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Belle stood in her customary place, back pressed against the marble pillar. The solidness of it made her feel a little more at-ease. It was hard to believe that this hotel truly was a calm within the storm of Krat. A safe harbor, finally found.
She just wished it could be a refuge for more people. What was here was a scant few survivors, nothing compared to the loss of life the city had suffered. And, selfishly, she wished that her dear Atkinson could’ve found his way here. But, no, the Frenzy took him too. Practically everything and everyone she had ever known, lost.
And yet, here she was.
Belle felt she had to stay alert, keep watch. She was the only person here accustomed to combat aside from the Stalker, but he was in and out of the place, inconsistent. She, at least, could remain here, to do what little she could. She was one warrior, and not a particularly strong one at that, but at least she was here. At least someone was.
And it mattered. She knew it mattered, holding her beloved’s words close to her heart as she considered the future. Bleak it was, but it was vital to face it. To overcome what had happened.
She wouldn’t give up, because if it were her who perished and him who survived, that’s exactly what she would wish for him. And so she knew it was what he wished for her.
For herself, for this world, for what was lost—Belle would persevere.
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Those two talked an awful lot, didn't they?
The Stalker was standing across the way, speaking quietly to the puppet who managed the front desk. It didn’t seem like he was just buying supplies from the Hotel either, no. There was something else to their interactions.
She had seen them like this sometimes, speaking to each other, or like the time when the puppet had left his post, only for the Stalker to follow not that long after. And how they were talking now was like that too—it reminded her of how Vengini spoke to his butler puppet. Standing together, speaking in hushed voices, secret-sharing.
The sort of connection she didn’t have with anyone living, anymore, but the sort of companionship she had known well. Fellow soldiers, dear family, Atkinson… she knew that closeness.
Strange, to see resemblances of such when a puppet was half of the interaction.
Something that had been itching in the back of her mind ever since the Puppet Frenzy began started to itch even more. A prevalent thought—there was something more to puppets than originally thought. Some of them, it seemed, were capable of the same sorts of thoughts as humans.
That was especially notable with these two puppets who had somehow been immune to the Frenzy. Vengini’s and the hotel’s puppet… they were different. There was something more to them, something that Vengini and the Stalker could see.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Belle couldn’t help but tilt her head to listen to them. She was so close as it was, and the marble at her back lent itself well to vibrating the sound in the air. Leaning back against it casually, she listened while pretending otherwise.
And, in voices near-silent, they whispered.
It was a horrible tragedy of which they spoke. Antonia and her loss. And how, the puppet—Polendina—felt. How he had loved her, deeply and truly, and now that love was empty in the face of loss. He had not loved her selfishly, he had loved her inside of himself, a secret as close as his awakened ego. He simply remained by her side, never intending to trouble her with the truth. But now, she was gone, and he was left without the person he loved. Living in this dark world without the light that had guided him through.
“It feels like pain has swallowed me whole.”
It was familiar to her. It was a reflection of the exact same pain she held in her own heart.
He was going to destroy himself, rather than feel like that. His own heart that had formed in his chest would be gone, erased entirely. He would be nothing more than a puppet once more.
She watched as the Stalker hesitated. The slant of his shoulders lowered, his long hair hiding his face from her point of view. It didn’t take long for him to decide to depart, although there was a slight hesitation to his step, his head held low.
He had given up, she realized—he felt he could do no more.
And he couldn’t. But maybe she could.
She knew what this was like. Her beloved had died fighting puppets. She had asked the Stalker to look for him, and when he returned it was to whisper to her with words filled with a gentle sadness, telling her what had become of her dear Atkinson. His metal fingers clutched delicately around Atkinson’s last letter to her, and the Stalker had given it to her. At least, she thought, she had this piece of him. A final goodbye, as proper as she could get in this chaos.
The letter was full of him, his words as familiar to her as her own thoughts. He had loved her, and she had lost him. She would be forever without him, and yet she would continue on. He would forever be a part of her, forever live in her memory, but never again would his presence be with her.
It was a fact of life, of tragedy, of the future.
And this puppet of the Hotel, he had loved and had lost, too. But, unlike her, he was considering the avenue of escape. It wasn’t as final as her only way out was, as his puppet body would remain. But, that part of him that had awoken, that knew how to love, would be gone. A loss just as great as that of a life, as it was, effectively, the same as a life.
Belle could see the loss devouring him, even though he was a puppet. The shakiness of his joints was typical, but the way his head moved back and forth, the way his words had sounded to the Stalker. It was eating him from the inside, a pain unlike anything he’d ever known.
Did he even know pain at all, before this? He was a puppet, his ego nascent, every feeling must have been new to him. Perhaps pain was the same, and though Antonia’s fate had been predictable, this final loss of her would be one of the worst pains imaginable. Oh, how much it must hurt, for this to be his first pain. To lose a beloved, and be left without. How his puppet-heart must be sodden, drawn down into what would feel like an endless grotto of solitude and loneliness. To lose light, love, purpose.
Belle’s own heart swirled with conflict. She knew all these feelings, was struggling and suffering herself, still. She had lost family and friends, but Atkinson had been her one and only true beloved. The idea of life without him gnawed into her, making the future seem like an impossible black void where nothing would ever shine again. But…she knew that was false. Life continued after strife, and that was why humans clung so closely to their lives. There would be more to see, more to know, more to love. What was lost could be remembered, memorialized.
Memory was the last thing remaining after death. With even her portrait defaced, those who remembered her was how Antonia would live on, just as Atkinson would live on through Belle.
And…this was something everyone had to struggle with, human and awakened-puppet alike. The struggle was a close one, personal and difficult, and it wasn’t as though she knew Polendina, but he had no one he knew. The Stalker was the only one he had to reach out to, and the Stalker had done all he could.
If allowed to stay like this, he would reset his heart, and lose that precious love. That sweet and gentle love for Antonia would die with her. And that... wasn't what should happen, to love.
Without someone else to intervene, the heart of the puppet known as Polendina would be no more.
Her heart still swirled with conflict, but yet she stepped forward. She approached him, slowly but surely, knowing her time was limited. She had no idea what entailed to erase oneself the way he intended to, but she knew action was needed now, or his soul would be forever gone.
She was a soldier. She knew how to act quickly.
“Hello,” she greeted softly as she reached the desk. On the other side of it, the puppet looked dignified as always. If she had not just heard his words, she would have no notion of the heart inside that manufactured chest. “You’re…Polendina, right?”
Polendina had no way to express facial emotions, but the way his joints jerked after she spoke seemed a bit too sudden, different from the usual twitches of puppets. He had not expected to be spoken to. He was probably waiting to quietly erase himself, mourning his final moments of awareness.
He did not immediately respond. Hesitation was so rare in puppets—she knew he was real.
“Belle,” he finally intoned. “How may I be of service?”
“I…” and oh, it was awkward, to admit that she had overheard, and awkward to attempt to have a conversation about heart to a puppet, but—this was perhaps the last chance to reach this one, to save his precious soul. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but…I heard what you and the Stalker were discussing. It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, but I… I couldn't help listening in. And, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for your loss, Polendina.”
Polendina slowly shook his head, “You need not worry. Such loss will not be with me much longer, and I will continue to serve this hotel as dutifully as I always have.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually.” Belle bit her lip, but she pushed onwards. Atkinson had often called her too blunt, but she could think of nothing else but the immediate concern. “Polendina, I don’t think you should erase yourself.”
The puppet’s springs jittered. “…Pardon?”
And she spoke, desperately from her heart, “Out of everyone left who knew her, you’re the one who will remember her best. We humans, we’re all destined to die one day, and the only comfort we can have in that darkness is that memory of us is left behind. We entrust that to those who remain, our hopes, our very being.”
She paused for a moment, her gloved fingers slowly curling into fists, “Those who are close to us…they hold the most precious parts of our hearts, keeping them safe, even after we’re gone. They can think of us fondly, remember us, and treasure us. Do…do you understand? She was a wonderful person, and it means something, that you remember her.”
There was a brief silence. She hoped that something of her words had gotten through to him, that she could stop this terrible erasure, but she just couldn’t know—
“...But it hurts so much.”
The words were simple, like a child’s. Whispered from unmoving lips. Familiar, and her heart ached.
Slowly, she reached out, over the counter and below, to pull up his hand. She had no idea what a puppet’s capacity to ‘feel’ included, but perhaps at least the gesture would be appreciated. She took his cold hand between her own, pulling it up into her grasp, gently clutching it. “I know. Oh, Polendina, I know. I know, and I’m so so sorry.”
The puppet’s head tilted down, painted blue eyes staring at their connected hands. She had no idea what thoughts were going through his mind. She waited, anxiously, for him to speak again.
And he did, his voice slow, quiet, “You know this pain too, don’t you, Miss Belle? Is that how you are able to ask this of me? To tell me I should remain, even with this pain?”
Her heart broke, tears pricking at her eyes, “I do,” she affirmed, squeezing his hand, feeling how his fingers twitched between her own, “In all this chaos, I lost my dearest. His name was Atkinson, and I know that I will carry his loss with me every moment of my remaining life.”
“And you find this pain…worthwhile to hold?” Polendina asked, his whole body twitching, his head shifting so that his unmoving eyes met hers. His voice was so unknowing, so sad.
Belle nodded vigorously, “Yes. What matters is that I carry it. Him. The memory of him, of all that he was, and my love for him. How his eyes twinkled in the candlelight at night, how his laughs always ended in snorts, how kind he was to everyone around him. Who he was and what he accomplished, his favorite and least favorite things—I will hold them, and him, forevermore. The pain, the sadness, but also the joy, the happiness, the love. He would want me to remember, to live, and so I will. You should as well, Polendina. Remember your Antonia. Treasure every moment you had with her, and how she shone in life. Remember, and hold her close, as you step forward. Carry her with you into the future.”
Quiet fell again, in the aftermath of her speech. She could almost hear the gears clicking in the puppet’s frame. She waited, patient but wary, for his next words, hoping her blustering impassioned speech had moved him.
Finally, the silence broke, Polendina shifting his hand to squeeze hers back, before slowly lowering it, withdrawing from her hold. She released him, as he spoke softly, “You have given me much to consider, Belle. I…I must thank you, for without your words, I may have done something unforgiveable.” His hand slowly rose to his chest, over his heart, “Even with this pain inside of me, I cannot act so rashly. I…must consider what my Lady Antonia would have wanted. How she would want to be remembered. I… do not know what action I will take, but, I will consider more, before my next decision.”
“That’s all anyone can ask for,” she replied, relieved. She suddenly felt exhausted, like she’d run a thousand yards. “And if you ever wish to speak of love, of loss, I am here. You and I, we both have lost so much, so recently. We share a wound.”
“We do,” the puppet’s voice trembled slightly, and if he were human, she was convinced there would be tears upon his cheeks. His voice quieted, “I would like to think on this for a while, if you do not mind.”
“Of course not, I will leave you.” She stepped back, offering him a watery smile of her own, “Please, speak to me whenever you wish, my friend.”
“I will do so,” came the response, barely a whisper.
Belle turned to leave him to his thoughts, hope bursting in her heart. A soul was a precious thing, and she was so relieved to have helped one. Antonia, like Atkinson, would surely want to protect such a dear thing.
Sighing, she returned to her column, stationing herself as always, ready and watching. As her eyes flickered around the room, she looked up, a figure above catching her eye. Up on the next floor, leaning over the balcony, was the Stalker. His troubled expression had faded, and a rare smile touched his lips. As her eyes met his, he dipped his head in gratitude.