Chapter Text
It all started with a god.
There was nothing. But there was a god, and there was his domain—
Only his.
He might’ve tried it a thousand times, but there he was, in the present as always, and he could not remember anything else but the void he called his and only his—
It was too empty, the god decided.
A thousand possibilities of something, or somethings, floated around in the space around him, but his control did not waver and would not, so he assembled his playthings. Their souls were so fragile, so quiet, so human in something like his hand. No, not his hand. His grasp. His hold.
He knew each soul. Had known, rather. The god examined them uncaringly. They had failed him once, twice, again, again; broken down. Now, they sat in memory. Stewed in it. No one was lucid, for the time being. The god held these souls aloft, squeezing, letting every drop of what they once knew fall away, down, gone. Five souls. Six, once, but one did not resist when he destroyed their first home, his first world. She faded quickly.
Now, with the players, it was time to set the stage.
He closed his eyes—
Mr. Man woke up in a sky.
A scowl curved his form. A face, was it? So many words and terms to remember, all for such insignificant specks. And so constricting. Flesh and bones and desires. The rise and fall of having to breathe. How he hated it.
No, no. He did not have to breathe. He was whatever he wished. And in the pale sky, it was so.
As if the mortal shell wasn’t enough, something else kept every material thing down to the ground! What a fickle canvas to work with, but he would have to make do. His feet touched the ground, prickly and—down he looked—green.
There were the first two he brought—
The blond boy, dressed in blue. Green eyes as unnaturally vivid as the red skin confining the god himself, blinking in adjustment to the harsh light of day. A golden knight—no. A king. A grass-stained and nameless king.
The girl—
A thousand screams echoed in his ears, one after the other, maybe of the same raw throat—he needed—
He thought she was dead—
A desperate, wild hand clawed at his suit jacket, digging into his arm, dipping his sight in darkness. Time waited patiently for its master, who was the master with—?
No. One ruler of this domain. He would not be subdued by a memory, he let it know—he let her know.
FROM NOTHING YOU CAME.
The earth opened beneath her, a crack tearing into the ground.
“YOU KILLED HER, YOU KILLED THEM— NO, PLEASE!” she screamed.
BACK HOME YOU GO.
She shrieked and clawed at the grass, feverishly grasping at the ground as she was pulled under. Her legs kicked and thrashed. It wasn’t enough.
“NO! I CAN’T—“
YOU WILL NOT RETURN.
Breathing—gasping like a drowning man, tears streaming down her dirt-stained cheeks, she struggled in one last effort. The endless cries of the damned refused to let go.
“YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE—”
WHO ARE YOU?
Arya went deathly still, eyes wide, something stirring beneath them. Before it could awaken, Mr. Man shot out a hand. A white cloth fixed itself around her eyes, rapidly tying itself into a knot. As if shoved by an invisible hand, she vanished into the earth.
It was silent.
…
A creature born in the dark opened its eyes.
It was so stifling, she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know her name, or why the air was so aggressively not, and her limbs couldn’t help but lurch in a reflexive attempt to find air.
She found it. Of its own accord, her body forced pained coughs from her lungs. Choking and heaving, she didn’t realize until it was over that she had been coughing out something solid. She gasped and rubbed her throat, wincing.
Head spinning, the girl reached in front of her and felt crumbled earth, slipping between the cracks in her hand. She grasped the ground with her other hand—
Something rustled in front of her. She felt grass. But it was not she who made the sound.
“Hello?” she asked, wondering if someone was watching her.
Well, if there was someone, they were gone before she could speak again.
The hope—the fall—together, combined, made the girl feel as if something had been taken from her. Or perhaps she was suddenly very aware of a feeling, a lack, and that was it!; nothing at all.
Like a foal stumbling along. Too aware of nothing… nobody… something she could not wrap her mind around as she—climbed?—from the hole she was buried in.
She could not stand.
She…
…could not see.
…
one week before.
As he went to talk with the judge, the room began to stir as people began to exit for the recess. Hell of a divorce.
“We’ve practically won this case already,” Mr. Man remarked to ▇▇. She rubbed her eyes as they both began walking up out of the courtroom, their footsteps on the stone bricks of the staircase echoing in the corridor. He adjusted his bowtie unconsciously, his crooked smile wide.
▇▇ dropped her hand from her face, green eyes reflecting grey in the torch-lit gloom. Perhaps it was the lighting, but Mr. Man thought he saw dark circles under her eyes. “Only halfway done.”
“Chin up, my friend.” Mr. Man clapped his companion on the shoulder. Humans do that, right? “No need to look so glum. We’re just about finished here.”
They walked past the small cells at the top of the stairs, towards the pure white of the next rooms. “Mhm.”
“What’s on your mind?”
▇▇ slumped into one of the dark oaken chairs surrounding his table. She glanced down at something in her hand.
“Just… Thank you. Again,” she said, quieter.
“Of course. You deserve—”
He stopped.
—to be happy?
These humans were truly taking a toll on him.
“—what is fair. That is all.”
…
How worthless, to invest in so much just for it to let you down in the end. For what, he still could not fathom.
“Thank you.”
Was that what a broken heart looked like?
Was a broken heart contagious? It was puzzling how something seemed to sink in his midsection when he saw that look on her face.
He gazed upon his creation below, looming treetops and the mountains ahead illuminated only with moonlight. No, that’s not how the game goes. Playthings don’t make you feel bad. They do what they are supposed to, just how you want.
Mr. Man pondered this, until the sun rose.