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Fount fell into his bed, blinking at the mirror across from him.
He just... he looked disgusting. His hair was knotted, only glowing dimly. He could tell from here how tired he looked. The bandages on his wrists were... dirty. They probably need to be changed, or taken off. Though, his wrists still hurt underneath them.
He had been doing pretty well before yesterday...
Aw~! Is Fountie whining about his own actions again?
...great. Whatever. He didn't need to listen to this. He just wanted to go to sleep...
You could just kill yourself. Then you could go to sleep forever!
What the hell. What the hell?!
...It was fine! It was... just trying to get in his head. It would be fine. It couldn't make him hurt himself or anything.
You know, your friends all want you dead, don’t they~?
They wouldn’t. They— Sugar liked him a bit, didn’t she? She kept trying to check on him, so—
She’s waiting to see when you’re dead.
She wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t just want him to kill himself. She always wanted everyone to be happy.
He stood up, pacing as he tried to reason through his thoughts.
They wouldn’t want him dead. Sure, maybe they hadn’t been around each other often, and maybe they joked about hating each other sometimes, but they… wouldn’t… want that! If they really hated him then they would say it, not that they would, they were all friends, they couldn’t hate him, they just…
Maybe they’re trying to say they hate you and you’re the one taking it as a joke, hm~?
“SHUT UP—!” Fount paused, noticing the Spire reacted to his yelling, “just… shut up.”
Fount dug his nails into his arms. He tried to focus on the hurt. It was better than listening to his own head. They were busy! They couldn't entertain him constantly, that was stupid to think, even for a mortal cookie who didn't have the same responsibilities as they did! They couldn't hate him. They didn't. They didn't hate him. Sure, they didn't seem fond of him, and Spice seemed to get irritated with him easily, but that was... just how he acted sometimes.
You just don’t want to hear the truth.
As if that was the truth. Besides, even if they did hate him, they wouldn't... want him dead.
It didn’t matter, he didn’t need to listen to this, it would be fine if he could just ignore it. He just had to ignore it. It was wrong, either way!
He. just. had. to. ignore. it.
He could just focus on writing or— something! This was fine. It… was getting worse. But it would be fine. He’d always been fine alone. There was no reason he couldn’t handle it now. It was alright. He’d be fine. He had to be. He had to be the Fount of Knowledge, right? That was... that was what he had to be. He didn't have any other choice, anyway.
You're adorable, Fount. You should just do it! It wouldn't hurt anyone!
He wasn't able to. It's not like he hadn't tried.
You can always try again! You have a knife, a rope, you could even just jump off the balcony.
"I don't..."
Fount glanced out the door, stepping out to the balcony.
The cold hit him immediately. It didn't matter, really. He could handle the cold.
He leaned on the railing, looking at the river below him. It was pretty. The white milk of the river twinkled under the moonlight.
Go on. Jump off. You can do it. You could finally be free.
Fount blinked the tears out of his eyes. He didn't want to jump off. He didn't even want to die!
He just... he couldn't handle this anymore.
Any of this.
Being the "Fount of Knowledge." The stupid voice of his soul jam. Trying to figure out what cookiekind even really wanted. What the witches wanted. What his friends wanted.
None of it made any sense. It was ironic, wasn't it...? Having all this knowledge and not being able to figure out why he was even here in the first place. Why was he even created? Did it matter? Would any of it ever fucking matter?
It never felt like it did. No matter how affectionate someone was, or how kind or calm or patient they were with him, or if they hated him, screamed at him, made him feel terrified of getting hurt, even actually hurt him, even when he hurt himself, it never felt like it mattered.
It wouldn't matter if he lived or died.
He stepped up onto the railing. He could just step off. It would hurt, but maybe it would finally kill him.
Do it.
...
Fount forced down a whine. He didn't want to. But he did? He didn't— he didn't know! He didn't know anything!
What was he even supposed to do anymore?!
This was so stupid.
This was so. fucking. stupid.
Fount stepped down again.
Maybe if he just locked himself in his room, he couldn't hurt himself.
He stepped into his room, shutting the door behind him and sliding down.
Tch. Are you really this pathetic?
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut. up.
Wow, you're really upset, huh~
Fount didn't want to listen to this anymore. He wanted to slam his head into the wall until he couldn't think straight. He wanted to shut it up. He wanted every single thought in his head to stop. Everything to just be quiet.
It was too much.
He stumbled into his bed. He didn't care how much of a mess he was. He could handle it in the morning.
He could handle it. He would do it alone, too. It wasn't like he needed anyone's help. Sure, it... might be nice if someone checked on him, but he didn't need it. He would figure it out, and everything would be back to normal when he figured out what was wrong with him and he fixed it.
He hummed, grabbing a piece of his hair and running a hand through it. It did look awfully pretty, like the stars outside. He'd always liked the stars. Maybe someone else chose that for him, but he didn't really care. It was one of the few things he could like without getting in the way of what he was supposed to do. Even when he did take his own time to study them it was useful. He'd learned cookies like stars quite a bit.
They were appreciated. Cookies liked them. They were used as a guide to help you find your way. They were a group, all together in the sky, but each one was special. The reactions within their cores were quite interesting. They'd usually have planets, like a little family. Most of them were even in binary star systems—bound in orbit around another star until they both burned out.
He'd like to be a star.