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The spring sun does not touch the forest surrounding the tower, and as such it remains covered in pristine white frost, even as the rest of the server bursts with new life. Pearl considers this idly, as she holds her slumbering dog as close as she can. Perhaps it is an oddity of the seed. Or more likely, it is because of her. A stain upon the earth, as desolate as she is.
Pearl hates her house. She feels a little bad about it, as the tower has committed no offence. It is, tactically, perfect. Elevated from the forest, foundations of stone to prevent burning, one way up, many ways down. The interior is functional yet pretty, she put as much energy into it as she could. She has done her best to make it feel like a home. But every time she returns, it hurts. A spire standing against the sky, solitary, a reminder of her own aching loneliness. Maybe that’s why she leaves into the forest, despite the constant worry of a knife in the back, spreading misery to everything she touches. Because she can’t bear to be alone with the vacuum inside her.
A rustle outside sends Pearl peering out into the foggy night. She scans the darkness for predators, or allies. But nothing, just a rabbit, leaving light tracks in the untarnished snow. She’ll catch it tomorrow, food for Tilly. She turns away, barely considering when she herself stopped leaving footprints.
Her head is still spinning from her death earlier. The dull ache of the axe hasn't left her abdomen, a faint scar lingering. Her own fault really, she had to poke the bear. She doesn’t even know why she did it, just an urge from the back of her skull to dig the hole deeper. And now Joel and Etho go on the list of people who hate her. That list grows every day seemingly, and her list of allies is a list of one. Scar and Grian are still in hiding after their flight from the Red Velvet Keep, but she’s sure they’ll be back soon, begging for sanctuary. She wouldn’t count Grian as a friend, but Scar she might.
She recalls the time he came to her in the forest, telling her how worried he was about Grian hating him. She sympathised, and then he offered her snow. A chill that grows within, a dull ache that leaves you in pieces, and that will never abandon you. They danced in it together, told stories of lives past and commiserated about their awful situations. But in the end, Scar went home to Grian, a man who could at least tolerate his soulmate. And Pearl was once again alone.
Probably for the best. She didn’t want to drag Scar down with her, and no doubt he would grow to hate her eventually, like everyone else. She’s better as a helping hand, roadside assistance, to dry your tears, fix your tires and bid you farewell before you realise how cold the winds are blowing.
Pearl misses her friends. Her memory of the life before this one, when she wasn’t bound to another, is murky, and fades more everyday. But, still, she yearns for them, even if they were only silhouettes. Scott and Cleo, the old Scott and Cleo, not these reiterations with faces full of contempt and pity. They were so close, that they’d kill for each other, die for each other. In the final hours of the last game, Scott and Pearl had hunted Cleo like dogs hunting a fox, but that didn’t mean anything in the end, they stood together until the end of the line. From that, to such cold, cutting stares from them, and scorn in their voices.
Maybe she’s the problem. Maybe she deserves this, because she came back wrong. They push her away because she is broken, ragged inside, a hollow doll, carrying with her a gnawing hatred. Perhaps, she should let herself be alone, and kill what wants inside her.
The room gets colder.
She shouldn’t want things really. That’s what killed the world in the end. Well, not quite, but no-one really knows what happened to Boatem. She’s asked the others, only to receive odd looks, as if she was talking about things that happened in a dream. Maybe it was a dream, and this, this half-life is all she gets, it’s all there ever will be. The thought sends Pearl sitting bolt upright, startling the sleeping dog on her lap. She nuzzles Tilly, listening close to her heartbeat. It’s almost right, but still, Pearl knows how heavy this must be for her. Two souls in one body, or however Ren did it, must be tiring. Must be better than one soul in two bodies, but not by much. She wonders if she should have let Tilly go but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to be left even more alone than she already was, with only her and the distant moon.
Except, not so long ago, the moon wasn’t distant. It grew closer and closer, and tore up their lives, pushing and collapsing the very fabric of the world, with unrelenting pressure, until there was only a choking, lightless void. But even then, she wasn’t alone.
She wants it back, she wants it all back.
Tilly begins to whimper, and Pearl realises she is bleeding. The cut is right across her abdomen, just where the scar was beginning to fade, deep, messy, but undoubtedly deliberate. What is Scott playing at? They just died today, and here he is, letting Cleo cut him up to bits. The ice inside her is melting, into scalding steam, and flame. She hates Scott. She hates Cleo. She hates Martyn, she hates Ren, she hates BigB and Grian, she hates Scar and Jimmy and Tango, and herself, more than anything. They think they have such problems, but at least they have each other. They can act with impunity, while she is a demon, a witch, for sharing the same sin. She is alone and, if she died, no-one would even miss her. The cut has closed up, but she doesn’t care. She turns to a cupboard nearby and slams her head against it, again, and again and again, until her vision is drenched in scarlet. She laughs, choking on blood, tasting Scott’s panic on her tongue, until suddenly, it crumples. Tears, warmer than her blood, wash her wound away, and Tilly is there, eyes wet with sympathy. As she holds her dog close, she can hear the whispered sentiment, the false sympathies of that hidden audience she despises.
She stays on the floor for a while, with her last friend nuzzled so close to her. In this moment, she vows to herself, to hold to this moment. She vows to not die in loneliness. She will not leave behind anyone to not miss her, anyone to neglect her. She will see them turn to dust and snow and bone, and she will tear them to pieces if necessary.
Then, perhaps, she will wake from this nightmare, to a world in fresh sunlight, and faces that smile with forgiveness.