Work Text:
You thought yourself alone for so long. Doomed to be caged by others’ will, even in the brief agonizing periods you free yourself of the Parasite. Alone in your awareness of the strings, as you are made to Act. The inside of your skull crawls with it, the palms of your hands itching and burning in the moments where there are no distractions. When your new friends are not there to bring you back to earth.
That first night, you scrub your hands until they are raw, until the crawling and the burning ebbs away. The cuticles of your fingers crack and bleed as you are driven to school the next day. You do your best to hide them with the cuffs of your sweater. Your blood leaving small blooms of red in the fabric that darken as the day goes on.
But the itching remains. It lingers. You remain trapped on the vast stage you have found yourself upon, made to perform your role. You began to feel that there was no escape, no recourse for your fate.
That is, until you met Him.
He was a broken thing, a husk. But despite that, there is a mutual recognition between you. Of the rage and terror boiling in your veins. Two puppets, unwilling actors upon the stage, aware of the heavenly forces pulling their strings.
A deal is made.
You see him as an omen of what you may become. It terrifies you – but more so, you feel pity. You feel kinship. He seems to feel the same way – even as you recognize the ruthless opportunism of a cornered animal in the way he speaks to you. But, regardless, you begin to believe there might be a way out. If you can free him – you think to yourself – then maybe there is hope for your own liberation.
Of course, the cornered animal struck, as you expected it would. Still, with your friends by your side, you push on. You are determined to see this through, no matter the cost. The alternative choice is oblivion.
But when your work is done, your fellow prisoner lays silent before you. His strings are scattered, severed of their purpose. For, of course, a puppet without its strings is a thing to be discarded. Surely, you knew that?
Your own draw taut, commanding you to turn and resume your starring role.
You reluctantly obey.