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You’ve been stuck in a cycle long before you ever set foot in Dormont.
As long as your foggy memory can stretch back, probably farther than that, you’ve had these…patterns. Ways you have to do things, or something will go wrong. You don’t know what exactly “going wrong” entails, but it’s a gut feeling, and it feels like it drives you. Like if you deviate, the Universe will know, and it will punish you.
It takes until you start on the journey to defeat the King to realize that not everyone lives like you do. They don’t worry about the order in which they get dressed, or whether their steps are of an even length, or whether they breathe in the right way after defeating a Sadness. A part of your brain chimes in that maybe if they don’t worry about these things and are still fine, it should mean that maybe, you don’t have to do them either, but…your instincts say that’s not true, and the idea of breaking your ever-growing list of habits feels like trying to pull your own teeth out. So you shrug it off and keep going about things the way you always have.
So naturally, once a rock falls on your head and the world starts repeating patterns with you, it doesn’t take long for you to get into a rhythm of things.
Find the switch so the rock doesn’t fall. Follow the script. Retrieve the keys. Follow the script. Fight Sadnesses so your friends (no, allies, allies, allies) can get strong enough to fight the King. Follow the script. Collect all the tonics you can. Follow the script. Check everything again and again just in case anything will change. (It won’t.) FOLLOW THE SCRIPT, OR THEY’LL FIND OUT, OR THEY’LL HATE YOU.
Flip your coin. Flip flip flip. Hold it tight. Run your finger over its ridges. You have to, or you’ll forget them. You have to, or they’ll forget you. You have to, or you’ll lose it all—
“You can get so fixated sometimes.”
Loop’s words make you startle, and you meet their gaze. Not accusing, just…curious. Almost gleeful. As if they’re relishing watching you tear yourself apart.
“You don’t need to swear off of croissants because of what happened,” they continue. “You don’t need to keep that coin to remember what happened. Those rituals won’t accomplish anything.”
You grit your teeth. Where the stars do they get off, saying this? For someone who seems to understand your every thought, shouldn’t they understand that your whole world is built on rituals? Without them, without them….
You’ve heard that actors frequently have stress dreams about the plays they’re in. They don’t know their lines and blocking, they can’t find their costumes and props, they’re not even sure what play it is. That’s what it feels like to even think of breaking your patterns. A living actor’s nightmare where the Universe waits with rapt attention in the audience for you to give in and call for line.
“How could you understand how I feel?!” you spit, closing the space between yourself and Loop to get right into their face. It’s not difficult to do so. You’re the same height to the centimeter.
Loop doesn’t flinch, just smiles in a way you know instinctively must be fake. “Heh!” they chuckle mirthlessly. “You’re right. I can’t understand you. After all, I don’t know what it’s like to feel your home slip out from under you. To feel cut off from everything. To want to remember it all, no matter what. How could I?” Their cheerful demeanor drops as they lean closer to you. “Look at me, Stardust. Look at my face. Do you REALLY think I’m supposed to be here?! Do you REALLY think I can’t understand what it’s like, to not have a home I can go back to? To see reflections of it everywhere I look, but without the connection that comes with it? Do you really think I don’t want to understand wanting to remember everything I’ve left behind? I’m a star, but do you really think it warms me up? That my chest isn’t empty, still? And even now, I’m alone, no one can understand what I’m going through, and the only person that could is…”
Your breath catches. “...is?” you manage to choke out.
And just like that, the mask goes back up. “Nope, that’s it! That’s all you get, teehee!”
Huh. So Loop, too, knows what it is to have a hole deep inside that eats everything it touches. You wonder if they, too, have developed patterns that cover it over like a bandage—capable of protecting it but never of healing it. You notice the way they greet you the same way almost every time you talk, never changing even their tone. You remember they told you they can never talk to your party because if they did, something terrible would happen. You wonder if they even know what that terrible thing would be, or whether it’s just a gut instinct that something would happen, and they, like you, are too afraid not to trust it.
Either way, you don’t plan on breaking your patterns anytime soon. Things are safe, the way they are. Change things up, and you risk breaking something.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
“Hey, uh, Sif?” Isabeau asks a little ways into the House. You don’t startle. You’ve heard this song and dance many times before. “You okay, buddy? What’s up with the barrels?”
You answer the question the same way you always do. He always notices that you check every single barrel. “A key could be in there???”
“Well,” Isabeau muses, “that’s not false, I guess? Anything could be in there. A key, a crest…”
“Some tonics…” Mirabelle adds.
“Maybe a sword,” suggests Bonnie.
“I don’t think a barrel will hide a sword, Boniface,” Odile teases them.
It won’t. It never does. Nor does it ever contain a key or a crest. But every so often, when you check a barrel, you find…ah-ha! You reach down to the bottom of the barrel and fish out a Crafted Water.
Not every barrel or pillar in the House holds any items, of course, but…some of them do. There are so many, you can’t keep track of which ones do or don’t have something inside, so you have to check each one, every time. If you don’t, you could miss one that has an item in it. If you hadn’t checked this barrel, you wouldn’t have found this Crafted Water, and if you didn’t have it, everyone could get knocked out and you wouldn’t be able to revive them, and a Sadness could take an opportunity and strike, and everyone would be dead and it would be all your fault, just like it was your fault when you went to hang out with Loop and the King killed everyone because you weren’t there, because every blinding time it’s always your fault, they could die, they could die, you’d lose them forever and it would always be your fault—-
You hand the Crafted Water to Bonnie. They smile at you. Your mind fills with the image of a hand, squeezing. You want to throw up. You smile back.
(your fault your fault your fault)
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
The longer the loops go, the more stage directions get added to the script in your brain, so many it’s almost too much to keep track of. But you have to keep track of them. You have to, because if you break from the script, you’ll ruin everything.
(help everyone make them love you even if you know it won’t save you tell the guy about the last issue of his book series don’t give Mirabelle the bow again make the tree joke step back before Isabeau can touch you so you don’t pull him in without asking like a blinding pervert don’t kill the Sadness in one go or they’ll be scared of you brush against everyone in the gardening room because stars above you just want to be touched promise Bonnie none of you will die even though you know you can’t hold to it sharpen the KeyKnife get the ingredients for the bomb give the partner the earring don’t let your family look at the ghost keep Mirabelle from touching the statue make sure nobody interrupts Isabeau even though you know he’ll never really confess don’t let Odile figure it all out don’t act weird don’t act weird don’t act weird—)
Wait. Did—
Did you remember to tell Mirabelle about the CARROT method this loop?
You must have, right? You always do. You’re fairly certain you remember doing it—or are you remembering something from another loop? Your memory is, of course, famously untrustworthy, but you’re pretty sure you did? But pretty sure isn’t sure enough when your family’s lives are on the line. You suppose you could ask Mirabelle now, but Odile is watching, she’d know something was weird, that’s not an option.
Your only option is to go back.
There are a few tears in view. You could use them. But frankly, much as you want the rest, the dreams aren’t worth it anyway. Better a few minutes of physical pain then whatever your own brain will subject you to.
You discreetly slip your hand into your cloak pocket, gripping the handle of your dagger. You’ve done this countless times before, it’s easy, you just need to—
“Siffrin?”
Your eye drifts to Mirabelle.
You push the thought away as soon as it occurs, fighting the urge to gag. What are you thinking? This isn’t something to use on family members, you love Mirabelle, you would never ever want to hurt her. You want to use it on yourself, nobody else, not ever. You just have to—
“Sif? You good?”
You don’t let yourself look at Isabeau. No, no, don’t think about that either! Don’t think about how it would feel, the sound, the smell of his blood—
“Siffrin? You look pale.”
No, no, no, don’t look at her!!! You will never do it!!! You won’t hurt Odile, even if you’re faster than her and it’d be easy if you tried, if you went for it just now, but you don’t want to, you don’t want to—-
“Frin? Do you need snacks?”
NO, NOT BONBON, NOT BONBON!!! NEVER, EVER, EVER TO BONBON!!! NOT WHEN EVERY TIME YOU LOOK AT THEM YOU CAN STILL SEE THE KING’S HAND SQUEEZING, HEAR THEM SCREAM YOUR NAME AND THEN THE CRUNCH OF BONE AND IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT FOR DARING TO TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT!!! YOU CAN’T, YOU CAN’T, YOU CAN’T!!!!
You can’t hesitate anymore. You shut your eye tight, pull out your dagger and in one fell swoop plunge it into your throat.
As always, your family all cry out, and you feel them all rush to support you as you crumple to the ground, desperately trying to rouse you. Painful, yes, but at least this method of looping means that for a few agonizing minutes, they will hold you.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
Countless journeys through the House later, when you’ve ruined everything and hurt everyone you love, when you’re finally certain that these loops will never end…they do.
The loops are broken. The King is frozen in one perfect moment of remembering, this time permanently. Your family doesn’t hate you. They want to stay together just like you do. You’ll travel together for a while longer. Everyone who was frozen is safe. Loop is gone, but they’ve promised you’ll see one another again.
Things are fixed now, aren’t they?
But it’s not so easy to untrap yourself from your own mind.
You still feel like you have to follow a script for a play that has already closed. You still have to double-check everything because you can’t trust your brain. You still constantly have thoughts you don’t want, thoughts that make you feel disgusting, creeping into your head. You still live in never-ending fear that somehow, you’re going to make them hate you.
“Sif?”
You jump as you turn to see Isabeau in the door of the infirmary. You’ve been staying there the past few days while you recover. Surprisingly, that part hasn’t been too much of an issue, possibly because the infirmary was a dead end, so you barely ever visited it during the loops. Well, it’s fine provided you don’t roam the halls too much. It took a bit before you could even walk to the bathroom without spiralling about it. But it’s improving, slowly, and you have to believe it will continue in that direction.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
Oh, oops. You’ve been silent for too long, and now Isabeau is waving his hand in front of your face. You blink, shaking your head. “Hi Isa. Sorry. What’s up?”
“Just checking on you!” Isabeau sits down on the bed next to you. “Howya feeling, buddy?”
“Fever’s down, so that’s good,” you reply. “And also Bonnie brought me some fruit and yogurt and it’s stayed in my stomach for the past couple hours. I’m calling that a win.”
“Crab yeah that’s a win!” Isabeau pumps his fist. “I love being able to eat solid food, ten out of ten experience! Being able to digest fruit and yogurt is one of my favorite things!”
You snort. “You literally can’t digest yogurt,” you point out. “You’re lactose intolerant.”
“It’s true, it would indeed give me a wicked tummy ache,” Isabeau agrees with a solemn nod. “But it’s so good! Why does the world have to be so unfair?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug, leaning into him. “But you could say digesting it is an ability you LACK-tose?”
Isabeau cracks up, just as expected. Success. “Sif, how DAIRY you mock my pain.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry, I’ll be BUTTER.”
“You’re really MILKING these puns for all you’re worth, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I think they’re getting a little too CHEESY.”
You laugh together until your face hurts. The giggles scrape at your already-irritated throat and your stomach quickly starts to cramp, but it’s so worth it. This is nice. This is wonderful.
Isabeau breathes out heavily, wiping his eyes. “Oh, man, that was fun.” He smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “Any idea when you’re gonna be up for getting out of the infirmary, by the way? We’ve missed having you around, but obviously your health is the most important thing.”
“I dunno, I feel up for it now, but the House’s doctors want to keep me for a bit longer just in case I’m not.” You sigh. “I wish I could just go now, though.”
As soon as you realize what you’ve said, your stomach drops.
How could you so carelessly use that word? After the damage that a wish has done? No, no, no, you can’t even think that word, just in case! Just in case the Universe is watching you and decides to make another wish come true in a horrible, twisted way and trap you in torment again!
“N–no, I mean, I don’t wish,” you rasp out. “I want to go now. I don’t wish. I don’t wish. I don’t wish.”
“Whoa, Sif, you okay?” asks Isabeau. “You’re shaking…!”
“I’m…I’m…” You want to say you’re okay, but you can’t force the words out. “I don’t wish,” you repeat for good measure. The more you say it, the more likely the Universe is to hear it, right?
“I know, Sif, I know you don’t wish.” Isabeau rubs your back. He’s touching you. It feels so nice. You’re disgusting, for being so desperate.
“B-but what if the Universe doesn’t know,” you rasp out. “What if it traps me again, it’s going to punish me again, it’s….” Stars, what’s wrong with you? Why are you putting this on Isabeau, rather than just keeping it in your own brain where it’s safe? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, what are you sorry for?”
For so, so much. For burdening him. For not knowing if you love him in the right way. For being such a mess. Because he always stubbornly refuses to be mad at you even when you deserve it, so what can you do to make up for it but apologize?
“...I don’t know,” you choke out.
“Okay. Okay, okay.” Isabeau breathes slowly, and you try to follow him. “Haven’t you said ritual is a huge part of Wish Craft? So if you’re just saying something like that offhand, I doubt the Universe will bother with it.”
“And who made you the expert on my faith?” You hear your own voice as if from someone else’s body, unable to prevent the angry snarl of words from leaving your mouth. “Just because you’re so blinding smart doesn’t mean you know everything.”
“Wow. Okay.” Isabeau blinks, clearly taken aback. You’re a terrible person, terrible, terrible, terrible. He should just leave you. “Maybe I overstepped there, and that was my bad, but clearly you’re having a rough time right now. Do you need some space, or do you want me to stay?”
You should ask him to leave. You don’t want to take up more of his time when you’re, what, just yelling at him for trying to help you? But no, if you ask him to leave then he’ll think you don’t care about him! He’ll think you don’t love him enough, and he’ll give up on you! It’s a no win situation, hahahaha! How typical of your stupid blinding life!
You hear your own voice say, “...stay.”
“Okay. As long as you need, Sif.”
“Only if you want to,” you have to add. You have to, or the guilt will eat you alive. “Seriously, if you’d rather leave…”
“I wouldn’t,” he promises. “I love being with you, you know that.”
“I do know that,” you mumble. Your logical brain does, at least. Your instincts can’t accept it, and you don’t know how to fix that, but…
Stars, you don’t even know where that thought was going. You’re so tired all of sudden.
“Is it…” your voice is barely a croak, “is it okay if I sleep for a bit?”
“Course it is, Sif,” Isabeau replies. “You look like you need it.”
You don’t even have it in you to respond. Your eye is already drifting shut. Isabeau’s arms wrap around you, and your racing thoughts give way to sleep.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
It feels nice to be on the road again.
Being on the move changes things. You’re seeing different sights again as you travel, and it’s such a relief to be having different experiences again that it mostly drowns out the spiralling thoughts in your brain. It’s oddly peaceful.
But you can’t avoid being alone with your thoughts forever, and when you’re trying to drift off to sleep, that’s when your mind tends to wander places it shouldn’t.
You dream of death. Over and over again. Rocks coming down on your head tears freezing you in time slipping and landing head-first on the ground filling your mouth with pineapple until your throat swells shut getting slain by a sadness or by the king or screaming your country’s name until you choke on your own blood or watching the world dissolve around you as the Head Housemaiden cries or drIVING YOUR OWN DAGGER INTO YOUR BLINDING NECK—
You wake up. It’s dark. It’s not afternoon. There’s a mattress under you rather than grass.
You reach your hand up to your throat. No cut, no blood. You’re fine.
But…your dagger is in your cloak pocket.
Whoa, what? The thought startles you. You don’t want to do that! You’re safe! You’re with your family! You want to live, more than you ever have before!
But your dagger is still in your cloak pocket.
Stop thinking it! Stars, how selfish can you be? Your family is here, stupid! You’ll scar them all if you do it! You can’t hurt them any more than you already have!
Dagger in your pocket dagger in your pocket dagger in your pocket.
You grit your teeth and swallow hard. You need to do something about this, or the thoughts will never let you rest.
You tiptoe over to where you took off your cloak before bed, and retrieve the dagger from the pocket. You don’t let yourself look at it. Instead, you survey the inn room you’re staying in, looking at each family member in turn. You don’t want to wake them, but the alternative is much worse.
Bonnie is, of course, out of the question. They’re a child, you can’t burden them with this. And Mirabelle’s anxiety has been worse recently, she needs her rest and not your problems. Isabeau…you know he’ll be kind, but you also know he’ll pity you, and the thought makes your stomach twist.
Which leaves you with one option.
You take a breath and tiptoe to the bed nearest the window. “Odile,” you whisper, your voice still croaky from sleep. “Odile,” you repeat.
Odile groans, blinking awake. “Gems alive, do the youth these days have no respect for—” She cuts off when she sees you looming over her, eyes widening as though she instinctively knows you wouldn’t wake her without good reason. (Which you wouldn’t, because she’s scary when she’s tired.) “Siffrin? What’s the matter?”
“Could…could you come out to the hall with me for a second?”
Odile is silent for a moment, then sighs heavily, picks up her glasses from the bedside table, and wordlessly gets to her feet.
Once the two of you get out to the hallway, Odile asks, “Alright, what is it you need?” Stars, she’s visibly worried. You’ve made her worry, stupid!
“I, um.” You try to wrap your brain around the words you want to say. “I’m…before we head out again tomorrow, I want to stop by the pawn shop in town. I have something I need to sell. But, uh, I know you have that suitcase with a lock, so…would you be able to put the thing I’m selling in there until then?”
“Is that really what you woke me up for?” Odile sighs. “Well, I’m awake now, so you might as well show me whatever it is.”
Your hand shakes badly as you retrieve your dagger. “This,” you rasp.
Odile stares at it silently for a moment, and then says, “I see.” Another long pause, and then, “Siffrin.”
You make a small, questioning hum. It comes out more strangled than you intend.
Odile clears her throat. “Have you…have you been considering hurting yourself tonight?”
You flinch. “N-not…mmm, considering isn’t…isn’t really the right word,” you stammer. “That makes it sound like I want to, and I really, really, don’t, I just can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like, ah…” Your face screws up as you try and fail to remember the Vaugardian term.
“Intrusive thoughts?” Odile suggests.
“Y…yes. Intrusive thoughts.” There’s a lump in your throat. You do not want to cry.
Odile looks at you for a second longer. “If I take this and lock it away, will you be safe to try and sleep again, or do you need further distraction?”
“I’ll be okay,” you promise.
“Is that true, Siffrin?” she asks. “Or are you just saying that because you feel bad about keeping me up?”
“It’s true,” you insist. “The, uh, the thoughts were mostly about the dagger specifically, because, because uh, I was dreaming about the loops when I used to…”
You can’t finish the sentence, but luckily Odile doesn’t need you to. “I understand,” she replies with a sharp nod. “Please wake me up if at any point that changes.”
“I will,” you whisper.
“Good.” She turns to the door, but hesitates and looks back at you. “And…thank you, Siffrin.”
You blink, trying to figure out if you heard her correctly. “For what?”
“For waking me,” she replies. “I know I’m not the most…approachable of our group, nor do I have much in the way of a bedside manner, but I do always hope you remember how much I care for you, Siffrin. You can come to me for help, don’t forget that.”
The lump in your throat is getting bigger, and your eye is beginning to sting. “I know,” you sniffle. “Thank you, Odile.”
“Of course, Siffrin,” Odile replies. “Now get some sleep, alright? Clearly you need it.”
“Okay.” You follow her back into the room and settle yourself back into bed.
You watch Odile lock the dagger away, and once she’s back in bed, you stare up at the ceiling, taking slow breaths. It’s okay. The dagger is locked up, and tomorrow it’ll be gone. You couldn’t do anything even if you tried.
Finally, you let yourself silently cry.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
One of the days your family has to set up camp outside, you wander over to where Bonnie is sat criss-cross-applesauce on a picnic blanket, with a frankly massive pile of fruit next to them. “You need some help with all that fruit, Bonbon?” you ask.
Bonnie considers. “Okay! I think you can wash and cut fruit without messing it up.”
“Wow, I’m honored,” you laugh.
“You should be!” Bonnie grins as they thrust a bunch of strawberries into your hands.
You take off your gloves before you put the strawberries into the bowl of water Bonnie has. You hate the feeling of your gloves getting wet. Once they’re thoroughly rinsed, you set them down in front of you and retrieve your new knife. The grip still feels strange in your hand, but your theory that the worst of your urges were tied to the dagger you carried in the loops is turned out to be correct, and you’d take an unfamiliar knife that doesn’t tempt you to do that over the old one any day.
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop. You slice the first strawberry six times.
“So what are you making here?” you ask Bonnie.
“Just a fruit salad,” Bonnie replies. “Nothing fancy, but it’s yummy!”
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop.
“That does sound yummy!” you tell them.
“Mhm!” Bonnie nods cheerfully. “And after we’re done cutting these fruits I’m gonna make a super good dressing!”
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop.
“That’s so cool, Bon! What kind of dressing?”
“Something with, like, poppy seeds and lemon, I think!”
Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop.
“That sounds like it’s gonna be super tasty.”
“Of course it’s gonna be tasty, silly Frin! I’m making it, and I’m like the best chef cooker ever!”
“You sure are!” you laugh as you chop another strawberry.
Wait.
Oh no, oh no, you were talking when you were supposed to be counting! You cut the strawberry seven, eight, nine times without thinking! Great going, stupid! You can’t even consistently cut strawberries! You’re so blinding useless, Siffrin. What are you even doing, trying to help Bonnie! You can’t help them! You can’t help anyone! You—
“Frin? Are you okay?”
Your eye returns to Bonnie. Then, it drifts to the fruit they’re chopping.
You never did tell them you’re allergic to pineapple, did you?
It looks just as it did in the loops. Cut in neat, round slices. Bright and shining with juice. You can smell it. It’s so sweet. You know it’ll taste deliciously spicy in your mouth. At least, before it turns to itching, like ants in your mouth. Before hives break out on your skin and nausea churns in your stomach. Before your throat swells tighter and tighter and cuts off completely.
(put it in your mouth)
“Frin? You look like you’re—hey, what are you doing?”
What are you doing? Ah, your hand has darted out and grabbed a slice of pineapple. It’s so close to your face, you could easily just take a bite. But no, no, no, you can’t! Bonnie is here! You can’t even imagine how horrible you must look when you have an allergic reaction, and they’re already so traumatized, you can’t put them through it, but you could, you could just put it in your mouth right now—
“Hey!”
Someone…took the pineapple slice from you…?
Your vision clears, and you see Bonnie’s face glaring at you. See, you’ve made them upset! You always do, because you’re a horrible friend! A horrible friend who can’t even cut strawberries right!
Bonnie sets the pineapple slice down on the table and crosses their arms with a huff. “No eating before the food is ready, Frin! I know pineapple is the best fruit but you gotta wait!”
“S…sorry, Bonbon,” you manage to croak out.
“Yeah, you should be! You—” Bonnie’s voice cuts off, their brow furrowing. “Whoa, what’s wrong with your hand?”
Ah. You look down at your hand. You hadn’t been wearing your glove, and there are raised bumps everywhere the pineapple touched your skin. “Oh, that’s just a few hives, Bon. A little allergic reaction to the pineapple. I’m okay.”
Bonnie frowns. “You’re allergic to pineapple?”
“Yeah, really bad!” You chuckle a little. See, you’re acting normal! This is what acting normal looks like! “But only if I eat it. I’ve never had a bad reaction from just touching it or being near it, don’t worry.”
Bonnie doesn’t look reassured. “So…if you ate it, would it kill you dead?”
You can’t lie to them. They’d only be angry if you lie. “If I couldn’t treat the reaction fast enough, then yeah. But when we stopped in that town a while back and I went to the doctor, I did tell them about my allergy and they gave me some medicine to carry in case I accidentally ate pineapple, so that’s good!” Yes, you’d told the doctor and never gotten around to telling your family, but that’s neither here nor there.
“So…” Bonnie looks at the ground. “Why did you try to eat it just now?”
Oh, stars, no, no, no!!! “I–I wasn’t trying to eat it—”
“Yes you were!” No, no, they’re yelling now! You upset them! “I saw you! You were about to put it in your mouth!”
“Bonbon—”
“I’m not stupid, Frin!” they continue. “And I do listen! I was awake that time in the inn, the night before you sold your dagger! I heard you talking to Dile!”
Your stomach sinks. No, no, no! They shouldn’t have to deal with knowing that! They’re just a child! You’re supposed to protect them, and you’re doing a terrible job, because you’re a terrible person!
…ah. Bonnie’s hands gently slide into yours. All of a sudden they don't look angry anymore, just sad and scared. That’s so much worse. “You…you have scary thoughts sometimes, right, Frin? About doing…bad stuff to yourself?”
You can’t bring yourself to confirm their question, but you also can’t lie to them. All you can do is squeeze their hands as if they’re the only thing in the world, sniffling pathetically. You’re disgusting.
“It’s okay, I’ve heard about that stuff before,” Bonnie promises you. “Nille used to deal with that sort of stuff a lot, ‘cause of stuff that happened when she was a kid. She still does sometimes, but she’s getting better. You’re gonna get better too, okay, Frin? ‘Cause you’re tough.”
You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a whimper. Bonnie slowly and deliberately opens their arms, telegraphing what they’re about to do, before wrapping themself around your midsection. They rub your back as you sniff and choke. This is ridiculous. They’re the kid, you’re the adult, they’re not supposed to be the one comforting you!
And yet, comfort you they do. Slowly, tears streaming down your face, your breathing begins to steady. Bonnie pulls back and takes your hands again, looking closely at your face. “Do you feel any better now, Frin?”
“A little.” You wipe your nose with a shaking hand.
Bonnie nods. “Is it…is it because of forever school? Is that why this is happening to you?”
“That…” You hiccup a little. “That made it worse, but it…it happened before then sometimes.”
“Oh.” Bonnie leans against you. “That’s scary.”
“It…is,” you say slowly. “But I…I’ll be okay, Bonbon.”
“Yeah!” Bonnie smiles. “Because you have us, and even if you have scary thoughts, you can tell us and then we can make sure nothing bad happens! And you will tell us, right, Frin?”
Stars, they sound so much like Odile. “...okay.”
“Okay!” Bonnie turns to the pineapple, considering it. “Here, hang on.” As fast they can, they shove every piece in their mouth. “Now you can’t eat any and it can’t make you sick or dead!” At least, you’re pretty sure that’s what they’re saying. It’s hard to understand them with their mouth so full.
You giggle wetly. “Wow, what a hero.”
“Yeah!” Bonnie puffs their chest out. “Here, you should probably eat some of these. They’re yummy and they’ll make you feel better!” Bonnie scoops up a few of the strawberries you’d been cutting and hands them to you.
You almost take a bite, but… “Ah, maybe I should wash my hands first, Bonbon. I’ve probably still got some pineapple juice on them, and given how allergic I am it’s probably a bad call to risk it.”
“Ohh, that’s probably smart.” Bonnie nods. “And then maybe put some ointment on your hand.”
“You’re probably right.” The hives are starting to itch. You bite your lip to resist the urge to scratch them.
“Okay! Yay!” Bonnie squeezes your hand, grinning. “And then you can have some fruit salad with no pineapple!”
“Sounds good,” you agree. You still feel so utterly disgusted at yourself, but you make yourself focus on Bonnie.
Focus on Bonnie. Focus on Bonnie. You’re safe.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
The night before you arrive in Bambouche, you find yourself wandering away from camp. Not because you don’t want to spend time with your family—you’re just overwhelmed all of a sudden and need to calm down.
“Siffrin?”
You jolt a little, then smile as you turn around. “Mira!”
“Hi!” She waves at you awkwardly. “Am I interrupting? Do you want to be alone right now?”
“No, that’s alright,” you reply. “Just…everyone being there at once was a lot.”
“I get that.” Mirabelle comes over to stand next to you. You’re looking out over a little stream. “Can I ask you something?”
“I mean, you already are,” you tease. “You can ask me another thing, though.”
Mirabelle laughs a bit at that, but her face falls quickly. “Siffrin…you’ve been doing worse recently, haven’t you?”
You…have. But the idea of saying so out loud sounds like physical torture. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve just…you’ve been spacing out more,” Mirabelle mumbles. “And I know you’ve been having more nightmares, too. You talk in your sleep.”
Ah. Of course. It never does go unnoticed. “Have…you been doing worse as well?” You take her hand, running a finger over the shredded nail beds.
“I know you’re trying to distract me,” Mirabelle huffs, “but I’ll tell you that yes, I’ve been more anxious lately. There, I’ve been honest, so, your turn!”
Hm. She’s got you there, hasn’t she? “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been…” You shuffle. “My brain hasn’t been the nicest to me recently.”
Mirabelle giggles a little. “I’ve absolutely been there, Siffrin! Would it help you to talk about it?”
“I don’t even know where I would start,” you reply. How do you begin to explain that the way your own brain has operated since as long as you can remember is weighing on you, and you have no idea how to escape it?
“Okay then…” Mirabelle scans your face. “How about I go first? Would that help?”
“It…would,” you admit.
“Okay,” Mirabelle heaves a sigh. “I guess I’ve just been feeling kind of…purposeless? Like, ever since we beat the King. It feels like for a year, everything in my life was building up to that, and now…who even am I? I’m not the Chosen One, not anymore. Not that I ever was. But now I’m just back to being Mirabelle, and I don’t even feel like I know how to do that.”
Oh, Mirabelle. You gently squeeze her hand. “Well, I think just Mirabelle is pretty great.”
“Aw, you’re sweet, Siffrin,” she says with a soft smile. “But sometimes it’s hard to believe that.” She sighs heavily. “I feel like a bad Housemaiden, all the time. Not even just the romance thing, but….everything. I don’t feel like I change enough. And I feel so guilty for letting everyone believe I was blessed by the Change God. Honestly, I don’t even feel like I’m a very good person most of the time?”
“Mira,” you mumble, wrapping her in a hug. She’s shaking. You can do this, at least. You can comfort her.
“I j-just…” She sniffles a bit. “I don’t know. Do you ever feel like everything is your fault, like you have to do everything in this very specific way or….I don’t know, everything will fall apart?” Another sniff. “Never mind, that’s silly. Of course you don’t.”
“Oh! N-no, I get it!” Your voice comes out in a rasp. Your heart is beating in your throat. Could it be, that she really understands? Could it be, that you’re not just messed up in the head?
Mirabelle looks up at you, eyes wide. “You do?”
“I do.” You hold her tight, and words start flowing from you faster than you can even try to control them. “Like, it’s all so stupid, right? In my logical brain I know that if I don’t breathe in the right way or if I put on my left glove before my right or whatever it won’t actually hurt anyone, but it feels like it will!”
“Yeah! Yeah, exactly!” Mirabelle bounces a little, hands flapping excitedly. “And…and it feels like scratching a mosquito bite, to do things the way I feel like I have to! Like, it makes the itching in my brain go away for a bit, but then it comes back and makes it worse! And it’s so scary to feel like it’ll never go away, and then part of me feels like, what if it went away and that made me a worse person somehow? I feel like I deserve to have these thoughts.”
“Yeah.” Your voice cracks badly on the word. “Yeah, it’s…it’s just like that!”
“Oh! Oh, Siffrin!” Mirabelle reaches out to brush a thumb over your face. “You’re crying…”
Ah. So you are. You sniff and wipe your eye. “I’m okay,” you promise weakly. “It’s just…” You trail off. You don’t know how to form words.
“You didn’t know anyone else felt like that?” When you nod, Mirabelle smiles. “Me neither. I thought there was just….something really wrong with me.”
“I mean…” You laugh a little, wetly. “I don’t think I’m exactly where the bar should be for mental stability, but…I get what you mean. Feeling less alone and stuff.”
“Yeah.” Mirabelle lets out a breath. “Do you…do you feel better now, Siffrin?”
You’re surprised to be able to tell her, “Yeah. I think I do, at least a little. Which is…kind of the most I can ask for, I guess.”
“Well, even a little is good!” Mirabelle insists.
“How are you feeling, Mira?” you ask her.
“A little better too, I guess,” Mirabelle replies. “Not like the mosquito bites in my brain are gone, but kind of like I put some cream on it to make it less itchy for a bit, I guess?” She giggles. “The metaphor’s getting away from me a bit.”
“I don’t know, I think it’s fine,” you reply. “It doesn’t…”
Mirabelle must recognize the look on your face, because she mumbles “oh no” under her breath.
“...BUG me that much.”
Mirabelle giggles, covering her mouth. “Okay, okay, that one was funny, I’ll give you that!”
You smile, and snuggle closer to her, watching the stream. You feel raw inside, but at the same time, somehow you feel safe here. As if you’ve handed her your beating heart because you know she can be trusted with it.
“Siffrin?” Mirabelle’s voice is soft.
“Mmm?” you hum.
“You’re…” Mirabelle pauses for a second, and then finishes, “I think you’re a really good person. I hope you know that.”
She’s lying, a part of your brain tells you. Or at least, she only thinks so because you’ve manipulated into thinking it. You’re still the person who told her she’ll be alone forever.
But…no. You won’t let yourself stay with that thought if you have to fight it tooth and nail. It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true. You’re loved, and you might even deserve it.
Instead, you tell Mirabelle, “I think you’re a really good person too. I’m…I’m glad you’re my family.”
Mirabelle laughs softly. “Yeah! Me too.”
Neither of you speak for a very long time—you just stare into the rushing stream. There’s a warmth swelling in your chest. What a funny thing, to be finally, truly understood.
✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧
As luck would have it, only a few hours into your first day on the road after leaving Bambouche, your family gets caught in the first rain of the autumn.
It starts with a drop of rain that lands squarely on Loop’s nose. They sneeze, then glare at the sky.
“You good, Loop?” Isabeau calls back to them.
“Mm.” They nod. “I think it’s beginning to rain.” Their tone turns wry as they add, “And naturally, the Universe would have it be me who’s hit first.”
You laugh, ruffling their hair. “Oh, don’t be like that.”
“But complaining is my one solace!” Loop says, leaning heavily against you. You smile and shove them away.
“Well, hopefully it doesn’t get any worse!” Mirabelle says cheerily.
It very quickly gets much worse.
Drops turn to drizzle turns to downpour, and soon the ground under your feet is muddy and your bangs are sticking to your face. And yet, your heart feels light. You haven’t felt rain on your face in the stars only know how long. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until now.
Odile wipes her glasses on her coat. “Hm. Perhaps we should find lodging sooner rather than later.”
“Ah, c’mon, M’dame!” Isabeau laughs. “We’ve never hidden from a little rain before!”
“Yeah, Dile! And Nille likes the rain!” Bonnie elbows their sister.
“That wasn’t my concern.” Odile turns to look at you and Loop. “Weather like this could easily cause a flare-up in one or both of you. Putting too much strain on yourselves seems unwise.”
Ah. She’s…probably right. But you feel fine for right now, and stars, you don’t want to lose this feeling. “I think I’m alright.”
“Hm.” Loop nods next to you. “I’m fine too.”
You look at them a bit closer. They don’t…look great, now that you’re watching. They’re shaking all over, and their steps are beginning to drag as if each one pains them. “You sure?” you ask.
“Stardust, I told you, I—”
Their foot catches on a tree root.
Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush to catch them—they don’t even try to catch themself, they just crumple. Stars above, they’re shivering so badly, and their whole face screws up in pain. “Whoa, Loop!” you breathe.
“I’m…I’m alright, I promise.” Their voice is slurred. They’re not well at all, are they? You should have figured that out earlier, stupid!
Odile stands over the two of you. “Loop, I’m not one to say I told you so…”
“You just…did…” they point out.
“Ha, I suppose that’s true,” Odile replies. “But I believe there’s a town not far ahead. We are going to get a room, and you are going to rest.”
“But—”
“I don’t believe I asked for feedback on that plan, young one.” Odile crosses her arms, leveling them with her scariest look.
Loop just sighs, and lets you help them shakily to their feet.
Most of their weight remains on you as you make your way towards the town. Luckily your own pain doesn’t worsen beyond a nasty headache, because Loop is, well, you-sized, so supporting them is a struggle. Isabeau and Pétronille both offer to help, but Loop shakes their head with all the energy they can muster. You’re a bit concerned about that, but that’s a conversation for when they’re feeling more up to talking.
Once you make it into town, you find the first inn you can and get a room. As soon as Loop gets to the bed, they flop onto it, not even getting under the covers. You carefully adjust the blanket around their poor shaking form.
“I guess we should probably give them some space,,” Isabeau mumbles, awkwardly patting their shoulder. “But I assume you want to stay with them, Sif?”
“Yeah.” You’re not leaving them.
Your family clears out, and you watch Loop sleep. They’re breathing slowly, in, and out.
What if this makes them worse permanently, your brain supplies. What if because you asked them to join you, it has a serious toll on their health? What if they die, because of you, because of—
No. Get a grip, Siffrin. They’re fine. They’d be worse on their own.
“...Stardust?” a raspy voice comes from the mountain of blankets.
Ah. Not asleep then. “Loop,” you say, and scoot up next to them, putting your head on the pillow. They manage a weak smile, but it looks like the effort hurts them. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been through worse,” they reply. “As compared to going supernova, this is nothing.”
“Oh, Loop.” You brush their hair off their forehead. “Pretty bad, huh?”
“Pretty blinding bad, yeah.” Loop curls in on themself.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you ask. “And you didn’t let anyone else help carry you either. You barely even let me do that.” You look them right in the eye. “You gotta let people help you, alright?”
Loop laughs dryly. “Not an option, Stardust.”
“What do you mean, not an option?” you ask.
“I’m here to help, not to need help. That’s why the Universe put me here, and so…if I’m not the Loop I was meant to be, won’t it just do it again? Throw me somewhere else?”
“You don’t know that!” you insist. “Why would that happen?”
“I don’t know!” Loop snaps. “I just—ah!” They clutch their head, face screwed up in a grimace.
“Here, hang on.” You go into your pack and pull out some painkillers and a canteen of water. You give some to Loop, and then remember that your own head still hurts and take some as well. “You’re okay, Loop. I’ve got you.”
“Hm.” Loop sighs. “Even if the Universe doesn’t give up on me, who’s to say your family won’t?”
“They won’t,” you tell them. “I know them. And you know them. They’re your family too, if you want them to be.”
“Until I act wrong and they decide they want their own Siffrin, not this broken copy of the person they love more,” Loop mutters.
“That won’t happen.” You take their hand, holding it tight.
“Oh, won’t it now!” Loop snarls. “You think you know everything about me, Stardust, but you have no idea how much I’ve changed! How much worse it’s gotten!” There are tears streaming down their face now. “Do you know sometimes, I can’t…I can’t get my mind off of strangling you again and trying to take your place. I don’t even want to do it, but I picture it, and I can’t stop. One of these days, what if I actually do? What will they do with me then?”
“That’s…” you take a breath. “That’s not a new thing, actually. I’ve had…we’ve had thoughts like that forever. About hurting ourselves, or someone else. The kind of thoughts you can’t get rid of. And…they know I have that, and they still love me.”
“You’re lying,” Loop mumbles.
“I wouldn’t,” you insist. “Not for something like this.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t, would you?” they scoff. “Too much of a goody two-shoes.”
“No, I’m not,” you huff. Are they purposefully misinterpreting your words? “I mess up all the time. I say awful mean things I don’t want to, and it’s horrible, but I barely lie anymore. I just don’t have it in me. You can trust me on that.”
“Yeah.” Loop breathes softly, and their hand traces over the star-shaped scar on their chest.
“I’ve noticed you do that,” you murmur. “Can I ask why?”
“Doing what?” Loop blinks.
“Touching your scar,” you reply.
“Ah.” Loop looks down as if they didn’t even realize they were doing so. “I suppose…beacuse I need to. I need to remember why I’m here. And if I don’t do this…I’ll lose that, won’t I?”
“No, you won’t,” you insist. “Those rituals won’t accomplish anything.”
Loop snorts. “Throw my own words back at me, will you?”
“You need to hear them too.”
“Hm, maybe you’re right.” Loop rests against you. They’ve been pushing themself so hard. You brush a hand through their hair. “Aren’t we a couple of fools? Even when we’re not trapped in a literal time loop, we manage to get ourselves caught in these stupid patterns on our own.”
“That’s us,” you laugh weakly. “Fools trapped in a maze of our own suffering.”
Loop doesn’t respond. Their eyes are hazy with pain again. You hold them tight and watch them cuddle closer to you.
You’re still trapped, in some way. You may never escape. You may never have been out of this maze in your life. It’s going to grate on you again, it’s going to hurt in a way that will make you wonder how you’ll live through it. You’ve been there before, and you’d be naive to think that you won’t ever return there again.
You’re not in it alone, though. That makes it bearable, at least.
Still clinging tightly to Loop with one arm, you use the other to retrieve something from your pocket and tuck it into Loop’s grip. The doll from the infirmary, the one with a broken face. The one you once thought would never reach the end, and yet both of you did.
You’ll still make it, no matter what. You always have.