to escape her. If you had a heart, it would probably be racing in a panic. The star heating up frantically was a close enough feeling [you still feel ice cold]. You don’t know what’s happening to you or where she even came from and you don’t want to be here and you can’t even breathe-

-and you trip right into the tub, hitting your head on the wall. Owww…

“Oh Change, are you okay?!” The girl gasped, rushing over to check on you. She’s looming over you just outside the tub, and your instincts kick in again. You don’t have the letter opener or your dagger anymore [not yours never yours] so-

You throw a hefty bottle of soap at her.

“Ow…!” She hissed as it hit her in the cheek. “Okay, okay, message received!” Taking your warning seriously, the girl backed up a few steps before settling down on the tiled floor. 

Now that she was in clear view and not crowding you, you could focus on breathing. In… and out… in… and out…

The stranger's staring at you, her face etched with concern. Her voice was much softer now, like addressing a frightened animal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you… I-I heard a lot of ruckus, so I came to check on you. I didn’t expect you to be up and about with your fever, and all…” That’s when she trailed off and blinked dumbly. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry, I should be asking if you’re okay! Are you? Okay?”

You’re still reeling and breathing and your head is spinning and you hate this woman’s accent for reasons you can’t quite place yet. Apparently, you have a fever? Which might explain why your body hates you. But can stars even get sick? Maybe the face-snatching ones can.

You watch her, sifting through your rattled brain for words to respond with… when a horrifying realization strikes you: You have not spoken to a single person outside of the loops in a very, very, very long time. 

You don’t even want to guess how long it’s been! Years, surely. You don’t know how to act or what to say! How do you- what do you say?! Where’s the script?! Are you nonchalant? Dramatic? Aggressive? Jovial? Line please!!!

“Right, stupid question. Of course you aren’t okay…” she murmured to herself. Good job! You were quiet for too long, stupid! “How about we get you back to bed, and then we can… talk? I’d really love to talk…!”

Sounds like torture. But maybe she has a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. And you’d prefer to get those answers someplace more comfortable than slouched in a bathtub with your legs hanging outside of it like a ridiculous slapstick character. So you… nod.

The girl’s eyes lit up as she scrambled to get up. It was impossible for her to keep her distance and offer a hand to you, so she took her chances getting too close again.

Proudly, you do not throw something at her this time.

You still flinch at her touch, but she doesn’t instinctively drop you. “Sorry, I know this must be uncomfortable…” she winced apologetically, putting a hand around your waist to keep you steady.

What an astute observation. She must be a world-renowned genius.

You don’t have the energy to voice your sarcasm. Even as the girl hoists most of your body weight back to the bedroom, you’re on the verge of collapsing with every step. You still feel yourself trying to pull away whenever her grip shifts, and you wish want to just stop! Be normal Before she really does drop you!

She’s tender with you regardless, setting you down in bed and pulling the covers over your legs. She even fluffs up your pillow? For some reason??? And all you can do is stare at her like she’s actively growing a second head. 

When the girl is done fussing over you [a waste of time], she steps back. “There we go. Comfy?”

You were on the floor like a helpless idiot moron just a minute ago, so all things considered, this was a step up. So you shrug half-heartedly in response. It hurts to move even that much, and you’re sure she saw you wince.

“Are you in pain? Still feeling sick?”

You nod, feeling the muscles in your neck whine with fatigue. “Y-… Yeah,” you try to say, but your voice comes out as a croaky whisper.

“Right, silly question…” she murmured to herself as she reached for the nightstand. “Here, we’ve had this medical book since I was little. Might be out of date, but it could help us figure out what’s wrong with you now that you’re up.” The girl picked up the book from the nightstand and pulled the rickety desk chair over. “I um… don’t really know what I’m doing, so maybe you’d feel more comfortable if I left you at the House instead…?”

“NO, I DON’T WANT-“ You’re too busy coughing up your lungs to finish your very calm declination. 

[NO HOUSE - NEVER AGAIN! She can’t do that, please if she makes you go there, you’ll- you’ll]

“Okay, that’s okay! No House, got it!” She’s by your side again in an instant, offering the glass of water you previously ignored. “Here, drink…” You do as she says, chugging half the glass just to ease the pain. After a few calming breathes, you hand it back to her. The girl sighs and sets it down. “Better?”

No. You nod anyway.

“Alright…” she murmured hesitantly. The girl didn’t bother sitting down, opting to stand near you with the book cradled in her arms. ”Let’s see… persistent fever - obviously. Unless it’s broken since I last checked…” When she reaches for you, there’s nothing you can do but stare like an idiot. Anticipation nearly eats you alive, but you’re ready! You’re prepared! She’s already touched you, so you can handle this no problem! Better than Stardust could, surely!

[Who are you trying to fool?]

Despite knowing exactly what came next, you still flinched when her palm rested on your forehead. Stars, don’t notice, don’t pull away- “Sorry, did that hurt…?” She asks softly, pulling back for just a second. You shake your head. “Am I allowed to continue?” You nod this time, hoping you don’t seem desperate. [I don’t know you. I hate you. I hate this. Don’t leave.] “Okay.”

The girl - who’s in desperate need of a nickname so you can stop calling her ‘the girl’ - carefully moves her hand elsewhere, muttering under her breath about how you definitely still have a fever. Her palm’s cold. It’s nice.

When her hand moves further back, it’s like she’s brushing the knots out of your hair - it’s relaxing and… soft, like her. After that initial flinch, you’ve been leaning into her touch. You can’t get enough. [Selfish, selfish, selfish-]

“Ow…!” You hiss, actually wincing from pain this time. And she moves her hand. Yep. Right where you hit it earlier.

“Sorry,” she hums. “No open wound, probably just a bruise. That’s good...” Her hand pauses on your cheek, just below your blind eye. “… Can I… um, ask what happened here?”

You remember a little voice screaming your name. You remember running in front of a sadness for that little voice. You remember fumbling your dagger for the very first time, too panicked to hold it straight. You remember thinking after the fact that you’ve never felt so scared before - not like that. It’s strange how certain things still stick with you despite your awful memory.

You remember to breathe. “Sadness…”

She’s probably staring at you, pity and sympathy and all the gross things people used to look at you with when you lost your eye. You don’t look up so you don’t have to see it. “I understand… So… You’re blind in this eye? Is that why I spooked you so much?” That, and a million other reasons, but she doesn’t need to know that. Honestly, it’s none of her blinding business anyway! Why is she being so annoying?!

[She’s not. She’s wonderful. _You’re_ the annoying one taking up her space and her energy and her oxygen like the black hole you are.]

But you don’t have the energy to push back on her questions right now. So all you do is nod slowly. ”Gotcha. Won’t happen again.”

You hate yourself for not hating this. For taking every crumb of attention the Soft One was willing to give. You don’t even know this girl. You don’t know anything! All you know is how to take and take and take. She’s too nice. Too sweet. You can’t stand the sugar anymore.

It’s over all too soon when she pulls away to check the next page. That’s for the best. You’ve already taken enough, stop being greedy. ”Weakness, check. Fatigue, check… Any body aches or chills?”

It’s painful, but you clear your throat to respond. “Yes… to both…” You’re sure you sound awful when you croak the words out because the Soft One pauses again. [Can’t we just move on? It doesn’t matter!]

She sets the book down and crosses the room swiftly, only returning to your side once she’s found some paper, a pen, and an extra blanket from the wardrobe. It was as fluffy as it looked while she gently tossed it over your shoulders. You cozy up to it immediately, hoping to drown and suffocate in its warmth.

Something plops in your lap, and you look down to see the writing utensils. “No more talking, okay? Sounds like it hurts. Adding sore throat to the list helps narrow it down…“ You hate that she keeps coddling you, but talking really does hurt your throat, and now your head is starting to pound more, so you should probably do what she says. You still hate it, though.

[Liar.]

The Soft One finally sits down, scooting the chair closer and curling around the book before she continued. “Let’s see, what else…? Umm… Oh! How’s your nose? Congested?”

“Wh…?” You nearly spoke through the pain again before remembering the paper. ‘Why that?’ You scribble down with confusion and showing it to her.

She squints while reading your question, and you suddenly get self-conscious. You can’t remember the last time you had to write anything down, and your penmanship was already terrible before the loops. You know it’s bad, but having a stranger see is embarrassing…

The Soft One just smiled at you after a moment, like reading your chicken scratch was hardly a chore. “It’s a weird symptom, but all we have left are weird illnesses. I just- I have a hard time believing all you have is a cold, y’know? You haven’t exactly been doing well, these last few days, and with the condition I found you in…”

Wait, she found you? The Universe didn’t just dump you in her house? She found you and she’s been taking care of your unconscious lifeless husk for days???

“I-I just have a feeling, that’s all!” She bounces back from her rambling with a nervous laugh. “And most of these other ones mention symptoms like rashes or skin issues and you don’t… have any of that…”

She’s staring at your hands. She knows something’s wrong with you. You pick at the fraying edges of the blanket. 

She moves on, grinning politely. “So? How’s your sense of smell? The blanket should be kinda… musty, I guess? Not- not gross, it’s clean, but like- that weird unused smell that cloth gets when you store it-…? Youuu have no idea what I mean, do you?” The Soft One cut herself off at your growing confusion.

’Not even a little bit.’ You turned the page, smiling innocently as she read it.

“You could’ve just shook your head.” Her unimpressed gaze went from the note to your face, pouting at you, not unlike a certain Housemaiden would whenever you teased her.

[Don’t think about it. She doesn’t exist anymore.]

[Your fault.]

You wink, earning something between a scoff and a snort. Success. “Would you just smell the stupid thing already?”

Keeping up the silliness [your head hurts, but the smile she’s trying to hide is almost healing], you make a big show of sniffing deeply at the fluffiness over your shoulders, air barely getting through your stuffy nostrils. With a frown, you shake your head. Smells like nothing. 

“Wow. Okay. So, I could be wrong…” she stares into the book for a while, mesmerized by the results. “But do you know if you used a lot of craft recently? Because I think you’ve got craft sickness.”

You think about the terrible wish mistake you made. You think about the body you had, sustained by wish craft and the will to escape. Then you think about the fight you had with Stardust - how you gave that death match your all [and still lost]. 

Sounds about right, not that you’ve ever heard of it before. Or maybe you just forgot like you always do. You shrug, putting pen to paper, ‘what’s craft sickness?’

She hummed, frowning a little. “Pretty self-explanatory. You used too much craft without giving yourself a chance to rest,” the Soft One explained.

You never could rest. You spent days, weeks, months, years, eternity in those loops. You knew everything that would happen next, could do everything with your brain turned off. None of it mattered, so why put in so much effort? But it wasn’t restful. Even sitting under that blinding Favor Tree was painful. You’d kept the mask on for as long as you could. You couldn’t slack off in front of your captive audience after all~! No rest for the wicked, as they say~!

You were really looking forward to the moment you faded away.

[Silly you for thinking you could be so lucky~!]

“Says here you’ll need to be bedridden for a while - at least a couple weeks of no strenuous activities and absolutely no craft.” She’s so stern reading off the treatment recommendation. Sounds fake, but you hadn’t planned on using any to begin with. 

You’re not sure what the plan is now.

“Healing craft could help a little… maybe. But I uh…” The Soft One picks at the page corner, worrying her lip. You stiffen when she looks your way. [No House, please…] “I-I… can go out and get tonics later today. Not the tastiest, but it’s better than nothing. You’re doing pretty well now, anyway, so you shouldn’t need much…!”

Better than being trapped in another prison. A nightmare. You can handle something sour.

Still. You’re so. Confused. Why is this girl helping you? She’s so anxious about it, about screwing you up somehow. As if you haven’t screwed yourself up enough all on your own. As if you’re not a lost cause. But she doesn’t know any of that. She doesn’t know you at all. And she’s still…

You feel disgusting. Vaugarde is too nice. You hate it here. You can’t stay. You can’t use this sweet girl like some disgusting LEECH-

“Well then!” You’re jolted out of your mind at the jovial sound of the book slamming shut. She’s smiling at you. You feel sicker somehow. “It says you might have a lack of appetite, but you were also out of it for several days. So, how does some food sound? Something warm and easy on your throat.”

That disgusting feeling in your gut is immediately replaced with a sudden pang you haven’t felt in a long time. You blink stupidly at her. Once. Twice. Three times.

… Food? As in actual food??? Chewing and swallowing and tasting and enjoying? Is she willing to get you something like that?!

You’re already drooling at the idea. When’s the last time you ate? When’s the last time you were able to? When’s the last time the thought even crossed your mind???

The Soft One giggles at you, setting the medical tome down as she gets up. You can’t help but follow her with stars in your eyes. “Alright, I’ll take that as a yes! Be right back, okay?”

When she leaves the room without waiting for a response, you’re suddenly alone. In the quiet. With nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

But that’s okay! You’re used to being alone~! You’ve gotten pretty good at that, teehee~!

[Your fault YOUR FAULT]

No, no. It’s fine. You can sit here and wait for the Soft One to come back with food. You can do that without going off on a tangent. Just sit there. And be quiet.

…

Well. A tiny monologue never hurt anybody.

You’re all alone, and you have no one to blame but yourself. You were so afraid of everyone leaving you behind, yet here you are! The self-fulfilling prophecy, the Universe’s silliest little ragdoll! And now you’re in a place you don’t recognize, with a girl who was sent from the stars above, and you’re more alone and lost than you’ve ever been.

But that. Is. Okay! That is exactly WHAT YOU DESERVE! Teehee! You deserve to be alone! You deserve it, so-

So you should just leave. Just get up and leave and save every other living being the misfortune of ever knowing you. Maybe you’ll wander aimlessly until the elements take you. Maybe you’ll walk into the ocean in search of what was taken from you, never to be seen again. Or maybe you’ll just get it over with - a dramatic knife to the throat. A classic, though you’d prefer to use your own dagger [not. Yours.]. All you need to do is die - permanently this time, just like you were meant to. You have no room to be picky… You have no room to be anything… so…

… Wow! Being alone with your mind is always such an adventure~!

The Soft One returns quickly before you can make a decision [not quick enough to save you from yourself~], with a tray of food in her arms. “Back!” She beamed at you like the sun, none the wiser to your cute little meltdown. “It’s no cuisine from Corbeaux, but I like to think I cook okay.” She sets the tray down in front of you, and the warmth of the soup and bread wafts over your face. Smells like nothing. The heat is doing no favors for your fever. You don’t care.

You take a bite and try not to cry. 

It’s not perfect. The soup is a little chunky in some places and watery in others. The bread is soggy from too much butter. And the Soft One was right about your appetite - your stomach doesn’t even want it. But you eat anyway. You eat and try not to miss Bonnie’s culinary expertise. 

The kid. The kid. Someone who doesn’t matter anymore because you killed them. You killed all of them, so they don’t matter. They don’t get to matter to you anymore.

Anyway. 

The soup’s not bad. It’s technically nothing to your tastebuds. But chewing and swallowing - what a strange feeling. One you missed. You think you used to like eating. Gobbled up whatever you could get your grubby hands on and had the audacity to ask for seconds.

You think you could be that kind of person again. Once you get your nose functioning and can actually taste. You aren’t looking for a reason to live, but food seems to be as good a reason as any.

[The future doesn’t really matter, though. Does it?]

“Slow down before you choke, please!” She laughs at your ravenous behavior, and it sounds like music. You look up at the Soft One with a sheepish grin and a soup mustache. She laughs harder.

While you stuff your face and your stomach screams at you to stop, the Soft One makes herself cozy in the chair. You don’t pay her much mind, but every so often, you dare to look over. She’s always watching you with such fondness in her eyes. The way she looks at you - the way she can almost see you - makes your skin crawl. Your stomach churns, uncomfortable and full. You shovel some bread in your mouth anyway.

Only when you literally can’t eat another bite do you set the bowl down and lay back against the headboard. Yep, you’re gonna burst. Or throw up. Or perhaps a secret third thing!

“Feeling good?”

Your first instinct is to say no, of course not. But the soup has made you warm all over in the best way. If you died now, you might dare to say you were satisfied. So you shrug and nod. 

“That’s really good…!” She hums, her smile faltering just a little. “I know you’re probably tired, but we should… talk about details now that the most pressing matters are out of the way.”

Right. Details. There’s a reason she’s been nice to you. Obviously, this isn’t just out of the goodness of her heart. Maybe she wants something. Maybe she thinks you can pay her back for all this kindness. 

… No. Despite how you feel and what you think you deserve, Vaugardians don’t tend to work like that. But when you look at her, when you think about it, when she speaks, you find yourself less confident in her Vaugardian heritage.

She’s so sweet, but something about her words, her accent, nags at you. You’re not sure why. You’re not ready to unpack why. Otherwise, you might start to hate soup like you hate croissants.

”Right, so I guess I should start with the basic stuff?“ She starts though it sounds more like a question. “I’m Lyra, and this is my house. We’re in Cle de Lune, which is a port city on the North coast of Vaugarde.” Lyra, hm? It’s a pretty name - better than the names you’ve come up with. Her name probably had more thought and meaning than Loop ever would.

You don’t recognize the city, but you can hardly remember anywhere you’ve been before Dormont. The North coast, though… You wonder if you could see it from here…

The Soft One, Lyra, looks to you expectantly. “So? I’m sure you have some questions?"

[How soon can you leave? When will this body finally shrivel up and die like it deserves? Why hasn’t it already? Where’s the end of the line and how fast can you get there?]

But those probably aren’t the sort of questions she’s looking for, so you should keep them to yourself. Just have a normal conversation. It’s not that hard.

‘How did I get here?’ You write instead.

She fidgets at your question, tugging at her skirt nervously. “I um, well… You were by the Favor Tree when I found you. I-I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought you back here.”

And you think her answer is strange, isn’t it? Picking a stranger up off the streets and taking them to the House made more sense in a place like Vaugarde. So why here instead?

‘Why not the House?’

“Oh.” She hesitates, and that’s when you know it’s crossed her mind before. All the more strange that Lyra decided against it anyway. She stumbles through her response. “Uh. I mean, it was really late, and I guess I wasn’t thinking...!”

So that was a lie. You can’t imagine why someone so soft would lie about something so small, but you suppose it’s none of your business. Maybe it’s personal - you understand.

You move on. ‘What now?’

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s up to you,” she hummed. “You can stay here until you’re better. And- and after that, too, if you wanted!” She shrugged casually, although her shoulders were too tense. “Or you can leave once you’re back on your feet… it’s up to you. No pressure.”

You think the guilt of leeching off this nice girl might eat you alive. So kind and compassionate and giving. It feels like stealing, in a way. 

She put her hands up, “You don’t have to make a decision right away! You can just focus on recovering from this sickness for now.”

You nod slowly in agreement. That’s fair. You don’t have to do anything but focus on getting better. You have a life to live now, though you didn’t ask for it...

The Soft One adjusts in her chair before asking in a small voice, “Is it alright if I ask you some stuff…?”

That’s… fine, you guess. Fair. A conversation goes both ways. You don’t plan to stick around long enough for anything you say to matter, anyhow.

You’re even more reluctant when Lyra straightens up, smiling brightly. “Okay, then…! So… what’s your name?”

Wow, what a loaded first question! How are you even meant to respond?! You don’t exactly have many options, and none of them are particularly appealing.

There is, of course, Siffrin No-Middle-names No-Last-Name: the cunning rogue with a mysterious past and quips to spare. Quick-witted and perceptive - someone useful and reliable… as long as you don’t hold them under the microscope for too long. A forgetful, hopeless, selfish idiot deep down… But you can’t be Siffrin anymore. That’s a privilege you gave away to someone else. The world isn’t big enough for two forgotten travelers. He gets to have your name, your face, your family, your life! And you let them.

… So that’s off the table.

And then there’s Loop. Yep! Just your helpful ally Loop here to help with the loops, teehee~! Quick with a thinly-veiled insult and so saccharine it’ll make you sick! A friendly guide that asked for what they got. A fitting punishment that they took with a big smile just like the Universe wanted! But… who even is Loop now that the loops are over…? The stage abandoned and the audience long gone, there’s no need to keep up such a painful act. You can leave that character behind, can’t you? It’s served its purpose, right? Besides, that’s a wretched part of yourself that you’re not so willing to share with a stranger…

But what does that leave you with? You don’t have the time nor energy to come up with another character on the spot like this. But she’s waiting for an answer. You have to say something - anything! You have to respond!

So you just…

Shrug.

”Oh…” You don’t expect her to lose all of her shine from one little gesture. “Do you… not remember your name?”

That’s… that’s a third option. A good one, now that you think about it. You could just… start over. Be someone new. You’ve already done it once before against your will. At least this time, it’ll be on your own terms! Sort of…

So that’s it! That’s who you are now! No first name, middle names, or last name. No memories or thoughts behind these eyes! A blank slate ready to be transformed by the world around you! A brand new person!

Alright, new persona! Go! Do something new.

You shake your head so proudly that your cheeks almost hurts. She responds with a weird expression and a twinge of pity. “People aren’t usually happy about that sort of thing...”

Oh. You might actually be smiling. And she’s right. People don’t typically think amnesia is a good thing. But it’s not like you aren’t already used to the feeling. And you aren’t really a people, anyhow.

Instead of wiping your dumb grin off your face, you scribble down an honest explanation. ‘I like the idea of being someone new.’ Look! Honesty! Something new!!! You’re already so good at this.

“Oh. Well. That makes sense… People Change all the time, but not usually so… impulsively?” The sour look on her face softened at your answer, though Lyra still seemed reluctant to let it go. “But I guess amnesia would do that to someone, huh?”

You hum, lighthearted. You don’t think you took it in such stride during the loops or anytime you forgot something before then. But this is different! This time, you’re different!

[This time, you’re lying to a kind girl that took you in because it’s more convenient for you.]

“So… do you not… remember anything…?” Why does she seem so sad about that? If you’re gonna be sticking around here instead of going to a House for treatment, that whole pity thing will have to stop.

You go to shake your head, but… maybe you could say something. Just to appease her. Make her feel better so she stops looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. Eyes like the Housemaiden when you teased her.

[… You miss her. But that’s. Your. Fault. Focus.]

‘Bits and pieces, but it’s fine.’ That’s enough, right? You don’t need to flesh out this character too much to make her leave it alone, right?

She reads it, then reads it again. “Bits and pieces…? Like what?”

Stars, maybe she’s just nosy! So enthralled by the sad, pathetic stray she picked up by the roadside.

… Or maybe she wants to know you. As a person. What a mortifying concept~! You’re not sure which possibility you hate more!

Okay, okay. Think of something to give. Just a crumb!

With the utmost seriousness, you scribble down one of the first things you ever knew about yourself, ‘Scissors,’ And accentuate this point by making a scissors sign at her. 

“Oh, you’re a piercing type?” She lights up, and you think you prefer her smile over the hint of sadness you saw a moment ago. Lyra holds out an open palm, mimicking you as she says, “I’m a creative craft user. Less hacking and slashing, more… carpel tunnel.” The researcher was a lot like that, you think. Always writing, always complaining about her wrists. 

[Stop thinking about it.]

The soft one scoots to the edge of her seat, hanging off your every poorly-written word. “What else?” She wonders, just barely hiding her curiosity and excitement below the surface. You blink and lean back a bit. 

Well… she’s so willing to share, so maybe you can find a few more crumbs to give. It can’t hurt, can it…?

Oh, this one might be important. ’Allergic to pineapples.’

She’s taken the opportunity to lean in even more, reading the words on the page as soon as you wrote them. ”Oh, wow. Really?”

Well, duh! What is it with people being so skeptical of your allergy? First Stardust, now this? You don’t make this stuff up for funsies! “Yes, really…” you huff with a roll of your eyes.

A chuckle escapes you as the Soft One whines in your face. “No talking!” Right. Stars forbid you commit the heinous crime of speaking. She sighs, losing herself in thought. “That’s good to know. I don’t… think I’m allergic to anything. But I also can’t remember ever having pineapple before… should probably get tested…”

… Wait, there are tests for that kind of thing?

“You should, too, sometime soon. Chances are, you’re allergic to other stuff, too. And if the reaction is severe…” You cringe. Yeah, severe feels like an understatement. “W-Well, better safe than sorry, right?”

You just nod. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. You don’t care one way or the other. Who cares if you bite into a fruit and choke and die? That’s sort of the point. There’s nowhere else that you belong more than scattered at the top of a mountain. Might as well eat something yummy and spicy while you’re at it.

“What else do you remember?” More?! Blinding- okay, what else…?

‘Stars,’ you write out faster than you can think of the consequences.

But then you remember that’s too personal too honest pULL BACK SCRIBBLE IT OUT!

But it’s too late, she’s already looked over you and read what you put. You don’t expect her to light up almost immediately in response. Her eyes shine with such brilliant enthusiasm at the mention of stars - not something you can say you’ve seen anyone do. Ever.

“Me too!” Lyra exclaimed. She was on her feet in seconds, gesturing to herself as if she was the star. Maybe she was. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything more than stare. “I-I mean, I love the stars!”

What.

WHAT.

The words croak out of you, “You do…?”

Lyra giggled, nodding ecstatically. “I do! Named myself after one! Well, a constellation, but-”

You. Stare at her. The pieces are starting to fit into together, and you don’t like the picture it paints. 

Named herself? Loves the stars? Her accent. And those newspapers about the island…

Fear curls up in your chest. You don’t want to be like the Boulanger. You don’t want to ask her. You don’t want to scare her. You don’t want to scare yourself.

Be someone different. Someone new. Someone who isn’t scared. Just do it. Just ask!

…

“Sorry, am I coming on too strong?” The Soft One asked, fidgeting nervously. Stars, say something idiot! But you don’t. You can’t. She’s rambling now, anyway. “Not many people around here even know what they are. And those that do don’t really… care…?”

That sounds similar to your experience, as well. People know about the lights in the sky and some know what they’re called. But no one you’ve ever met dwell on the details. They can’t - the Universe won’t let them.

”I also uh, don’t usually talk so much,” she adds when you still say nothing. But maybe that’s okay, you think. You did so much talking with Stardust that you’ve earned a break From carrying the conversation all the time.

[Ha. That was a joke. Get it? Because you’ve never earned anything in your dramatic tragedy of a life. Least of all, a break!]

“S’okay,” is all you can manage, but it seems to be enough because she smiles at you. 

When you stifle a yawn, her smile turns apologetic. “Sorry, I’ll stop nagging you for now. You need rest. Do you have any other questions for me before I go?”

WHAT DOES SHE REMEMBER comes to mind along with a million other awful questions. But everything that comes to mind was too vague and loaded to ask even as it eats away at you. You haven’t even gotten confirmation on where she’s from because just like the Fighter, you’re too cowardly to ask.

[… That wasn’t a nice thing to think about him. He always did deserve better.]

And- And who cares anyway??? You’re not that coin-obsessed Siffrin anymore. You’re someone new. Someone who doesn’t care! So you don’t need to ask!!!

… She’s staring at your hands again. It’s hard to miss when her eyes keep glazing over your “skin”, watching the flicker of stars dotted along your hands or the odd glow of your hair. She still has questions. 

Like a proper Vaugardian, though, she keeps her thoughts to herself. But you just have to know what she thinks. She’s sharing her home with something inhuman, she should at least have a chance to voice that. It’s the least you can do.

‘You can say something about the way I look. I know it’s strange.’

The Soft One jumps when you flip the page for her to read. Her gaze averts, looking anywhere but at you. “Wh- I wasn’t gonna say anything! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

‘Too nice to say I’m a freak? No need to flatter me!’ You have to wave the paper loudly so she’d look your way again. And the moment she does read it-

“You’re not!!!” Lyra shouts suddenly, making you flinch. “Sorry. You’re not a freak or strange or whatever. I told you, I love stars, silly. And you’ve got them everywhere, how did you even…?” She’s reaching for your arm like she wants to comfort you. Reaching, reaching, reaching… and then she stops. Whether out of politeness of your space or just disgust, she doesn’t touch you again.

[HA! Is this awful crawling ITCH what Stardust felt every time the fighter reached for him? It’s HORRIBLE~!]

There must be something sad and pathetic on your face because Lyra is watching you with pity again. You feel gross. “Too sensitive a topic? Or don’t remember?”

It’s your turn to look away. “Sensitive...”

She falls silent. Thinking. But she eventually finds the words and the will to smile at you. ”… Well… You’re in a country full of people who don’t judge anyone’s changes. I can tell it makes you uncomfortable, but it’s okay - really!”

If only it were that easy.

“Alright, no more. You really need to get some rest. Fight off that sickness, and whatnot.” She takes the tray off your lap, making her way to the door. As much as you want to pretend none of this was happening, you… actually didn’t hate that whole conversation.

You hate that you didn’t hate it. Don’t get used to it. Don’t get comfortable. You’re still not safe. Not here, not anywhere that the Universe can see you. It won’t last. Nothing ever does when you’re involved. It’s your specialty - destroying everything you touch. Your family, your stardust, yourself. Stars, even that useless coin would’ve disintegrated in your hands by now if it could!

…

The coin.

Stardust’s coin...!

You immediately jolt up, wide awake and searching yourself for a place it could be hiding. You have clothes now, and clothes have pockets. But you turn them inside out and come up empty. No no no no no this can’t be happening, stupid stupid how could you lose it so easily you idiot-

“What’s wrong? What happened?” She asks, practically dropping the tray to come to your side unhindered. 

“The- my- the coin-“ not yours, it’s stardust’s you’re just holding onto it. For safe keeping. You were supposed to keep it safe, but you couldn’t even do that because you’re so blinding useless-

The floorboards creak, and you look with wild eyes to see Lyra holding her palm out to you. Sitting there between her fingers is a single. Silver. Coin.

You snatch it up and hold it close to your chest - your heart if you’d had one. It’s cold between your fingers. Comforting. Safe. You didn’t break your promise. It’s something to be thankful for, at least…

“It was next to you when I found you. Figured it was either yours or it was just good luck. Either way, I didn’t want to leave it behind. I’m glad I didn’t...” You find the courage to look up, and she’s smiling at you with that same fondness as usual. 

Why she looks at you like that, you might never know.

“Now can you rest? Or are we forgetting anything else?” Besides your dagger and your cloak and your hat and your rucksack and your sense of self, you think you’re all set. Probably didn’t drop any of those at Cle de Lune’s Favor Tree. So yeah. You can rest now. 

You nod at her, but she’s still. Lingering! Thinking! Why! What now!!!

“… Okay, listen. I know the answer, but I think it’s important to ask one more time.” Oh, moons above, this again-? “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s important! I have no idea what I’m doing! And even though your condition isn’t fatal, I… I’m no doctor. You deserve better treatment than whatever I could give you by myself. So…”

You’re already writing out your response in big letters, a frown doodled next to it and a matching one on your face. ’NO. HOUSE. >:(‘ She needed the assurance, you understand. But if she asks you again, you might scream.

With a breath that relieved some of her tension and gifted her some determination, Lyra nodded. “Alright. I’ll brush up on my bedside manner then, if you’re really in it for the long haul.”

You don’t have much of a choice right now. You don’t think you ever did. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Okay, then… I’ll check on you in a few hours, I guess..! G’night,” she bids you, even though it’s barely midday. You wave her off.

Alone, you lay back on your pillows and stare up at the ceiling. She’s… nice. Maybe you wouldn’t mind staying for now. Living this life, at least for a little while… She’s inviting you to, despite everything today. So maybe it’s alright?

And then what? Spend a couple weeks recovering just to immediately drop off the face of the earth? Yes? Maybe???

You hold the coin up and twirl it between your fingers. The glow of your hair glitters off the silver piece, reflecting your face back at you.

… No. Even if you don’t want to be here, even if you shouldn’t exist anymore… you have to stay. You have to be patient. Because you… promised.

You promised. 

It’s not even about the questions that still need answering, like how you got here in the first place. You doubt Lyra has that kind of answer, and the Universe hardly acknowledges you unless it’s to ruin your life. So you won’t bother asking.

Just try to be grateful for this second chance. Try not to be disappointed that you’re still alive. Try not to hate every undeserved breath in the lungs you’re not even sure you have. 

Try to be happy.

Chapter Text

The House of Change looms above you. A sanctuary for the weary, a home for the lost, a school, a hospital, a place of worship. A structure of love and security.

So why do you feel so exposed standing here?

Maybe because the thought of showing your face in public again and being perceived made you physically ill. Months spent in solitude left your social skills rusty, and the added months of time lost to the curse probably didn’t help either. You only came out right before the curse took your city because you were too worried for the children to wallow in your home a second longer.

Now that you’re here again, with Housemaidens, students, and other staff greeting you excitedly as they passed, you can’t help but think… with the curse, it’s been almost a year now since…

You swallow the bile in your throat. You can’t afford to throw up right here in front of everyone. If only you’d brought your cloak with you…

If it were up to you, you wouldn’t even be here. You’re not ready to be surrounded and flooded with memories that only bring you pain. There was a time you wished for nothing but memories, but now… There are things you’d rather forget. It would hurt less.

But someone is relying on you. They were okay a couple days ago, but now it feels like they’re deteriorating rapidly. You felt like a monster leaving them alone, lying prone in bed feverish and vomiting and ice cold. But you don’t know what to do, and doing nothing wasn’t an option! You’ve been through it before. You can’t be helpless. There must be something someone can do.

So you proceed inside. It takes everything in your power not to ignore whoever comes up to you and asks where you’ve been, whether you were coming back to teach again, how they’re so very sorry for your loss as if you haven’t heard it enough. You want to run. You want to cry. You want to burn it all to the ground. But you can’t.

Mustering what little strength you have these days, you miraculously make it to the Head Housemaiden’s office without melting down in the hall. Good for you! Keep it up!!!

Mustering what little strength you have these days, you miraculously make it to the Head Housemaiden’s office without melting down in the hall. Good for you! Keep it up!!!

Ear pressed to the door, you can hear the man muttering to himself just how you remember. But when you strain to hear more than the stray word here and there, there's a crash and a clattering of objects and a swear. “STAGNATION!!!”

You jump back like his misfortune was somehow your fault. Maybe… now's a bad time? Should you come back later or maybe ask another healer for assistance?

No and no. The Quiet One is sick NOW, and waiting a few hours just because you're uncomfortable is not good enough for you. Neither is any healer other than Noé. Moons bless them in all their talent, but there's no one more skillful than your Head Housemaiden. Plus, you don't want anyone else knowing your business…

So you pretend to be someone brave and knock on the door.

“Urgh… ahem, come in!” He calls from behind the door.

“Um…” Despite your hesitance, you do as he says and push it open. In the office, you're greeted with the sight of your Head Housemaiden scrambling to pick up an entire shelf’s worth of books from the ground. “Everything okay in here…?”

”Lyra…?” The older gentleman perks up at the sound of your voice, dropping all the books like they meant nothing compared to you. You want to run. You can’t. “Right, yes, everything’s great! Come in! Come in!” You only step through because you have to. Definitely not because of how desperate he sounds.

This is the second time he’s looked at you like that this week - like you were a poltergeist brought back from the dead. Sure, you haven’t really talked since…

But it’s not like you’ve been missing, or something! Noé was the one knocking at your door every single day for at least a couple months before giving up! You just preferred to handle things alone. No need to bother anyone else with your crap.

… Actually, he might be staring at you like that because you don’t look well. You certainly don’t feel well since leaving the house. And this attention is only making it worse, so you divert it by gesturing to the mess on the floor. “What, um, happened…?”

“Hm? Ohhh!” He chuckles, and it might seem warm to others. But the hollow politeness of that laugh pains you. At least he’s looking at the pile of mess now rather than you. “Well, I was putting one of these back, but I always forget that shelf is the finicky one. Too much weight in the wrong spot, and it just… fell apart. Again.”

You were all too acquainted with the bookshelf poorly built by a man who had no business wielding a hammer - you used to have a desk created in a similar fashion. The whole thing was a wobbly mess, and the second shelf from the top was shorter than the rest and didn’t fit quite right in its spot. It was also the only one that was lined up straight. It was an ugly shade, too light to fit the rest of the room’s pallet. An eyesore that barely served its purpose enough to warrant its existence.

The Head Housemaiden could easily get a new one if he so desired. But you know he won’t because it was also built with love.

“Anyway, I’ll fix that back up later.” You’re pretty sure it’s unfixable besides sliding it back into place and hoping for the best, but go off. “Sit, sit! I feel like we have a lot of catching up to do!” The false perkiness in his voice makes you itch with irritation. You don’t know who he’s pretending for - you’re not a little kid anymore. He should just say whatever he’s really thinking! That you’re a coward for hiding, that he’s disappointed in you, that you’re a disgrace, that sort of thing. Just say it already!

You’re such a hypocrite, standing here tight-lipped as ever.

Noé gestures for you to sit in his chair, and you do so without objection. You remember a time when this seat was too big for you. Your feet couldn’t reach the floor once upon a time...

The Head Housemaiden stops at his little drink cart by the desk and pours two glasses. “Here, thirsty?” He asks, passing one to you without waiting for an answer.

Your mouth is dry, but You don’t think you can stomach anything right now - especially not something as sugary as his iced tea. “Thanks…” You murmur anyway, watching the ice clink against the sides.

“Of course!” He smiles warmly, sitting across from you like he’s the guest.

And then… no one speaks.

If you were wiser, you might call this “holding space” for the big emotions in the room, or something. But you’re not, so this is just awkward silence.

When you look up from the tea, Noé is watching you like he has something to say. And then he does, much to your chagrin [CORRECT WORD?] . “… I know you’re tired of it by now, but…” Are you alright goes unsaid, but it still feels like it’s being screamed in your face.

You grip the glass. “I’m fine. Everyone’s worried about me, but I’m fine...” Maybe if you say it enough time, it’ll be true.

“No one’s seen hide or tail of you in quite some time,” he remarks, taking a sip. ”You’ll have to forgive them for not believing you at face value.”

You frown bitterly. “They don’t care - not really. Everyone just worries ‘cause it’s polite, but they hardly know me…” Not for lack of trying, of course. People were fascinated with the new mystery girl who spoke funny and couldn’t remember her own name. But eventually, trying to understand you became more frustrating than interesting. You’re a lot more digestible now, but you keep a lot to yourself. No one gets to hear about the stars or your fears or your greatest wishes...

”It’s a big city, and you don’t let anyone really know you. Don’t fault the people for trying to be kind. And regardless, Iknow you.” Noé leans in, staring at you like he actually sees you. And he does - you know he does. You wish he didn’t. “And I know you’re not doing well. So please. Drink so at the very least, I know you’re not dehydrated.”

The more you frown, the more it feels like pouting. Like a kid caught picking at their food. “… okay.” You don’t really want to, but you manage a small sip. It goes down smoothly. The tea is refreshing and perfectly sweet as always.

”Good. Thank you.” You take a few more gulps because you really did need that actually, and you try not to be annoyed at how genuinely satisfied Noé looks. “So… Your classroom is still vacant, and I’ll keep it that way until you’re ready. The little ones are already back to asking if Miss Lyra will return soon.”

You miss teaching. But you’re still not sure if you’ll ever be ready.

When you say nothing in response, the Head Housemaiden taps the edge of his glass, moving onto a different topic. “Hmm… Your father-“

“Hard pass.” Your head shoots up, glaring at him.

“… Right.” Noé sighs, setting his glass down on the desk. “So, then? If not he-who-shan’t be named and not your classes, what is it you wanted to talk about? I’ve missed your company, Lyra, but I highly doubt you‘re here for no reason.”

Well, you knew you’d have to actually talk, but… Gah, why can’t he just know what you need?! This is too- too-! “There’s… this person…” you start reluctantly, eyes glued to your drink. “They’re really sick, but they do not want to stay at the House to get treated. And I don’t know how to help them...”

He nods along, looking over you carefully. “Alright. Is ‘this person’ code for you, or did you pick up a stray from the middle of the woods?”

“From under the Favor Tree, actually,” you sassed back, taking a sip to hide your smile. Then you do a double-take. “Wh- do I look sick to you?”

”Courtesy or honesty…? Courtesy or honesty…?” Noé wonders, tapping his chin. You gape at him and all of his audacity. “As a gentleman, I am obligated to say you look lovely as always. But as a family friend? You look terrible, and there’s no way you’re leaving without some food in you at the very least.”

“Wowww…” you drawled. “I see how it is.”

“That was me being kind about it. If I was being really honest, I’d dare to say you look like crab.”

“The Head Housemaiden? Swearing?!” You giggle, and he’s chuckling along.

It’s nice. To laugh. You haven’t done it in… a while. Pretending like nothing’s wrong and having a little fun, even if it’s just banter… it’s nice. With the stress of this past year nearly getting to you, it’s not wrong to be a little happy every now and then, right?

So why do you feel so guilty for laughing?

Enough of that, finish up and get out of here. Rubbing your face, you shut up and move on. “Anyway… I thought they might be suffering from craft sickness, but now I… I don’t know… they’re a lot worse than they were a few days ago…”

“That so?” Noé hums. “What’s this person’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No name. They don’t really… remember anything…” Or so they say. But that’s neither here nor there.

The older man takes a swig from his glass, and you can see the sentimental glint in his eyes. “Like father like daughter, hm…?”

You clench your jaw harshly. “Can you just tell me you’ll help them so I can leave?!” Shooting stars, it’s like he’s tryingto piss you off! Why does he keep bringing him up?! It’s not why you’re here, and it’s not what you wanna talk about!!!

Noé has more to say - you can see it in the way he opens and closes his mouth. But… he moves on, thank Change. “… What are their symptoms?”

“Um… Persistent fever, congestion, fatigue, body aches, sore throat? Chills, too. They were unconscious for a few days, but then they woke up…! They were up and eating and talking, and I thought they were fine. But that was a couple days ago now, and… they’ve gotten worse. Can’t keep a single thing down, and they’re in so much more pain. Kinda… delirious… I’ve been giving them tonics, but they’re not doing anything. I’m… scared they’re gonna-“

“They won’t.” Noe sounds so confident, but you’ve been here before. “Craft Sickness is one of those things that tends to get worse before they get better. This is, unfortunately, par for the course. If they can’t hold anything down, I’d avoid wasting tonics on them. Healing craft could help the symptoms, but if they don’t want to come to the House…” He pauses thoughtfully before adding, “I can stop by later, confirm the diagnosis, and see what I can do. Is that alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” you answer coldly, jumping to your feet. It’s not fine, actually, but the Quiet One needs help and deserves the best. You’ll deal with Noé’s presence when you have to, but that’s later. Right now, you’ve been here too long.  “Thank you for your time.”

“Lyra…” The Head Housemaiden calls, but he doesn’t bother following as you rush out of the office. He probably knows it’s a waste of energy.

You storm through the House’s halls with hot tears stinging your eyes. You can’t cry, you’ve done more than your fair share of moping and sulking and feeling useless. You don’t want to think about any of it. You just want to do what you can. And what you can do is go home and wait for Noé to look over the Quiet One and help them. Even though his voice is reprimanding you in your head for leaving without any food. You. Don’t. Care.

……

You make a detour to the kitchen anyway and leave with a sandwich.

The walk back home is just as torturous as it was going to the House of Change with people perceiving you and asking how you’ve been. Your cheeks hurt from the smile you’ve sloppily plastered on. Everyone can tell it’s strained. No one says a word.

You feel safer in the confines of your home. You breeze past the first floor without a second thought and rush upstairs. And there’s the Quiet One curled up in bed right where you left them. Still grumbling, still shivering despite the extra blankets and your favorite cloak layered on top. They teeter between sleep and wakefulness, not really acknowledging your existence but not really resting. Even without the energy to talk or lift their head, you stay close by. Just in case.

You take your place in the chair at their bedside, adjusting your pillows just a bit. “Sorry I was longer than expected,” you sigh. No response. They probably didn’t even notice you were gone in the first place. “But I’ve got a friend coming over later to check you out, okay?”

They must’ve heard that loud and clear because the Quiet One turns their head to glare at you. The covers are pulled up to their nose, so all you can see is their untamed lion’s mane and that pout in their eyes. Like they want to yell at you for having the audacity to keep them healthy. It would be a lot more endearing if you weren’t so worried about them.

You still manage a playful huff, unfolding your blanket and tossing it over yourself. “It was either this or the House, and we both know how you feel about that, so…” You trail off as their brow only furrows deeper. Reaching out, you push back some of their hair, taking the opportunity to wipe the sweat from their forehead. “It’s gonna be okay… You’ll be okay…” Just keep saying it. Make it real. Everything will work out. This is just a little bump in the road to your happiness.

They groan as they turn on their side, facing you fully. “Wus t’day…?” They croak out, much to your surprise. The last time you really spoke was when they first woke up. Since then, the Quiet One has been… well, quiet. Rendered too sick to speak, too busy resting to chat it up.

The last thing you were expecting them to ask about was the date, though. “Oh, um. Good question…” You murmur, scrunching your nose. You weren’t exactly keeping track of the passing days before the curse, and then you were frozen in time, so… Yeah you have no idea what day it is, and you’re not sure when you’ll get confirmation on that. “Tuesday? I think?” But they’re still kind of out of it, and a white lie never hurt anybody, right?

Just as predicted, they take what you say at face value and move on. “S’tha differen’ from yesterday…?”

You blink. “Y-Yes? It’s a different day.” That’s typically how days work, you think but don’t add. This line of questioning is very strange, but you chalk it up to the fever talking. “Guess it’s hard to keep track when you’re resting all the time…”

Their face softens until they squeeze their eyes shut, grumbling incoherently. “Hrngrgrhg…”

So cute.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay there in the silence. A couple hours, maybe? At some point you carefully propped your feet up on the bed near their’s, getting cozy and pretending nothing was wrong.

For a while, you search for other things to look at, like the items on the end table. The Quiet One likes to keep their silver coin within eyeshot. You’re not sure what the deal is with it, but you think it brings them comfort? You wish they didn’t look so sadly at it, though. Just another thing to ask about once they’re feeling better.

Right next to that is the dull letter opener they threw at you not long ago. You still smile at the ridiculous memory and how the bottle of soap did more damage than that useless tool. Still, you let them keep it close. As a scissors type, the Quiet One probably preferred having a sharp object to protect them - not that you had much fighting knowledge.

You still think about how they must’ve searched for a viable weapon that day - how they kept it and tried to use it when they felt threatened. You… don’t want to imagine the danger they might’ve encountered in their life to make them act like that.

You fight to keep your eyes open, to watch them as close as you can. But with no one to keep you company but the breeze front he window and nothing else to do but watch and wait and worry, you nearly doze off. You only stir when the Quiet One does, pushing themselves to sit up. You hastily reach forward and prop up their pillows, but they still slouch forward with a tired sigh from the soul. So much effort, they must need something.

Which means it’s time for you to decipher what! “Want me to close the window?” They shake their head and tap at their throat. “Did you wanna try eating something?” Another Shake, but you should’ve known. Their appetite has been awful - you know this, stop trying to force them to get better! “How about some water…?” When they nod slowly, you immediately hop to your feet. “Okay lemme get you some. Be right back.”

You hate leaving them alone for even a moment, which is why you practically flew down the stairs, jumping them two at a time. In the kitchen, you promptly ignore the dishes piling up in the sink and grab a fresh glass from the cupboard. Your last clean cup…

But you’re not. Gonna worry about that. Right now!

As soon as the cup is filled, you rush out of the kitchen and-

-shriek as you run into something solid, dropping the glass of water. It shatters over your feet, and you’re just grateful you never took off your boots.

Glaring up at the man in your house, you shout, “You scared the cosmos out of me!!!”

“Sorry? Should I have knocked?” Noé jumps back and instantly starts scanning the messy living room for a broom. He won’t find one that easily.

“Yes???” Is your incredulous response. The instinct to keep pushing him away is strong, but… how could he have known? It’s not as if you ever asked for the house key back, and Noé was so used to letting himself in before. So you backpedal with a guilty sigh. “No, it’s- it’s fine. Sorry, I’m just…” a disaster falling apart before your eyes, no biggie.

The Head Housemaiden quickly gave up on looking for a broom, just as you expected. “It’s alright. Now, where is this person of yours?”

“Upstairs, just... give me a second.”

It’s agonizing torture, but you force yourself back to the sink and clean a singular glass. The rest of your dishes beg for your attention, too, but you don’t have the time nor energy to spare.

You’re extra careful turning the corner with this new cup of water, checking the room for Noé’s presence. He’s over by the bookshelf, scanning the spines for anything interesting and pointedly ignoring the rest of your home surrounding him. You know he sees the mess and how terribly out-of-control it’s gotten. You know he probably disapproves or thinks it’s a serious problem (it is). You know he’s holding back some choice words for you, or at the very least, a question or two.

But for now, he acts none-the-wiser. Maybe because of your outburst earlier, or maybe because he wants to focus on why he’s actually here. Either way, Noé doesn’t say a word. Neither do you.

You silently nudge him out of his thoughts as you pass, and the Head Housemaiden is quick to follow you up the stairs. When you both reach the top of the landing, you don’t expect to be met with a sickly figure leaning against their doorframe, too fatigued to move another muscle.

“Oh my Change- what are you doing?!” Shoving the glass into Noé’s hands so you don’t drop it this time, you rush down the corridor to the Quiet One using the wall to support themselves. They’re completely out of breath just from the short distance from bed to door, and they’re gripping that useless letter opener like it would protect them - like they were in danger. “Here, I’m gonna help you. Are you okay? Why are you up?”

They’re staring at you, wide-eyed and frantic as you wrap an arm under their’s to support them. They wince but say nothing, so you don’t let go. “Heard a noise - you screamed… so…” They try to explain themselves with a hoarse, unused voice. You search their expression for a moment, and you can just tell they’ve exhausted whatever energy they might’ve been saving with all that sleep. But their eyes shine with a desire- no, a need. They’re running on adrenaline and some deep-rooted instinct to fight.

All because you dropped a silly cup and got a little spooked?

Your heart tightens.

“I’m okay,” you reassure them softly, resisting the urge to hold them tighter. In their brain fog, they must’ve thought you were in danger. You… decide not to imagine why that was their first thought. You gesture to Noé who’s been pretending not to watch you. “My friend here gave me a scare, and I just dropped a cup. Everything’s okay.”

“… Oh.” The Quiet One ducks their head, trying and failing to hide the embarrassed flush now adding to their feverish heat. With the “danger” having passed, they slump into your side, a mixture of relief and all the strength being sapped from them.

With a grin, you adjust your grip on them. “Here, let’s get you back to bed. This is the friend I told you about earlier, and he’s gonna help you. If that’s okay.” They grumbling something that resembles an okay, and you help them hobble back into the bedroom.

Noé is silent as a statue, watching and watching and watching. You’re more certain than ever that he’s racking up even more to say to you - about your living conditions, about your new roommate. All you can hope is that he keeps it to himself for now.

Once they’re situated in bed and sipping at the water to soothe their throat, you hastily move your pillow and blankets off the chair for your guest to sit. “So, this is Noé, the city’s Head Housemaiden. He/him-”

“For now,” Noé added with a playful quirk of his brow.

You laugh along politely to the dad-joke you’ve heard far too many times to count. “And Noé, this is the Sick One I told you about.”

He nods, taking the seat you’ve offered him and scooting it back a bit. “Yes, the amnesiac with what we can only assume is craft exhaustion. ==check if it’s exhaustion or sickness==“ he confirmed, pulling out a notepad from his bag. Very professional. The Quiet One looks anxious and skeptical, and you’re immediately put on edge, as well. Noé, however, doesn’t even blink. “That’s alright. Fortunately for you, I have experience with amnesiacs and various ailments. So what I’m going to do is ask you some questions our Nervous One here has probably already asked you, as well as do a proper examination just to confirm the craft exhaustion and your health overall.” For all his light-heartedness and faux naivety, you’re so glad Noé’s taking this seriously.

Even if he lied about you being nervous. Because you’re perfectly calm.

You’re just… perceptive! Watching their reactions closely! And when they nod reluctantly at Noé’s explanation, you can tell. They’re uncomfortable, they don’t like this- “Mind if we get started then?”

Another nod of their head has you sick to your stomach, and you just have to say something! “They’re not fond of sudden touching, you have to let them know first!” You exclaim hastily, surprising everyone in the room with your outburst. “A-And don’t move too quickly, and-!”

“Lyra, believe it or not, I’ve dealt with sick people before,” Noé dismisses you with that same professional tone he’s been using so far.

Okay, true. “But-” this is different, you want to yell.

“And you’re still one of the worst patients I’ve ever had - by a wide margin,” he adds cheekily. You huff in response. Alsotrue, but that’s so not the point!

You catch the Quiet One’s snort and decide to leave it at that.

Just like he said, Noé ran through various questions with the Quiet One, most of which you already asked. One by one, he used every tool he brought in his bag (with their express permission) to check their condition. He thinks he’s subtle looking at their glowing hair then at you, then at their sparkling skin then at you. You vaguely wonder if you’re the Sickly One with how your heart is pounding and your stomach keeps flipping. And now you’re pacing behind him like a caged animal to avoid his gaze because if he keeps looking at you, Noé might say something. And if he says they’re sick because of something else, says there’s nothing anyone can do, you

…

… you-

“Would you be comfortable if I continued examining you alone?” Noé’s nonchalance brings you back down to earth, though he’s not talking to you in the slightest. By the time you even realize what he’s asking, you see the Quiet One nodding. “Great,” Noé hums, turns to you, and casually gestures to the door. “Lyra, please get out.”

What.

Your heart drops, gaze flicking between the Quiet One - who seems confused by your reaction - and Noé, who’s not surprised at all. “B-But I-“

“Lyra.” His tone is firm. Unyielding. You don’t get to argue here. “Get out.”

And doesn’t that just make you want to crawl in a hole and die?

But you do it. Somehow. You force yourself to shuffle out of the bedroom. Like a kicked puppy. You shut the door behind you without accidentally slamming it because you’re just polite like that...

And immediately put an ear to it because it’s your blinding house and he can’t get rid of you that easily.

“I apologize for that. Lyra is wonderful, and I’m sure she’s taken excellent care of you so far. But her looming was quite the distraction, and it’s not too healthy for any of us,” Noé sighs, and you scrunch your nose at that. You don’t loom! You’re not a distraction!!!

You strain to hear the Quiet One’s response. You could hear their voice, but making out the words was impossible. Damn…! This is so unfair!

The Head Housemaiden hums in agreement to whatever was said. “I understand, which is why I’ll be as quick as possible. Plus, I don’t particularly like the idea of leaving Lyra alone too long when she’s so worried. She’ll pace a hole into the floor before long…!” You roll your eyes, pressing harder against the wood to hear if the Quiet One says anything about that. But Noé clears his throat instead, and speaks up. “Anyway, as soon as she stops eavesdropping, we can proceed.”

He must be joking.

With a scoff, you pull away from the door as if it burned you. Maybe he saw your shadow under the door, or maybe he just knows you that well. Either way, you don’t appreciate it.

When nothing else is said, you just kick at the door and storm off. Like the young adult you are. They’ll never get treated, at this rate. You can’t be the reason they don’t get better, so…

“Thank you!!!” Noé calls cheerfully as you storm down the stairs.

The deafening silence of the living room brings you no comfort. You sit on the couch for barely a second before you’re too restless to stay still. But you’re not pacing a hole into the floor like Noé said. You’re pacing at a perfectly reasonable speed, actually.

Everything’s okay. They’re okay! Noé’s gonna come down and tell you everything’s fine! That it’s just regular ol’ craft exhaustion, and not something serious! Not something fatal! Not something that you did! You wished for them to be here, but your wish didn’t make them sick! Wishcraft didn’t do this, it’s just a crazy coincidence! You didn’t make them sick! You didn’t do this!!!

You’re not sure when you paced yourself into a completely different room, but here you are in your pretty portrait of a front entrance. You pause just under the framed picture of a well-dressed gentleman smiling despite the professional photograph.

You find even less comfort the longer you stare up at him.

You don’t know what to do. Maybe you’ve done all you can. Maybe all that’s left is to wait. It doesn’t feel like enough.

You stand there and wait for what feels like an eternity.

Eventually, Noé joins you in the front room. You round on him in an instant, eyes wide with hope (or is it fear?). “Did you heal them? Are they okay? Are they-?!”

“Stagnation, Lyra, they’re fine,” Noé reassures you, exasperated by your persistence. You don’t mean to be so exhausting, but…

You just can’t help it. Even hearing that the Quiet One’s “fine” wasn’t enough to relieve you. That could mean all sorts of things! You can’t just assume anything here-

“Hey.” Noé places his hands on your shoulders, soothing you to the best of his ability. You manage to meet his gaze, albeit with a pathetic, hopeless expression on your face. “You’re doing an excellent job taking care of them, so of course they’re okay.”

“You’re kidding, right?” A bitter scoff escapes you, but you don’t shove his hands away. They ground you, keep your mind from drifting too far. “They’re freezing cold and throwing up and- and-” dying. They’re dying, and it’s all your fault.

But Noé says instead, “And that’s all the sickness’s doing. It’s just craft exhaustion, Lyra, and you are doing everything you can to make it better. These things just take time. They’ll be okay.” Your gaze falls as you lean into his grip. It really was just… a little overexertion? Nothing serious…? Of course it is - Noé is a great healer, which is exactly why you asked him here in the first place. If the Head Housemaiden says they’re fine, then they’re fine.

The adrenaline wears off in an instance, and all you could do was nod tiredly in agreement.“If it really is just exhaustion, then… what do I do?”

“Exactly what you’ve been doing. I’ll come back in a couple days to heal them again and check on their recovery,” Noé answers softly. “In the meantime… I need you to also start taking care of yourself.”

You blinked up at him, perplexed. “I’m not sick, though??? I-I’m doing great…!” You replied, pulling away. You sounded very, very convincing, too.

He shot you a very unconvinced look. Failure. “Really? I’m no professor like your father, but I’m not a fool, either, Lyra.” And don’t you just hate Noé bringing him up every single chance he gets?! You’re not even sure what he’s referring to! “The house is a wreck, you’re out of clean dishes and also food-” Woah, when did he check your kitchen??? “When’s the last time you were away from that fellow for longer than five minutes?”

”Well, I-“

“Not including your visit to me today?” He clarified, rendering you speechless. “You have your comforters in that chair, but I have a hard time believing you’ve gotten any sleep. I can’t imagine you’ve stepped away long enough to properly eat anything, either.” Not that there’s really anything to eat, in the first place. Again, you… don’t know what to say.

You don’t want to admit that Noé’s right (even if he is). You can’t leave them, you can’t do anything but watch them and care for them and wait for them to get worse. How can you rest? How can you do anything???

“This runs deeper than this stranger, though. You’ve been in this state for a long time, I’m sure…” He murmurs sympathetically, like he knows exactly what you’ve been going through. You hate that with your whole heart. ”Why haven’t you let me help you…?”

“Because I don’t need help, I just need a little more time…” you mutter back, finally pushing his hands off you before he dares to try pulling you into a hug. Moment’s over now.

You can feel him looking at you, but you won’t meet his eyes again. “I know. But it’ll never be enough time.” Don’t say that. You’re getting better. Just a little longer. Then you’ll be okay again. Surely. “And now there’s someone here who’s relying on you.” That’s when you spare him a glance. He’s giving you this sweet, pitying expression. “Who are they, Lyra? Where did you find them…?” What did you do, is left unsaid. But the question still lingered in the air, suffocating you.

What did you do? It’s all your fault, isn’t it? You’re just so selfish, aren’t you?

With guilt running through your veins, you swallow thickly. “I… I brought them here with… with a wish...”

Noé pauses. His eyes go wide.

A wish, you said like a swear or a heinous crime. Like you’re admitting to murder, or something.

It’s not inherently dangerous, you both know that. But you know what can happen to people to engrossed in anything from the island. You’ve seen it slowly eat it away at their body, making them violently ill.

It hasn’t happened to you yet, but you’ve yet to cross the line of what’s attainable. But to say you brought somebody here via wishcraft - someone who’s also coincidentally very sick? it’s no wonder you’ve been freaking out all week.

Might as well add this to your list of charges, too, while you’re at it. “They’re my relative. I think.” You asked the Universe for your sibling, and this is who you were given. You trust It enough to answer your prayer correctly, but you don’t have… much proof? Same hair, similar accents, sure. But you think even if they weren’t your relative… you wouldn’t care.

“Oh… Lyra, that’s…” You’re not even sure what that tone is in his voice. More pity, if you had to guess.

You put a stop to that real quick. “Please don’t. Don’t tell them- don’t tell anyone, just don’t. I was just- I just- I had to know. I didn’t want- I…” Stars, why can’t you get the words out to explain yourself? Why is your vision getting watery? “Look, I did it. It’s my wish, and it’s done now, so please… keep it to yourself…?”

The last thing you need is your blabbermouth Head Housemaiden telling the whole town about your very personal business. Not that he would - especially not out of malice. You just had to be sure. “Of course not, but this is… it’s a lot.” Noé sighs, stating the obvious.

“I know…” you whisper, shame crawling up your spine. “I’m sorry…” Good going, Lyra. Locked yourself away for almost a year, marinating in your grief and loss. Curing your pain and loneliness with a selfish wish that could’ve hurtsomeone - a thought that hadn’t even crossed your mind until after the fact. And now you dump all of this onto your father’s dear partner after shoving him away and shutting him out for so long?!

How awful can you get…?

“Well… it’s only craft exhaustion, so…” Noé trailed off, trying to reassure you that you haven’t hurt anyone. Yet. “But this is all the more reason to take better care of yourself. They need you now, and your father wouldn’t-“

”Stop!” You finally snap, shoving him angrily. He barely budges. “Why do you keep doing that?! He’s not here, he can’t help me! So stop bringing him up!!!”

He’s looking downat you, unsurprised by your outburst. Like it was inevitable. His eyes are downturned, somber. Grief-stricken. You stammer over your words trying to say something, apologize! But Noé beats you to it.

“I loved him, too, you know.” His tone is dead. Shattered and broken. No more fake cheer to mask his true feelings.

And it aches - your whole chest hurts with that single reminder. That you loved your father with the intensity of a brilliant, burning star. That you weren’t the only one to love him so deeply and miss him and break without him. That you weren’t the only one hurting.

Selfish.

You rub at your face to hide any forming tears. “I know…” you breathe. You know, you know, you know…!

“I don’t really talk about him with anyone else. I’d like to talk about him with you, but…” you don’t want to. Hurts too much. “It hurts - pretending like he never existed.” It’s the only way you’ve managed to get out of bed this past year. “Aren’t you in pain? Don’t you have anything you want to say about him?”

Nope. Not a single. Blinding. Thing.

But… obviously, Noé has a thing or two to get off his chest. So… “You… can say stuff, I guess… if you want…”

“Hmm…” The Head Housemaiden turned to the portrait on the wall, and you followed suit. You expected a thoughtful memory close to his heart. Something sentimental that would melt your torn-up heart. Instead, “Clement Durand was my most frequent and absolute worst patient,” he deadpanned.

“Sorry, what?” You guffawed at him, shocked by the sudden insult. “I can’t even remember him ending up in the infirmary that often???”

He smiled at you knowingly. “He was a lot worse about it before you came along, but it was still fairly often. I think he mentioned lying about a meeting once or twice?” You’re struck with memories of your father leaving at odds hours of the day, looking a little sick and mentioning something work-related he suddenly had to attend to. Huh. “He’s actually the reason I’m so well-acquainted with craft exhaustion; I practiced my slow-healing spell on him a lot. So desperate to learn his limits, that man never stopped until he was forced to.” … Yes. You’ve learned that the hard way. “Needless to say, I got a lot of practice out of that fool.”

You smile fondly. You want to cry. “I never knew.”

“Of course not. He didn’t want to scare you with his idiocy,” Noé explained softly. Then he chuckled. “He was the weepy kind of sick. And clingy, too; I’m just lucky craft exhaustion isn’t contagious.” You were taken about when the Head Housemaiden started terribly mimicking your father in a delirious state. “Oughhh, Noé…! My stomach hurts, hold me, feed me, blah blah blah.”

“Did you?” you wondered with a cheeky grin. You’re pretty sure you already know the answer.

He shrugged, guilty as charged. “Like I said, at lest he wasn’t not contagious.”

The idea of Noé spoonfeeding your bedridden father as he whined and nagged him like a spouse was too amusing not to snort at.

He must be done reminiscing because now he’s staring at you expectantly. But you… don’t feel compelled to say anything about him. “That was… nice, but I still don’t wanna… say anything…” Noé nods along slowly. “I… don’t know how to be without him…”

“… Me either.” He quietly admits. “But it’ll get easier. You just have to try - he would want you to try.”

Of course he would. Your father would be so disappointed to know you haven’t moved on it. You’re not so sure how much easier it could get from here… but, “I am...” you whisper desperately, even if it’s not really true.

“Are you?” He asks, seeing right through you. You say nothing, scooting closer until you’re leaning into his side. Noé hums and puts an arm around you. Then, “There’s talks of a proper celebration sometime in the coming weeks. We need a little morale after the King’s defeat, don’t you agree?” You… do. Something to look forward to after all of this nonsense sounds nice. But you listen closer, knowing full well Noé wasn’t done. “As Head Housemaiden, I ah… may have been put in charge of planning it.”

And that’s the moment you see exactly where this was going. Your Head Housemaiden was capable of many things. Planning an event of any kind was not one of them (your 13th birthday party was proof enough of that). You were only really good at planning out class curriculum for children, but maybe with your two brain cells put together, you could figure something out.

And like he said, you have to try. This might be a good step.

With a dramatic sigh, you scoot further into his embrace. “Fineee, I’ll help. Only because you’re so hopeless that you’d never get anything done otherwise.”

“Thank you...” he sighs with relief into your hair. Noé held you a moment longer, squeezing just a little too tight. Fearful, like you might disappear again. Then he pulls away and starts fishing through his pockets for something. “Anyhow, I’ll be back in two days to check in on you Sickly One. I’ll also be sure to knock this time.”

When he drops his copy of the house key in your hand and starts towards the door, you suddenly feel guilty for screaming earlier. You can’t let this change, too! (Ignore the fact that you’re supposed to believe in change) “U-Um, actually!!!” You stopped him just as he pulled the door open, and Noé turned to you, confused. You hastily offered the key back to him. “You- it’s fine. You should keep it.”

His gaze lingered on it reluctantly. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t want to scare you again.” You can hear the teasing lilt in his voice, but the Head Housemaiden still hesitated.

You nodded, pushing it into his hand. “I’m sure. He gave it to you, so… so, yeah.” It just feels right, and… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Noé barged into your life more often.

The man hummed, turning the object over in his palm. Then he pocketed it with a nod and a smile. “I understand. Good day, Lyra. Stay safe and ever-changing.”

You bid your farewells and kindly see him out, grateful to see him off this way rather than how you stormed out of his office earlier.

Now you’re alone again. But it doesn’t bother you as much.

You go to check on the Quiet One again, walking up the stairs at a calm pace once. They’re leaning back on propped-up pillows, head hanging at an uncomfortable angle as they slept. But they were resting so peacefully despite the position. The sickly sweat on their face had vanished, as well as that pained expression they’ve slept with in the past. You… almost feel like a monster for nudging them awake and helping them lay down properly. But when the Quiet One fell right back asleep like nothing even happened, you sigh in relief. And now that you’re certain they’re alright…

You gather up your comforters and take them back to your own room. They’ll understand if you can’t be by their side 24/7, surely. And if they don’t?

…

(You’re weak for them. You’d move back into that room in a heartbeat.)

Then you made your way back downstairs to your disastrous home. You can’t realistically live like this for much longer - especially not while someone lives with you. They’re counting on you to be better! But… where to start?

… In the kitchen, you begrudgingly roll up your sleeves, turn on the sink, and get to work.

Chapter Text

The house is quiet as a man settles down at your bedside. Though, quiet isn't really the right word. There's just not much to say as Noé prepares to perform his doctorly duties. A few pleasantries might've been exchanged when he first entered, but besides that? Quiet.

Well, not quiet.

You tug on your fingers (no nails to bite anymore), your ears tuning into the rhythmic pattern revealing itself just outside the bedroom.

The Soft One sprints downstairs like a woman possessed. You distantly hear her grunt and huff, struggling with something. Then she shuffles back upstairs, carrying a box or crate or whatever, which she drops off somewhere down the hall. Finally, Lyra rushes back downstairs to start the whole process anew.

That's how it’s been since Noé's visit the other day, but it’s only when the brain fog started lifting that you’d noticed the Soft One's absence from your bedside. Not as if you mind, of course! She’s a busy girl, and you don’t need her hovering near you every second of the day. With how ill you were before, you hardly even remember her constant doting aside from how annoying and suffocating it was!

The loneliness is just something you noticed. That’s all!

… You do want to know what she’s up to. Seriously, where’s the fire? What could possibly have her packing up in such a hurry?

She’s not, like, moving. Right? Because that would be ridiculous. To take someone into your care just to leave them behind! Obviously! Lyra lives here, and she’s been so great to you! She wouldn’t just stop!

[… Okay but what if.]

Nope nope nope. You’re not gonna worry about this because it. Doesn’t. Matter~!

...

… No, but seriously. What is she doing? You’ve been wondering for a while now, and she’s…

You skim over the doorway and blink. She’s standing there, staring at you with big, expectant eyes. Oops, and now you're staring at each other, which is gonna become really weird if you don't fix this.

You wave, albeit awkwardly. She smiles and waves back. Phew. Success.

Taking your greeting as an invitation, the Soft One steps inside. "Hi, uh, just checking in to see if-"

"Considering we haven't even begun, I'd say we’re perfectly fine in here," the Head Housemaiden interrupts her with a stern voice, waving her off before she becomes too much of a distraction. The smile he shoots her, though, reminds you that they’re friends, or something like that. He’s not being strict just for the sake of it. "Keep it moving, O Busy One."

The Busy One in question scrunches her nose, reluctantly backing out of the room. "Uh, right…" she mutters, fighting her instincts that told her to stay.

For a moment, Noé pauses to listen out for her. Footsteps fade, and he finally returns his attention back to you. "I swear, that girl is predictable... Breathe in for me?"

You do as requested, and Noé listens intently. Even though you barely know the girl, you can't help but agree with his comment. She sure is a hoverer, alright. Granted, it hasn't gotten to the point of forcing her out like before, but the Soft One is relentless.

Since your host is the topic right now, you're curious if the Head Housemaiden has any idea what's going on with her. "What’s she doing, anyway...?" you ask, your voice still rough but far more practiced.

"Cleaning up," he shrugs without much thought, putting the stethoscope away. "Lungs sound much better than before." Do you even have lungs? Questions for later.

Your good eye twitches. Wow, way to state the obvious! C'mon, your vision's not perfect, but you still have an eye that works! Obviously, she's cleaning up!

But you're a polite guest who was probably raised right, so instead you say, "Er… Why?"

The man rifling through his bag pauses, looking away in thought. "Ah. I won’t say more than necessary, but Lyra has been... going through something of a rough patch. The house has fallen into disarray as a result," Noé explains with appropriate vagueness, and you nod along. See, that's a perfectly reasonable explanation - makes more sense than her hating your presence so much that she'd leave. Idiot.

[The idea of someone as kind as Lyra going through such a hard time rots you from the inside. But everyone struggles with something, you suppose.]

A smile graces his expression the next time you look, though, and you tilt your head curiously. "She's been struck with the sudden motivation to tidy up, however. Wonder why that is..." The Head Housemaiden gives you a knowing look to go along with that grin, and it's easy to put the pieces together. Still, you feel the need for clarity and point to yourself as a silent question. In response, he chuckles. "Guests are rare for her these days. She doesn't want your impression of her to be sullied by her lower moments on full display."

You can't imagine thinking lowly of someone like the Soft One. She was thoughtful and caring to the point of it making your skin crawl. What's a little messiness in the face of all that? 

"I'm sure I don't have to ask this, but please be kind to her," he adds quietly, and you nod like it's a serious mission you've been tasked with. Kindness is the absolute least you could show her after everything she's done for you - everything she continues to do in vain. 

You don't have the heart to tell her it's a waste on you.

"Alright, let's get some other basics out of the way." The next thing Noé pulls out is an armband he gestures for you to put on. This happened last time, too, but now you know where it actually goes. You nod when it's in place, and the healer adjusts it slightly before beginning. Nothing happens without your say so, which is greatly appreciated. 

He squeezes the air pump that in turn squeezes your arm. It stings, but you don't react. Is it weird to find pain as comforting as you do? Maybe! But it grounds you, keeps you present when Noé asks you things like, "What are you current symptoms? I know we've gone over this before, but keeping track of what's changed is important."

You shrug the armband off and respond gruffly. "Weak. Tired." [Useless! Pathetic!] "Same as before."

Noé jots a few things down as you speak. "As to be expected. But the fatigue hasn't gotten any worse, has it?"

You can't say for certain since you feel about as awful as you always do. You shake your head. "That's good. Perhaps after today, it'll start to get better. Are you still throwing up your meals?"

With relief, you shake your head again. You still can't taste much, but it's just nice to keep food inside you. Smell-to-taste powers will come back to you in time.

[There's a word for that. A smart jock you once knew would've known it if he were here. Oh well.]

"Excellent! I'm going to graduate you to solid foods, in that case." You perk up instantly. No more tasteless soup! Now you can have tasteless other textures! "Wonderful. What about any other symptoms?" Noé continues his medical interrogation, and you shake your head a third time. Not much else to say, is there? You already said you feel just as crappy as before, so does it really matter? But from his unimpressed expression, it apparently does. "Could you think about it a little harder? It could be anything - a change in mental state or sleeping habits?"

[Mental state is as dreadful as it's always been. No change there~]

You grimace when he gets more specific, though. "... Haven't been sleeping much."

"That would explain the bags under your eyes," he noted, carefully taking you by the chin and examining your face. Your body stiffens like stone under his scrutiny, but Noé pulls away before the contact becomes overwhelming. "This might be hard to believe, but sleep is actually important when it comes to recovery."

"Shocking...!" you gasped with a sarcastic hand to your mouth.

He chuckled. "A novel concept, I know. Any reason for the sudden restlessness?"

Once upon a time, sleep used to be effortless; you were quite notorious for conking out anywhere during your travels and still being battle ready. And with how ill you've been recently, it hadn't been all that hard to close your eyes and drift away, unable to hold onto a single thought.

But you're not drifting in a feverish haze anymore. You're fully aware of yourself and what's happened to you. You know what you've done and who you've hurt and what you can never get back.

[You know what you let happen to the people you love over. and ovER. AND OVER.]

You dream of it now. Can't escape the blood on your hands. 

"... Just nightmares," is all you can vaguely mutter out. 

You're not sure how you thought the Head Housemaiden would reply. Maybe something laced with pity or some other sappy nonsense. 

"I understand," is what Noé says instead, and his voice drops all the false cheer he puts on display. You wonder if that was intentional, letting you see a sliver of vulnerability like that. You don't have time to wonder long before he starts rummaging through his bag. "Can't say for certain if this will do you any good, but lavender incense is something I've used in the past." He drops a few sticks on the end table. "Light one before you sleep, and let me know if it helps at all."

You're not sure any amount of little scented sticks will erase the vivid images burned into your mind, but sure. You'll try anything once.

[Why can't you forget? You'd give anything to forget. Of all the things you get to remember, why this? Why the blood? The screams? The deafening silence afterwards? The loneliness you caused? Your fault your fault YOUR FAULT]

Seconds blur into minutes as Noé carries on with his examination. He checks your pulse, your ears, your throat. All the while, you sit there like his obedient test subject, tuning back into the Soft One's distant running up and down... up and down... The repetition might make you loopy. Ha. Good one.

You flinch when a light spell is flashed in your eye but are otherwise stock still. At least you didn't shove the Housemaiden away this time with fearful images of a star in your face in your mouth biting down on the blinding hot plasma making mistake after mistAKE AFTER MISTAKE-

"Everything seems to be as expected," he concludes, pulling away quick enough with an apologetic look. You're not sure if that means you're doing good or bad, but Noé doesn't seem worried, so you could probably be worse. "Let's move onto the main event, if you're ready." It would be nice to get this over with, so you nod.

The room falls back into comfortable silence once again, and you focus on the fuzzy white cloak draped over you like a second blanket. Your host lent it to you some time ago, and you find comfort in its softness. Not too warm, not too chilly - just right.

Healing craft works its way into your system, dancing along your skin and tingling throughout your whole body. But it's so subtle, you wouldn't even notice it if not for the soft light emanating from Noé's hands. It's nothing like any healing craft you've felt before - not that you'd remember.

You hum, keeping your gaze fixed downward. "This is... different."

Noé hums in agreement like you were stating the obvious. "It's a unique spell I came up with for circumstances like these. It's slow-acting so as not to overwork your body. Using too much craft at once on someone with craft exhaustion is a recipe for disaster," the Housemaiden explained without pause. "I haven't had much reason to use it anymore, though I can't say if that's a blessing or a curse..."

Confused by the man's mutterings, you peek over to see the tense scrunch of his brow while he worked. You know nothing about this man, but seeing him look so... distraught? Angry? Even you know it looks wrong on him.

When he catches you staring, the Housemaiden's expression shifts to something firm but playful. "Don't get any ideas over there. Just because there's an open market for craft exhausted people around here, doesn't mean you should make this a habit, alright?"

Surprised by the sudden change, you quickly nod. The man continues his healing spell, satisfied with your answer. He doesn't get very far, however, when out of nowhere-

"Noééé!" You jump at the rapidly approaching footsteps from down the hall; meanwhile, the Head Housemaiden doesn't even bother to look up at the sound of his own name. The door swings open to once again reveal the Soft One. A hand on her hip and another holding a small notecard, she glared daggers into the back of Noé's head. "What did you do?"

"Hm? Do what?" Noé hummed with zero urgency, barely tilting his head in her direction.

The poor girl looks about ready to pop. You hate to admit how endearing the sight is, like a baby bird trying to appear as threatening as a hawk. She gaped at him, waving the note around, though he still pretended to be too busy to turn around. "The heck are you telling people?!"

Behind her back, Noé grins at you knowingly. Oh, he is blinding guilty. "Ahem... Lyra, I need you to be more specific-"

"Oh, okay. In that case, why am I specifically getting baskets of food and whatnot with letters saying 'Get well soon', 'Take care of yourselves', and the like? This is the third one already!" Ah, so that's what the note is from. You haven't heard about any baskets until now, but you don't need to know everything that goes on. When Noé finally looks over his shoulder, Lyra's pout deepened. "I thought I said not to tell anyone!"

You frown, confused. Not to tell anyone? About what, you? Does she not want anyone to know she's taking care of you? Is she embarrassed by your presence? You suppose you'd be, too, in her shoes. And it's not like you mind as much privacy you can get, but still...

"You said not to tell anyone about that one particular detail, not that I couldn't mention your guest here at all," the Head Housemaiden retorted calmly, not the slightest bit put-off by her aggravation. Meanwhile, you're only more confused! So she is okay with people knowing about you? Is this 'one thing' she'd rather keep between them also about you?

... Maybe it's better if you don't know, actually.

"You still have yet to go grocery shopping, and I’d rather not see either of you starve to death." Can't say you've ever died that way before. Must be slow. "People want to help you, so say thank you and move on," Noé added, a stern lilt in his tone. And... now that you think about it, the two of you have been eating the same soup for the past couple days - before some new foods started showing up in your bowl out of nowhere.

"Pshh..." The Soft One crosses her arms, blowing her bangs childishly. There was no further argument, but she couldn't help but add, "Well, I'm not about to say it to you - you haven't brought us anything..."

"Oh. I suppose me and my healing talents can go elsewhere, then?"

With a roll of her eyes, Lyra shoved the note away in one of her big skirt pockets. "Okay, point proven. Shifting stars, you're so dramatic..." she muttered before her tone turned skeptical, quirking a brow at the man. "Who did you you tell about my current situation, anyway?"

Noé tilted his head, thinking back. "Well, I mentioned it in passing to one of the Cartier twins - couldn't tell you which one, knife to my throat. And I believe Madame Marguerite was nearby when I did, so-"

A groan escaped her. "You mean Madame Motormouth. I'm surprised all of Vaugarde isn't in my pantry's business by now!"

"Enough bellyaching, would you?" Noé scolded her lightly. "Yes, people have a vested interest in your well being, and it's uncomfortable. I understand, especially with how long it's been."

"So then what gives? Why are you telling people my business??"

"Are you or are you not grateful that people care about you?"

Suddenly, you feel like you're witnessing a conversation that one, isn't meant for your eyes and two, has happened between them more than just this once. 

The Soft One's eyes flit about the room, landing on you for barely a second. Then she looked down almost... bashful? "... M'grateful..."

"And?"

"And... some free food isn't the end of the world..."

"Precisely," the man nods. "The attention will calm down soon, I'm sure. For now, don't squander it. They only wish to help."

"I know, stars..." she grumbled, letting the conversation die off as she entered the bedroom, dragging in a heavy woven basket behind her.

He perks up at her entrance, immediately jumping to redirect her elsewhere. "Lyra-"

"Calm yourself. M'not looming, just doing laundry," she huffed. Right, her endless quest for a clean house was still well underway. It's a viable enough answer for Noé allow her inside temporarily. But you have no doubt that if she hovered too long, he'd have something to say.

The Soft One moves about you with purpose, carefully taking the bed sheets, covers, and pillowcases from the bed. You shift to assist her without being forced to get up, and she tosses everything into the bin. She's practiced enough to replace whatever she took with a clean bedspread without ever making you stand up. Just when you think she's finished, Lyra pauses at your bedside, staring expectantly. 

You stare back, perplexed, and flinch as her hand reaches out and tugs on a piece of cloth you've been clinging to all morning. "Mind if I get this from you, as well?" she finally asks with a reluctant smile.

You... nod, letting go of the cloak that you've been using as a safety blanket since you arrived. The cloak that very much didn't belong to you despite how familiar it was. A safe feeling you can almost recall like a distant dream. You had a cozy cloak like this once.

... She bundles it up and tucks it into the basket with care. A shiver crawls up your spine. The world is so much colder somehow. You say nothing.

Her task now complete, Lyra beams with accomplishment. "Wonderful. If anyone needs me, I'll be out back!"

"Mhmm," Noé hums, watching her with a curious expression. The Soft One's grin strains as she makes no moves to leave. He chuckles, and that's when you know Lyra has now overstayed her welcome again. "You have to actually go to the backyard, first, ma chérie."

Frowning at the suggestion, she huffs and drags the basket away. "Fine, okay, I'm going...!"

Noé watches as the door clicks shut behind her, and he continues to stare even after she's gone. Meanwhile, you're busy staring at him, wondering what his deal is. The Head Housemaiden is always on the cusp of overbearing. Too much, too commanding, too suffocating. The way he speaks to her like he knows best - it bothers you for some reason. He's never malicious or cruel, and she always listens (even if she does so like a belligerent child at times). But you can't imagine having someone hover over you the way Noé does to Lyra.

The man sighs tiredly, bringing his attention back to his patient. When he catches your gaze for the second time, he doesn't seem upset. Instead inquiring, "What? You think I butt in too much?"

Well, you wouldn't say it quite like that - butting in sounds like an understatement to whatever he's actually doing. And while you weren't about to say anything before, you don't mind speaking up now that he's opened the conversation. "She doesn't seem to like it," you note. She must not - you know you wouldn't.

He huffs with amusement. "Of course not. Her father raised a very independent child. And these days, I fear she's taken that independence to its extreme. Receiving help is weakness or pity. Ironic considering how quick she is to help others." You lean in, listening intently as Noé speaks of the Soft One with such adoration. "She's hard on herself, and she'd rather do everything on her own. I let her have more than enough space in that mindset, which has clearly only made it worse. Someone has to put their foot down and remind her not to do everything on her own. To take care of herself because the people that love her don't appreciate seeing her suffer."

Oh.

He just loves her.

That's all.

...

"So you push," you murmur in understanding.

"So I push," he agrees with a smile. "I also let slip to others in town that she could use the extra assistance. And it's okay if she hates it a little as long as she's well."

... Huh. It's like the opposite of tough love. He cares so deeply for her and wants her to be taken care of, even if Noé has to force it somehow. You still think it might be overkill, but for some people, it's exactly what they need.

You sit in the quiet while Noé goes back to focusing on his spell. Time has very little meaning, so you're not sure if it's been 20 minutes or 20 days when Noé finally speaks again.

"You know, at the rate you're recovering, we'll need something else to call you other than Sickly One!" the man chuckles.

You don't really have any other titles besides that. Though, you suppose your kind host has taken to calling you Quiet One. Mentioning your sickness seems to bother her a lot. You don't mind - it's an apt description these days. So, "Quiet One's fine..."

He glances up from his work to catch your gaze. You don't like how he tries to see you. "I was insinuating something more along the lines of a name. Any ideas on what you'd like to be called?" he asks bluntly, and you

freeze.

Names weren't really your strong suit. Siffrin was the best you'd ever done. Loop wasn't all too creative or interesting, and you can't think of anything else right now. Maybe because you don't want to think about the names you've left behind. Maybe because you don't want to let go of what can't be yours.

Your mind is devoid of ideas.

Noé must see it because he leans back to give you more room to breathe. "That's alright," he shrugs like everything would be perfectly fine. "We called Lyra 'Unetelle' for years. At some point, that just became her name - notre petite Mademoiselle Unetelle." The little story calms you, and you crack a smile. Little Miss So-and-So. That's so blindingly endearing and fits the Soft One well. "That was until she finally buckled down and picked a couple out for herself, of course."

You knew Lyra had chosen her name, she told you as much herself. But you didn't realize she had more than one. You had a bunch, too, but that was before. You've discarded most of your names now.

You are very much lacking in the names department.

Nothing else is said until Noé pulls away, and the soft tingling all over your body fades with his absence.

"Well, it seems I'm finished here for today." You look up to see Noé gather his belongings into the bag. "I would suggest one more of these sessions, then I believe your body can handle the rest of your recovery on its own," he hums, getting to his feet. You just nod in agreement. Anything to not feel so miserable. He nods back before striding to the door. It opens, but he pauses for a moment. "You're doing very well, Quiet One. I'm relieved to see you bounce back so quickly."

You can't decipher the tone in his voice when he speaks to you one last time. He's smiling, but it's a bitter thing. Somber. Did he not expect you to get better before? You're suddenly relieved to be bouncing back, as well.

With a final hum, the door clicks shut, and you’re alone once again. 

You sigh deep and achingly before falling back in bed to stare at the ceiling. This. This has to be the worst part about being bedridden.

The boredom.

There's a word for that. For a boredom so dissatisfying it leaves you listless. Hm.

You’re certainly losing brain cells with every crack and blemish you count in the ceiling. But what can you do besides lie here and wait for the time to pass? Sleep? Noé left that incense for you to try.

… You barely spare it a glance before reaching for the letter opener instead.

It's a little duller now thanks to your efforts, but that's fine. You run it over the wooden headboard, making a single little scratch. It matched the two before it. There! Now you know today has happened, even if your blade's a bit weaker for it. It’s hardly something to worry about - there’s no danger here. You’re… safe.

[But you know you know you know that’s not true. The other shoe is always destined to drop when you’re involved. Just a matter of time. You have to be ready.]

Besides, it’s bad enough you can’t really move around in this state. You’ll be damned if you’re caught off-guard without a suitable weapon again. You still think back to the morning Lyra screamed. How you leapt (hobbled) to her defense with nothing but this stupid tool and a few thousand skirmish memories resurfacing to assist you.

You cringe just thinking about it. You must’ve seemed like such a weirdo! The Soft One hasn’t mentioned it, but you can picture how stupid you looked. And worst of all, you wouldn’t have been able to help her if she really was in danger…

You don’t want to think about why that bugs you so much.

…

…… But there’s not much else to do besides think. And it really does annoy you how helpless you’d been. Weak and powerless. And the Soft One - you’re sure she’s never hurt a fly much less had to seriously defend herself.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, broken bodies lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless after being thrown around like rag-dolls. They stopped breathing long ago. You might not have been the one to hurt them, but that blood stained your hands over and over and over and-

and you’re afraid to add anyone else to the pile, stranger or not.

………

Wow! Great talk! A real pick-me-up, that was!

You toss in bed, trading the letter opener for a pack of playing cards. You think about absolutely nothing as you shuffle the deck with more force than necessary. _Please don’t crease, please don’t crease, please don’t crease…_

You should’ve asked the Soft One to show you card games meant for one player. It’s hard to win at go-fish when it’s just you, and even harder to cheat~

With no one to play with, you tediously reorganize the deck, setting aside a suit once it’s numbered ace to…

… You don’t rip up any of the king cards. Destroying Lyra’s things wouldn’t be as therapeutic as you think. You just wish he wouldn't ruin card games, of all things, for you.

With the whole deck organized, you put it all back in the box and set it down. You breathe in... and out... and dig the silver coin out of your pocket to hold. For reasons.

Your legs shake as you stand up, but you're pleased to find your body aches less overall. Maybe you really are getting better... whatever that means for you. Once you're steady without leaning on the end table, you take a step. Then another. Then you're strolling around the bedroom, one hand clutching the coin to your star like a lifeline while the other sticks out to balance yourself. You round the foot of the bed-

Ow.

... You knocked into it. Embarrassing!

The room's neater than when you first arrived, courtesy of the Soft One's compulsive cleaning spree. No more dust, new curtains, fresh cinnamon candles that you refuse to light. She's doing everything she can to make you comfortable here, and you keep swallowing the need to tell her wasteful her efforts are on you.

There's not much she can do about the floorboards that creak under you as you slowly cross the room just to see if you can. And you can! Technically! It's an exhausting endeavor, but you made it from the bed to thee window. Improvement!

You celebrate by resting against the open window to catch your breath. Just a second, then you'll see how far this black hole of a body can really carry you.

In the small backyard below, the Soft One hangs damp laundry on a line. You can distantly hear her humming a light tune, bopping her head along. She looks carefree, like the only thing she has to worry about is getting the sheets dried. You rest your head against the window, nodding along as well.

This feels vaguely familiar, people-watching from afar. Seeing how others go about their lives and trying to emulate them. You wonder if doing more of this in the future will help you relearn how to act human. You wonder if anything can help you with that.

[You've pretended before. Got good at it. Surely, you're not any more broken than you once were.]

When you realize the humming has stopped, you look down to see the Soft One also stopped doing her chores. Instead, she's staring up at you, her face a mix of emotions you can't decipher. It settles into a smile, though, as she waves at you.

You wave back, which only invites her further. "Nice to see you up and about!" she called up to you. "How're you feeling?"

Tired. Sore. Useless. You try to find a response that won't worry her, though. "Bored," you huff.

"Yes, rest tends to be very boring, that's typically how it goes," the girl giggled back teasingly. You respond with a deadpan glare that only serves to make her laugh harder. "Why don't you practice those exercises I showed you, get some use out of that notebook?" the Soft One finally suggested.

You make a face. That somehow sounds more boring than sitting in bed.

She scrunches her nose. "Oh, come on. What'll happen if you need to write a letter and can't because of your chicken scratch?" The young girl is so insistent that you can't help but reconsider even though you have absolutely no reason to be writing letters in the future. No one would expect nor want to hear from you, after all. Still, maybe a page or two wouldn't hurt... As if reading your mind, Lyra smiles and shoos you away. "Go practice!"

And even though you don't really want to be alone, you hobble away from the window and do as you're told.

Waiting for you at the desk is some new utensils, an empty notebook, and a few loose sheets with a neatly written copy of the alphabet, as well as some writing exercise instructions.

A teacher, that's what the Soft One said she used to be when she brought up the idea of writing lessons to you. She used to educate little kids on reading, writing, math - all sorts of things. It only made sense that she'd want to do the same for you, which is ironic considering the Soft One's still practically a kid in her own right - at least to you.

She quietly dodged the question when you asked why she stopped teaching. You should've known better than to pry.

Falling into the desk chair that miraculously hasn't given out on you yet, you grab a nearby pen and start practicing. If only it would, then you'd have an excuse to avoid this entirely.

One hand light-knuckling the silver coin and the other holding the pen like a foreign object, you write one letter at a time. Over and over. You're not fond of the repetition, but at least you have something physical to show for it. You flip and do the other side, as well. 

You see no improvement. The time passes anyway.

You never were a good student. Sitting in a classroom was actual torture compared to sailing or stargazing. Your instructor had to work extra hard just to keep your attention. You remember when he-

<<- <<- <<-

A new page, a new task. You try the Soft One's idea of writing something more than just the alphabet like a toddler. You write a letter addressed to...

It's just an exercise. No one will actually see it. You address it to no one in particular. 

Dear Nobody,

I don't actualy know what I'm doing.  But that's the popular genre these days,  isn't it?  Not knowing anything.  Who I am,  how to write,  what my purpose is,  why I can't catch a blinding break.

Okay, that's a lie.  I know why I can't catch a break.  I just wish it wasn't true.  Wish I wasn't some disgusting THING that sucks the life out of everyone around me.  Wish I hadn't lost EVERYTHING

I shouldn't wish for anything,  though.  Not after what you did last time,  twisting my wish into something I never wanted.  Maybe you just like laughing at me,  take plesure in my misery.

Curse you.  Curse you for everything you didn't do to help me.  Curse you for letting me believe I might ever deserve anything good.  I know better now,  don't worry.

Consider myself a nonbeliever :)

Sinserely, Nobody.

The scribbled words on the page barely leave a mark on your brain, knowing full well you won't remember a thing you wrote soon enough. You read it again anyway just to let the feeling settle in where facts won't remain. Once, twice, three times.

You rip the page out of the book and tear it up into tiny stupid insignificant pieces.

... That's enough practice for one day, you think.

Bitterness leaves a burn in your chest the longer you sit there. But you won't think about how lacking in purpose you are. How pointless it all is. You'll just think about nothing. Nooo thingggg~

...

...... Aaand you're bored again.

There isn't much left for you to busy yourself with in here. You've seen all there is to see in this bedroom. Hm. Hmmm!

The chair squeaks as you push away from the desk. Well then! You'll just have to find something to do elsewhere!

Your body still doesn't fully cooperate, but you're an old hat at this by now. Putting one foot in front of the other, you soon close in on the bedroom door and the possibilities that lie beyond the threshold. 

The hallway is quiet and empty and freakishly clean when you pull it open. As enticing as the staircase seemed, a smart person like you would save the best for last, no? You spare them a longing glance before turning your attention to the rest of the corridor.

With a fiendish grin, you follow along the wall towards a new horizon. The hall itself is as bland as it was the last time you were out here (not that you were really paying attention at the time). A long runner over the wooden floor - an old one, too, if the fraying ends meant anything. A chair and little bookshelf at the opposite end by the window. All three doors in the hall looked identical to yours. Thus, there's only one way to know what's on the other side. 

You hobble down the hallway and open the door furthest from yours.

It's a little storage closet.

... Well, that's a bit anticlimactic.

Still, you won't let this deter you! These are the boxes the Soft One was packing up; there must be something here! You peel open the top-most box... to find it filled with old books and a ridiculous amount of loose papers.

Okay, no, you're not disappointed. You're just a little nosy, that's all! And it's not like you haven't found anything interesting! Some of these are drawings or graded assignments from her students. They were a creative little cluster, and they all seemed to adore her. Others are letters from townspeople who... use the words "my condolences" an awful lot.

You shut the box.

... You cram yourself into the closet and shut the door. Sat between a coat and some long scarves, you think you like this. Dark. Cozy. You sift through the coat pockets to find a smoking pipe as old as the clothing, apparently. The whole closet smells almost like ash and old paper and tucked away memories. Yuck. But at least your curiosity's been sated.

The next door you open across the hall leads you into another bathroom. This one's bigger and feels much more lived in than yours. A light towel hung on the rack, still damp. Soaps and other products sat along the sink - brand new, too, with how full they are. The air is still warm with steam. The mirror is fogged up, so you wipe it with your hand, and-

-it's Stardust.

Well, no, it's you. You with a face you loathe and envy. You with a head of hair you stole and... sticks up every which way. Eh, you could... stand to bathe, too, maybe. 

Later.

Exhausted, you let you're knees give out just over the toilet seat and sit there for a moment with your legs pulled up to your chest. Cold hands find your ears, and you fold them inward like raviolis. The world around you muffles. Huh.

Well, isn't this a familiar scene? Can't say you've had a good track record when it comes to bathroom-related breakdowns, but you've grown since then! Besides, this one is much brighter than the one at the House, from what you remember. Lonelier, too, without your...

Okay, might as well take the time to unpack a few things while you're here. They aren't your family. Those people walking around somewhere with their faces - not yours~! And even if they were, you still don't have a right to their companionship. Not after everything you put them through. Not after giving them all up for what you thought was a sliver of freedom!

And that's okay. You just gotta be okay with that; it's your fault, after all.

You pull your legs in tighter, trying to emulate the claustrophobic feeling of a bathroom stall.

Stars... without them, you have no sense of direction or purpose. They were your reason for being after drifting through life for so so so long! Without them, you don't know what you're doing. Seriously, what the hell's the point of some supposed "second chance" if you have to spend it alone? Why the hell are you bothering when you know nobody is waiting for you?!

[Because someone is, and you promised him. Fickle and callous and vain as you may be, you still promised. That still has to mean something to you. Otherwise, you won't have anything left.]

The silver coin weighs like lead in your pocket, an anchor grounding you to what's important. You'll see him again. You have to. Which means finding the willpower to carry on through this loneliness for just a little longer.

Live. Find Stardust. Return his coin. And then...

And then you'll figure it out from there, you suppose. A solid plan in the works. 

Live. Sounds a lot like acting to you, pretending like you know what that even means. Besides that, though, there's not much acting left for you to do. Look at the bright side, at least you're finally out from under the Universe's spotlight - managed to drag yourself out of Its theatre. You still need to flesh out this new character a bit - polish up the rough spots, and whatnot. Still no name, no identity, nothing to properly immerse yourself in the roll. And while you don't really care one way or another, the Soft One certainly does.

Stars, you cannot let her know just how deeply wrong your existence is. She's already having to deal with your sick, pathetic, space-wasting self as it is! You couldn't even pull your weight to be of use to her if you tried! So you have to give her something. Try harder, do better, stop ruining everything, and pick a blinding name already!

You breathe in... and out...

Mirabelle. Isabeau. Bonnie. Odile.

Those names are already taken, but at least you haven't forgotten them. Don't forget, don't forget, don't forget. It's the absolute least you could do. It hurts, but you can just consider it part of your punishment. Stars, you're so sick of feeling alone.

... There's Lyra. At least you have her.

[You don't have her. She's just around because she took pity on you.]

But that's something to think about another time.

Alright, deep breath in... deep breath out... Phewwwww...! Went a little mental there for a second! Way to bring it back to what matters!

Once your legs are somewhat rested, you get back up and... you take the bottle of soap bubbles. Smells very very faintly of flowers, although your nose is still out of commission to say for sure.

...

...... You lick at the top juuust a little and immediately make a face. Blech! Bitter!

............ You do it again. 

Wow! That's enough of that!

You exit the bathroom.

The final door... well, by process of elimination, you know what's behind it. The Soft One has to sleep somewhere, after all. But as you hold the doorknob, you wonder if you should just leave it alone. Lyra obviously wouldn't want you snooping in her room of all places. 

Nosiness wins, and the door swings open with ease.

Regret hits you almost as suddenly as the migraine, sharp pain behind your eyes and nausea stirring in your gut unlike anything you’ve felt before. Like a firework going off right in front of you, you’re blinded by your own overwhelmed senses.

[Stars, stars, stars all around you.]

[You want to throw up.]

You rub at your temples, urging the pain to ebb even a little. Stealing another peek brings the pain back, but… not as much. Slowly, slowly, slowly, it hurts a little less. Until finally, you can open your eyes without being assaulted.

The culprit of your immediate suffering surrounds you on all sides. Star charts hung like posters, crafted lights strung up in the shapes of constellations you don’t recall, book pages pinned to the wall written in a language that still feels foreign to you.

Lyra’s wrapped herself up in the Universe's embrace like a shawl. You wonder if this all brings her comfort or if she hurts more from these efforts. You don’t think you could live your life in a room like this. The thought makes you sick.

You leave.

So much for that adventure. But that's what you get from crossing the line - a big slap across the face from the Universe Itself. But that's okay. You're not done yet, by any means.

The shelf tucked between what you now know as the bathroom and Lyra's room catches your eye. You brush your fingers over the knick knacks, taking special care with a craft ceramic duck quacking in silence. The top shelf was mostly meant for dropping things off haphazardly, like some very nice folding paper.

... As a devout follower of the rogue's "finder's keeper's" rule, you swipe the paper and tuck it in your pocket.

You pause, brow furrowed at the sight of some random bits of wood cluttered together. If you had to guess, it looked like some sort of puzzle - unfinished and left to sit in its incompleteness. Interest piqued, you gather geometric sharp pieces and slide them into your other pocket. You're nothing if not a puzzle master!

[You're nothing to begin with.]

...

The rest of the house beckoned you, and so you went. Peering down the daunting staircase on shaky, unreliable legs, you... decide you could totally do this. Sure, you've done more walking in the last 20 minutes than you have all week and your joints ache and you're out of breath, but! You're not that sick! And now's the time to prove it.

Easy.

Bracing on the handrail with as strong a grip you could muster, you breathe in... breathe out... and take the first step. And would you know it?

Gravity is about as kind to you as the Universe is!

That is to say, you eat shit astronomically. Tripping down the first few steps, skipping a few more with endless momentum, and slamming into the wall that awaited you at the bottom.

Owww...

Groaning in pain, you collapse onto the landing with your back to the wall. That's enough of that. Just... need a minute... to catch your breath... Then you'll drag yourself back to the bedroom...! It's either that or wait for the Soft One to find you. You'd rather not die of embarrassment, though.

... But you're not sure if you can get up.

...... Embarrassment isn't the worst way to go, you guess.

Making peace with the idea of being found here like an idiot, you dig through your pockets for the goodies you swiped earlier. Folding paper and wooden pieces sat on your lap, and the letter opener lay beside you while you decide on how to pass the time. 

You pick up a little piece of wood, then another, and begin trying to put them together.

They fit at odd angles, and you adjust the pieces several times as you go along. While you attempt the puzzle, you wonder what it'll turn into. Some sort of animal? A face? You're not sure what could be so pointy, though…

You finish it fairly quick with the last piece fitting into place. And for a moment, you're proud of yourself! But the longer you stare at the little structure in your palms, the worse you feel.

It's a star.

[You put the star back together.]

Ha.

Ha!

Hahahahahaha!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

SEE- See it's FUNNY because you can't be put back together! You're broken beyond repair! That's FUNNY. HILARIOUS.

You tear the pieces apart and fling them across the steps, ruining the puzzle. There. That looks better. Much more accurate.

Breathing doesn't make you feel any calmer, so you pull out a piece of paper and start folding.

It's been a while since you've been able to do any origami; the loops made sure of that. For a split second, you were scared you'd forgotten how. But some things stick with you, be it muscle memory or something else. And after that first fold, it all came flooding back.

You suddenly feel a lot better, folding up a storm! Although, you only know how to fold one thing, even after all this time, and soon you've started an army of paper cranes.

"Hey, a crane!"

"Oh! Show me, show me!"

"I didn't know you knew how to make those, Sif! Where did you learn?"

[You still don't... You still can't remember who taught you.]

You move on to the next page. Time loses meaning - a feeling that you're used to. You can't say how much of it passes as you work, but you can say you're running out of paper. At least you're content. The house is quiet and you're alone, but at least you can pass the endless time somehow.

Wood creaks somewhere to your left, and you drop the crane you're working to reach for your weapon.

You throw the letter opener at the offender without warning, only to pale at the sight of a girl stiff as a statue. The blade you just threw grazing the wall before snapping entirely. She stares at you, then at the broken letter opener, then at you again. "Um???"

"S-Sorry!" Is your frantic, immediate response. How do you keep doing this?! You're supposed to be kind to her, but all you do is almost hurt her! "I'm sorry I- are you-"

"No no, I'm okay. You have one heck of a throwing arm, you know...!" The Soft One giggles nervously, and you can't help but think she has a point. This was the... what, third time you've thrown something her way? Your track record for actually hitting her was low, thank the stars, but still...

The Soft one bends down to pick up the pieces of the blade. Inspecting it for a moment, she sighs and sets them in the corner of the landing. "Yeah, letter openers aren't really meant to be weapons, you know," she comments as if you weren't well aware. It's all you have, though. 

Lyra smiles softly as she approaches, sitting on the step just below you and adjusting her skirt. "If it really makes you feel better, I could get you something sturdier like a kitchen knife? Not much better, but it'll at least stick in the wall when you throw it."

Eh, that could work. Better than nothing, anyway.

"So um..." she gestures vaguely to your current situation. "What happened? Are you... okay?"

Ah. There's that embarrassment coming to kill you.

Warmth trickles up your neck as you busy yourself with a new page. "Fell. Didn't feel like getting up..." you murmured.

"Didn't feel like it, or couldn't?" the Soft One clarifies, leaning in to search your face. Hers is scrunched with concern, waiting for a response. You say nothing. A sigh breaks the silence, and she's crawls up to sit next to you. "You're supposed to be resting." With a huff, you gesture to yourself sat here at the bottom of the stairwell. "Somehow, I don't think this counts."

Well. You can't really argue with that.

"At least you've kept yourself occupied. These are cute. I can only do stars,” Lyra mused, carefully picking up one of your little bird soldiers. "Got this from the hallway, did you?"

Body stiff and chest glowing warmer by the second, you figure you need to say something. “Sorry… for using your stuff…”

The Soft One shrugs. “Nah, it's okay. I'm a big believer in sharing is caring. Did you at least have fun?"

Well, you wouldn't really call today fun. You waddled around, indulged in your nosy nature, cursed your deity, fell because karma, and now you're here surrounded by puzzle pieces and origami and guilt. The truthful answer would only worry her, though. So you nod. 

“Then that's all that matters.” She smiles brighter than a star, making your stomach churn. Her stare pins you in place, always watching and wondering. "You knowww... the only thing I have yet to clean are those clothes you're wearing," the Soft One finally says.

Oh. Oh no.

"I think it's time for you to take a bath." Dread sits like a boulder on your chest. You frown at her, scooting away as best you can. "Don't give me that look, you'll feel so much better once you're clean! I know I do!"

You don't even know if you can get up right now. If you even have the strength to clean yourself. That alone makes you feel worthless all over again. But the Soft One's gaze is holds such affection and expectance, and you can't find it in you to ruin that. "Fine..."

She's immediately on her feet, elated by your answer. "Okay then!" You're still trying to figure out how you're making it up the stairs, let alone getting to your feet in the first place. Meanwhile, she's busied herself with nudging cranes aside and picking up the wooden puzzle scattered on the staircase. “Oh hey. Couldn't figure it out either, huh? I've heard it's supposed to be impossible, or something. Must be, since I've been at this stagnant thing since forever.”

… It can't be that hard, can it? You did it your first try! You were barely even paying attention!

After shoving the pieces into her pockets, she offers a hand to you. "Ready when you are."

Ready? You roll your eyes at the word. But you have to move eventually, so you take her hand. It's warm as she pulls you up up up until she's got you slung over her back???

The squeak you let out is downright humiliating, doubled only by the way Lyra giggles at you. "Pinky promise I won't drop you, I know I'm sort of a weakling, but you're pretty light. Plus, I did this with you the day I found you, and it was fine!"

You cling to her for dear life while she climbs the steps with only a slight struggle. "Y'know, this is actually easier with you awake...!" she huffs out, and you just want her to stop mentioning how she already had to do this before you spontaneously combust.

The trip isn't so bumpy once she makes it up the stairs hauling your dead weight. She carries you to her bathroom without a single complaint, gleefully setting you down on the toilet seat. Deja vu sets in while she kneels by the tub and fills it.

Finally, Lyra turns to you. "All set! Do you, um..." Once again, she's gesturing to you and your dirty clothes. "... need help?"

A question has never stung more. Too weak to even undress yourself, she thinks. Too helpless to do anything right, aren't you? Could you even make it from here to the tub?

"I can... I can do it..." you mutter in a low, unconvincing tone.

She doesn't call you out for it, though. Instead, the Soft One makes her way to the door. "Alright. I'll be back with some new clothes for you. Any preferences?"

You shake your head without much thought. Doesn't matter what you wear anymore. She takes your wordless answer at face value and leaves. 

And you're alone. Again. Really, this is starting to get cliche.

After that little tumble, your body ached in all sorts of new, fun ways! Still, you're on your feet once more, looking anywhere but the mirror. In fact, your eyes glaze over as you carefully tug at the bottom of your shirt. Lightless fingers dig into equally lightless fabric, but you don't think about it can't think about it won't think about it.

You toss the shirt away, ignoring how the room brightens thanks to your exposed star. After removing the coin from your pocket and setting it on the counter with unspoken devotion, you shrug your pants off next. 

You want to feel ashamed. You want to feel indecent for being nude. But there's nothing about your anatomy to hide. Nothing of note besides just how incorrect you are. 

You sit in the tub, pull your knees to your chest, and stare at the wall ahead. The water was warm, but ice still sits in your veins [or whatever it is you have now. Can you even bleed?]

"Back!" Lyra opens the door, gracing you with her kind energy. "I brought you some of my clothes to borrow since I think they'd fit you best."

You barely hum in acknowledgement, focused on looking anywhere but down.

The girl falls silent, putting the clothes down by the sink. You're not sure if she's looking at you. The water's surface obscures most of your body, and you hope she doesn't see all of your disfigurements. "Everything okay over there...?"

"No."

More silence. You were too harsh or too honest or something. She'll probably leave you to wallow in your revulsion alone. You told the Head Housemaiden you'd be kind to her, and you can't even do that much. And she's- she's-

She's sitting on the floor just beside you, pouring something into the bath with a kind smile. "Want some bubbles?"

...... You can't for the life of you figure out how that'll help you in this moment, but you suppose they can't hurt either. Unless you try to taste them.

The bath soon smells of flowers you can't recall the names of, and she's splashing the water around until there's a pile of bubbles to obscure your view of everything you hate. Only when some of the tension leaves your shoulders does the Soft One offer you a sponge. "Better, I hope?"

Yeah. Better is definitely a word you could use. "Mm. Thank you."

"Don't mention it...!" You don't know why, but you're shocked when she gets to her feet. She's going somewhere? "Alrighty, then. I'll give you some privacy. Just holler when you're done-"

"Wait!" A wet hand is clinging to her skirt before your brain can even object. Her surprised gaze turns from you to the hand on her clothes. Frantically, you pull away and try to apologize, but... words fail you, of course. "I..."

The idea of being alone with your thoughts one more time was too much to bear.

Her face softens with pity [Gross gross undeserved gross] as she slowly kneels back down. "Want me to sit with you?" Once again, you lack self-control as you nod desperately. And all she says is, "Okay," before doing exactly that.

You could cry. You won't.

She makes herself comfortable with her back to the tub, pulling out the loose puzzle and fiddling with the pieces stubbornly. You breathe in... breathe out... and slowly start scrubbing away at yourself with more force than necessary.

Before the silence becomes too much, she speaks up. "Sorry I haven't really... been around, I guess." You listen, glancing over just to see how she's butchering that puzzle. "Things have been moving so fast since the curse lifted, and I might've forgotten how to be a good host...?"

Your brow scrunches. She's apologizing to you? After everything she's done for you?! She can't possibly be serious!

"Being bedridden all the time sucks, but Noé makes it seems like I'm being too clingy, or something. Plus, the house really was a wreck, so... yeah," Lyra continues, frowning like she has a reason to be disappointed with herself. "What I'm trying to say is: I don't know what the heck I'm doing! It's hard to tell if I'm being too much or not enough, so just... let me know...?"

You mull over her words for a good while. She's fidgeting, fumbling the puzzle more than before somehow. You don't know what to say, so you just... say what comes to mind.

"I think... you're fine," you murmur, glancing away. "Well, not fine - you are too much. You're too... too nice and warm and sweet. You're kinda suffocating, and I might've forgotten how to handle people..." Oh yay. It's that good old honesty rearing its ugly head. "But it's okay. You're... you're pretty great, and today was kind of lonely? Without you...?"

"Sorry-!"

"No, don't- you're a busy person...!" You interrupt her quickly before she can hit you with another apology. "I just mean... don't be a stranger? You're too much, but in a good way?" You're messing this up in so many ways, shooting stars! Why do you even bother speaking?!

But Lyra is smiling at you, gentle as she always does. "I understand... Then I'll continue being too much in a good way. And if you're ever lonely, tell me, and I'll come running. Deal?"

You smile back. It's clumsy and awkward, but it counts. "Deal."

She beams at you, returning to the puzzle with renewed enthusiasm. She's still failing miserably, and you can't help but ask, "Have you ever finished it before?"

"Ha!" She snorts in response. "If I did, I'd have it displayed in my front room like a trophy." Well, now you definitely can't tell her you finished and deliberately took it apart. Her amusement doesn't last long when she finally gives up, putting the pieces away. "Oh well. I'll just try again another day," she sighs about the star. 

[You don't understand why she'd bother. You certainly wouldn't.]

"Hey, can I... Do you think I could wash your hair?" she asks out of nowhere. Your head shoots up, wide-eyed with shock. The Soft One blinks at you, almost as surprised with herself. "Well, it's just- it's a bit of a mess, and I was just wondering- you can say no! I know you're particular about touch...!" Nooo, not again! What is it with people assuming you can't handle a little physical attention?

You could say no. It'll feel weird. But she looks so eager, and you're desperate to have anyone close. Reluctantly, you nod and turn your back to her. "You can wash my hair... I don't mind..."

A squeaky little yelp escapes her, and Lyra's away from your side for barely a second before returning with a brush and some soap. "Okay. I'm gonna put my hands in your hair." A moment later, she does exactly that. You jump at the gentle touch, shoulders stiff and tense. But Lyra must be used to your skittish behavior by now because she continues brushing her fingers through your mane. 

"How's this? Okay?" she wonders softly behind you, helping you get used to the feeling. And you think yeahhh this is awful comfy before thoughts start to float away altogether. It's soft and warm and safe. You're not sure if you ever actually respond, but you lean back into her kind hands. The sponge floats somewhere nearby, long forgotten.

Yes. This is very okay.

You watch as water drips down the tiled wall across from you, and you can't help but think just how nice this is. How you could get used to this. Even though you won't. You can't. But still, no harm in enjoying it while it lasts, though, right?

"When..." You don't mean to speak up, but now you have her attention. You have to finish your stupid question. "When will you be done cleaning?"

"Mmm, soon I think. I've still got the kitchen, and dusting down the front room..." she trails off, muttering other chores that need doing while she scrubs at your scalp.

"I think... you should slow down..." you whisper, leaning back. It's a selfish thing to ask of her. You know that. But would it be so wrong if she had a little more time to indulge you? A moment to rest and just exist near you?

Sudsy hands pause, entangled in your hair as she mulls over your suggestion. "I don't know if I can..." she whispers back in a fragile tone. "There's so much to do - so much I've fallen behind on..."

You figured she'd say something to that effect, but it didn't make hearing it any better. There'd always be more work for her to focus on instead of keeping you company. Selfish. She has a life that doesn't revolve around the sick stranger she took pity on. Selfish selfish selfish. You don't even know her, and still, you demand her time and energy!

You don't want to be alone any longer than you have to. You still crave the company because you're sick and needy and selfish.

[Nothing you ever hold is yours to keep. You've lost the right to anything permanent.]

But you can't just leave it at that. Pulling away from her grasp, you turn to stare at her. "Please. One thing at a time, at least. And- others could help...! I could help-"

"No way, you're still sick. And you're starting to sound like Noé, too." She rolls her eyes playfully, reaching for the brush.

You deflate at her immediate rejection, as well as the implication that you're getting on her nerves. Ouch. But deserved. "Is that so bad...?" 

She pauses. "... No. He's doing his best, and I'm trying to be more receptive to his overbearing nature since he's... all I..." Lyra trails off, eyes down-turned with sadness. Before you can even think to ask, she blinks it away with a laugh. "I guess you're right. Enough cleaning for one day, at the very least."

You breathe deeply and nod. You're not sure what's she's trying to compensate for, but she's done more than enough.

With a weary smile, the Soft One turns your head, and the brush drags through your tangled mess with a careful touch. "I'm definitely gonna finish this, though. Your hair is so brilliant - I'm kind of jealous... Wish my hair glowed..."

You find it hard to agree knowing all the consequences that come with a wish like that, but you don't argue with her. She sounded so reverent, meticulously unraveling one knot after the next. Luminescent strands feel over your face as she worked. The sight reminded you of your unnatural physique, so you just... shut your eyes and reveled in the attention.

"If you want, we could spend the rest of the day hanging out?" she asked hopefully.

It's all you want. You hum, eyes glazed over. It's like you're not even here anymore. You're drifting among the stars, the only sensation being the warm water against your skin and the scratching in the best way against your head. 

"We could play cards some more. As long as you don't cheat again!"

You exhale through your nose. You'll be sneakier next time, that's all.

"You could even show me how to fold cranes! And I can show you how to do stars!"

"Absolutely not," you grumble defensively. Cranes are your thing - no one else's.  It's important to have your own thing, isn't it?

"Aw, what? Not even one?!" She tugs on your hair by accident as she scoffs. But it doesn't bother you. You're content. 

... You suppose you could be convinced. As long as she doesn't share it with anyone else.

But that's later you's problem. For now, you'll sit right here, allowing relief to warm the star on your chest more even as the bath starts to go cold. You don't have to worry about being bored or lonely - at least for this evening.

You will always remember this.