Chapter Text
(You wake up.)
You blink your single eye open. The open sky does not greet you. Instead, you’re met by the sight of sloped ceilings and the noise of faint rustling.
Ah.
You’re in the clocktower again.
You were getting sick of waking up here, too. If you were even “waking up”.
Well, no, that wasn’t fair. This loop, at least, you actually are feeling more well rested than usual! A beautiful exception to the rule.
Most of the time, there was just no telling if you were spending most of your nights zoning out or actually sleeping. You knew for a fact that the first half of the night was spent dissociating, waiting for Isabeau to whisper in your ear. Waiting for your stupid, stupid cue.
This time, Isabeau isn’t next to you. The emptiness of the other half of the bed and the sunlight trickling through the window was your only clue just when you were waking up.
You sigh, taking a small breath in. As the smell of morning dew and freshly disturbed dust hits your nose, you sneeze. Wrong decision! Everything feels heavy, like a weight was pressing down on your chest, suffocating you.
You gag, struggling against the boulder pressing you down, down–
For a delirious moment, you hope it’s Isabeau hugging you, but when was the last time Isabeau willingly touched you? Never during any of the loops, that was for sure. Even under the stars he always keeps his distance, somehow knowing even brushing your fingers together would contaminate him.
(a hug a pull of hands an embrace a kiss a p u s h)
You know now that either you’re a rabid beast, or a creeping bacteria. A disease.
You bite or poison everything you touch.
You’ve performed your way through his death loop enough times to know that if you’re not perfect, if you don’t hit all your cues, that everything you love will get misshapen, sharpened. Family members turn to allies in a moment so small as, say, forgetting to trip.
But, yes. Isabeau’s not here. He’s not holding you tightly and smothering you in affection, like you once dared to dream. He’s not suffocating you, either, although sometimes you wish he would. And not in a gross, romantic way, but in a “I hate you why do you still have to be alive” type of way.
You would deserve it.
But still. You’re alone. And you’re still choking, trying to escape the pressure, not quite sure why a sneeze was leaving you breathless.
Despite everything, despite knowing how Isabeau should feel about him, you still wish he was here. You still want him, still want him to be close, even if there’s the stupid blinding pillow wall between them that Isabeau always built, because–
You want him here. But instead he abandoned you to enjoy Bonnie’s (bland, ashy, dry) delicious cooking of pancakes and bacon!
Siffrin; beaten by food! Next, you’ll be trumped by a particularly pretty rock!
Heaving in the silence of the bedroom, you tried to claw for breath, trying to get yourself under control.
(Breathe in, breathe out!)
(Hey, stupid! You only have a few minutes before you have to get up and socialize! Are you really spending your time hyperventilating?)
(Nothing’s even there! Nothing is crushing you, nothing’s making it hard to breathe, it’s just your own stupid brain tricking you!)
(Don’t you want to enjoy your last few moments of alone time before you have to go to the House? You won’t be alone until the team’s bathroom break! You should enjoy what time you’ve got!)
But… you don’t really want to be alone. At least, you don’t if your family members love you in this loop, because when they’re happy with you, every second spent with them is worth it. Even if they are just characters.
(…..wait.)
(Do your family members love you in this loop?)
(You… can’t remember.)
(You can’t remember!)
(Stars, you wish this was the first time this has happened, but no! No, you can remember that you’ve forgotten before, but you can’t remember what! You! Are! Supposed! To! What is actually wrong with you?!)
(You’re a poor actor. An even worse director.)
(This puts you at a terrible disadvantage! If they don’t love you, you’re going to have to pull extra weight, if they do, overcompensating is going to make them worried and go slower!)
(Stupid brain! Why can’t you t h i n k – ? ! )
“Siffrin?” Mirabelle called, light footsteps approaching the side of your bed.
You rip your hands from your face – when did those get there? – to smile up at her, grin plastered on with practiced ease. Stars, you must’ve really overslept if she was back up here! Why is it always Mirabelle who wakes you up?
Oops.
She looks worried already.
(Be good, be good, be good, be good–)
“Hey, Mira!” You chirp, making sure to sound upbeat even as you pull the words from your throat, like a clown and a handkerchief. Oh. You feel tired. “How are you on this wonderful new day?”
Mirabelle’s face fell. “I’m… okay, Siffrin. I’m just…”
Before you can process it, her hand is reaching towards you. The back of it touches your forehead – (...Mirabelle slapped you.) – and rests there. Her lips purse in concentration. She looks so serious like this.
Her hand is cold.
Your fingers tighten around the sheets, digging in and twisting. The tension is supposed to distract you, pulling until the sheets start to cut off circulation. You can’t react. You can’t react.
Her hands feel like– like–
You love her so much. You love her more than your entire life, want her touch so badly you would beg like a dog for it, and she always feels so nice, her hand holding yours, but the…
The hand… Oh, Stars, it reminds you of– of–
“I’m sorry,” Mirabelle says gently. As easily as a hot knife through butter, her voice digs into your panic, and everything stills as confusion bubbles up. “I’m not as good as Odile is at feeling if you have a fever or not, but… I think you still do. I’m sorry, Siffrin.”
A–
A fever? You don’t remember lying about having a fever. Why would you…?
Wait. If– If Mirabelle just slapped you, and she has only slapped you once in all the loops (was it really only once? You deserved it so much more often…) and that was after you ruined everything, then…
Then that meant…
Oh, oh, no, no, they all hate you right now! They all hate you–
“Bonnie’s making some chicken noodle soup,” Mirabelle murmurs with a nervous hum. As she withdraws, she brings those wonderful, painful, kind hands back to her chest to start hangwringing again. “They’ll be up soon! Unless… Do you feel like you can get down the stairs?”
Of course you can. You can do anything that would make their lives easier, even if only marginally.
You push yourself upright. The entire world sways around you, but you don’t stop for even a second, switching to flip your legs off the side of the bed.
The memories are hazy at best, as they often are, but you know they don’t hate you right now. Yesterday, they hugged you.
People who hate you don’t hug you.
Clarity returns at a crawl. Your allies had broken the loop, saved you from yourself and the wretched prison you had trapped them in. They don’t hate you.
Time marches on.
Time was continuing, the string stretching on into infinity after the tangled knot you had found yourself trying to unravel. Somehow, you are going to live.
Your feet hit the ground, shivering at the jolt it sends through you. The world trembles, but you force yourself to stand perfectly straight up anyway.
You look down to grab your cloak off the ground.
(…it’s not on the ground, why isn’t it on the ground, you can’t find it, you can’t f in d i t .. . . .)
“Your cloak?” Mirabelle asks.
You wonder desperately what your expression does that makes you so easy to read. Either your allies are incredibly perceptive, or you’re truly a horrible actor. Most of the loops, they acted like they, too, knew the script by heart, able to predict what you’re thinking, wanting, needing, all without you needing to verbalize the thing.
It was really, really, really annoying.
Mirabelle doesn’t wait for you to form an answer. Your– allies rarely do.
She goes to the chair at the footboard of your and Isabeau’s bed, and picks up the neatly folded darkless cloak. Who… who had folded it? You never fold anything anymore. In the loops, you always found it to be a waste of… time.
Ha. Ha. Ha!
“Hey, Mira…” You giggle, and then come to the stabbing realization that she won’t get it. Maybe you can pin it on you being in the clocktower, but that’s not as funny as looping is.
“Yes, Siffrin?” She asks sweetly and innocently, oblivious to what the day holds for you all. She holds out your cloak, and you take it gratefully. You’re glad she’s here in this loop. Straining your memory, you try to recall what you did yesterday to deserve this kindness.
(You wish you could remember… but all that comes to mind is a slap and a mocking voice that cuts into your ears. The voice isn’t really Mirabelle’s, you don’t think. It comes from a lightless vessel that’s more like you than anyone else, but it really looks like a uniform in a museum, perfectly ironed and placed on a mannequin.)
Oh, right! You’re talking right now.
You blink at Mirabelle. What’s your line again? It’s not one you use every time, just whenever she looks a little discontented.
You think it goes a little something like– “You were right, the sleepover was a ton of fun, Mira! After we beat the King, we should do it more often!”
If they ever manage to.
Mirabelle frowns at you for a long, long moment. “Siffrin, we… We did beat the King. That’s why we’re in the clocktower and I gave you your cape.”
Ha. Ha! Yeah, the… the clocktower thing wasn’t new. But the… the cape thing was.
You remember now. How did you forget that you were out? You pull the cloak over your head. You open your mouth to ask about your hat, but. You remember now. It’s gone forever.
Your hat that– that somebody made for you. To take care of you, to shelter you from bad weather forever… The hat that proved that, once, somebody loved you. Unconditionally.
It was gone, and you would have to deal with that. Forever.
(…wait…)
You have to deal with something! Forever! You have the capability to deal with something! Oh, oh, this is wonderful! This is good news! You lost your hat and you will never ever see it again, and it was a part of you, but you lost it anyway, and you were allowed to lose it!
“You’re smiling!” Mirabelle laughs, voice light as a feather. “You’re… are you happy?” Her mood shifts to concern. “You look a little… hysteric.”
“I don’t know!” You giggle. “I– I can’t tell– I think I’m just–”
‘Happy’ was the right word for it, you think. So is ‘relieved’, so is ‘overjoyed’, so is ‘broken’, so is ‘upset’, so is ‘lost’ and ‘lonely’ and ‘failing’ and ‘rotting’ but happy! Happy! ‘Happy’ is a great word for it!
Once you spent a loop saying “happy” as many times as you could, trying to convince yourself that you still felt it, that it wasn’t a myth. You had the capacity to be happy still. You had to, or else the loops weren’t worth the effort anymore.
In the end, Isabeau had been the one who asked you about it. You had laughed then, too, until you started choking on the bubbling giggles. Avoiding Isabeau’s panic, you had looped back only a few minutes before, managing to avoid the whole situation. The worst part is that it hadn’t worked.
For the entire loop – and afterwards, too – you were still sad.
Today, however, you find yourself smiling. “Yeah,” you say, “I think I’m happy.”
Mirabelle brightens even more and regards you with overwhelming softness and love in her gaze. “Come on, then! We have a breakfast to get to.”
Numbly, you hope it isn’t pancakes again. You’re so s i c k of blinding pancakes.
Inevitably, it would be pancakes anyway, but… Maybe you did something yesterday that would change it? Maybe there was something you could do next loop–?
You remember what day it is again when Mirabelle pushes open the door and the smell assaults you. That’s not anything you’ve had in your loops, but you’d recognize the smell anywhere. It’s definitely, unmistakably, cinnamon rolls. Oh. Oh– Oh, that was–
An eternity spent repeating the same two days, eating the same blinding meals over and over again, but this is different. It smells divine. You were going to eat something that might, might, actually taste good!
You are so tired of being hungry.
You are so tired of your mouth tasting like dirt.
Stepping out of the bedroom, you find yourself at the top of the stairs. You lean forward eagerly, foot stretching out in front of you, saliva already thick in the back of your mouth. Everything was growing hazy, but that’s fine, because you–
You lose your footing.
Mirabelle squeaks, latching onto your arm and pulling you back, and right before you start to tumble down all twenty-three stairs – you counted – you’re bundled back in her arms, heaving up at the ceiling. Everything fades strangely in and out of focus, vertigo once again being a crab.
Mirabelle holds you tight, even though she’s pinned down by your weight. She’s gasping a little for breath, but her touch doesn’t loosen in the slightest. Both hands are still around your torso.
She feels wonderful. Your head is still on her chest, with your hair brushing against her chin. You lift up your hands to touch hers, and–
She lets go fully, laughing a little. Mirabelle isn’t as strong as you, but it’s still ridiculously easy for her to wiggle her way out from underneath you. “Oh, that was close,” she says, getting to her knees and smoothing out her skirt over them. “Do you normally trip down stairs, Siffrin?”
You don’t know if she means in your loops or not. Either way, the answer’s “No,” you wheeze. You turn your attention from the ceiling to her instead. She tips her head to smile at you. “But today’s a new day.”
“Yes,” Mirabelle agrees fullheartedly. “Today is a new day!”
“Are you two okay up there? Do you need help?” Isabeau yells.
Thankfully, his voice is what you need to finally get it through your thick skull to struggle upright. You look down at him. He’s peering up at you, soft, kind, no longer trying to put on a brave face before you go fight the king, because you’re not in a loop anymore! You want to squeal.
“We’re okay!” Mirabelle reassures, standing up. “We just fell a little! We’ll be right down!”
“Okay! The offer still stands, though!” Isabeau sings back. His smile falters after a minute. “Is Sif still sick?”
“I…” Mirabelle looks at you, lips pursed together tightly. You glance back, and muster a smile. “I think so. I think he’s mostly just having a hard time remembering he’s not looping anymore.”
(Hey.)
“I,” you declare with as much authority as you can muster, and both allies immediately cower away, “am perfectly fine.”
“Oh, we’ve got to work on that.” Mirabelle decides, taking charge just like she used to do before this blinding final adventure. She places her hands on her hips, frowning. “You can’t scare us away anymore, Siffrin. We’re still here for you. And we can tell you’re not fine. You’re more confused than normal, which I get, with the time loops and all, but…”
You make yourself smile. Try to adjust the squint of your eye so it looks like the grin reaches it, because you are fine. You’re with them, aren’t you? That’s all you could ask for right now.
Instead, Mirabelle’s smile twists upside down. She doesn’t look very happy with you.
You’re a horrible, rotten actor. Did you ever used to be good at it?
“Oooh, you make me so angry!” Mirabelle groans, shaking her head at you, frustration evident in everything that she says. You take a step backwards, trying to recalculate, because you have to figure out how to fi x t h i s–
“Because,” Mirabelle presses, taking a breath in… and out. In… and out.
(“Do it like Sif does”, huh?)
“Because I can tell you’re zoning out.” Mirabelle whispers, folding her hands together. “And that’s scary. It means you’re not really here, and…” she bows her head, with a small shake. After a moment, she lifts her head again and smiles. “Come on, Siffrin! Don’t you want some breakfast?”
(...Huh?)
You blink.
Oh! Oh, right, the cinnamon rolls. You’re getting cinnamon rolls!
“Food!” You chirp.
Mirabelle’s tight expression smooths out, and she smiles at you. “Yes, Siffrin. Food. Let’s go.” She reaches out slowly, weaving her fingers around yours. It’s clumsy and awkward, and you startle, but you don’t let her leave. You cling to her.
She frowns, and looks down at Isabeau. He frowns back.
…oops. Did you make her sad again? You’ll have to remember to fix this in the next loop. You’re not quite sure what you did this time. Were you too quiet? Too awkward? Too weak?
When she starts down the stairs, you trudge after her. Gravity feels… weird. The stairs feel steeper than normal, with less of a step between each step. Maybe you were just thinking of the castle stairwells? Time sometimes was funny like that.
Mirabelle takes each step slowly. You’re grateful for her, so fully and so completely. You’re so glad that she’s not just a character in a play. You’re so glad that her dialogue is different today and every day after, and–
It was so weird that she is still holding your hand, thumb rubbing at your veins. She never used to do that before. You don’t want to pull away. You want to be even closer to her, you take an extra step to nestle against–
Stars, you seriously needed to stop losing your footing!
“Sif!” Isabeau cries, running up the last ten steps and somehow managing to catch you with one arm and Mirabelle with the other before you are both sent toppling because of your stupid, awful, terrible mistake.
You shiver and cling to Isabeau’s arm, wishing he would adjust to a hug and envelop you whole. Your touch makes him startle, but he settles down quickly.
“I’m sorry,” you whine to everybody and nobody. “I didn’t mean to t-trip, again…” you look down at your feet. They’re trembling from the strain, on your tippy toes as you lean against Isabeau’s arm. “I’m fine. Sorry. Maybe it’s better if I go down by myself.”
You couldn’t bring Mirabelle down with you again. You’re a monster, always getting people hurt because of your own hubris, your own n e e d to be closer to them. You push away from Isabeau on clumsy feet.
“Nope!” Isabeau said brightly, and before you can even fully wrap your head around the word, he’s scooping you up. His expression is nervous and hesitant, but you’re sitting on his arm and he’s keeping you close.
…Oh.
“Sorry, Sif, but I’m here to help, and you gotta accept! No two ways about it, buddy!”
You don’t say anything.
You can’t really believe that you’re out. You can’t believe Isabeau loves you and cares about you and is carrying you down the rest of the stairs. Sure, it was only ten steps, and anyone would be able to handle that short of a distance, but each and every one was proof that he loves you!
It’s lovely to be loved and looked after.
You and Isabeau reach ground level, Mirabelle a step behind you, and you prepare yourself to be dropped or put down. You kick your legs in anticipation and pull away slightly, already readjusting your balance so you don’t fall over the moment your feet touch the floor.
But Isabeau doesn’t put you down for a second. It doesn’t seem like he even considers it. He walks to the kitchen, and you’re still sitting on his forearm, slumped against him. You want to cry.
When you enter, you see Bonnie standing on a box at the counter, carefully rolling out another batch of cinnamon rolls. The ones that you can smell are sitting on the table, in front of where Odile is stationed. Technically, she’s ‘overseeing’, but really she’s just reading her book.
Her familytale book.
Although it was a horrible situation, a terrible moment, that led to her even having it, even though you practically forced it into her hands, she was still reading it. She didn’t completely hate you.
…of course she didn’t. She told you she didn’t, stupid!
She was more honored than anything that you had done what you did. She wouldn’t abandon you!
(She said she would, though. She wanted to. So badly. Everyone else stopped you, and–)
Odile smiles when she spots you, eyes locking with your own singular one. “Ah, it looks like we have the calvary now. How are you feeling today, Siffrin?”
You blink. “It’s a new day,” you murmur in confused awe. “It’s– It’s–” you have to stop to grapple with yourself, trying to figure out a way to form your confusion into words. “The food is–”
“It’s cinnamon rolls!” Bonnie crows, lifting their hand up, slick with icing, and waves at you. “I hope you’re hungry, because Dile says you have to eat at least two!”
“I’ll eat all of them!” You respond immediately, just to see Bonnie’s smile grow and (manipulative, awful person!) turn to Isabeau to drown out the voice in your ear. You whisper to him, “I can’t believe this is new.”
Isabeau’s grip on your knees tightens. His expression looks almost pained, and, oops. You’re going to have to fix that, too. Before you can figure out how, he lowers you into a chair on Odile’s left, not letting go until you’re fully situated. “Yeah, I… I bet, Sif.” He says, not quite meeting your eye. “If there’s anything you want us to avoid, know that we will, okay? Just like we don’t have croissants anymore!”
…oh.
You thought you were just being lucky.
You didn’t know they were doing that on purpose. Ha, it was so funny that you were still learning new things about them even after spending so long with them and they didn’t even re m e mb e r– !
But those weren’t really your allies, friends, family members. Just characters reading off a script. They’re back now. They’re themselves again.
You smile. Bright. Big. It’s nice to be back with them.
“Here!” Bonnie cries, running over to grab the platter of cinnamon rolls and shoves it towards you. “I also have orange juice and scrambled eggs and a little bit of french toast from the other day, but–!”
Odile reaches over and loads up your plate before you can start doing it yourself. Even though she only said you needed two, she ends up putting three on your plate. You contemplate grabbing more, but…
The thought of it makes your stomach roll, and it feels too much like looping in time, and–
You bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood.
You don’t want to throw up. That would make Bonnie upset. Three is fine for now. If you get hungry later, you can grab more.
You wait until Mirabelle claps her hands as a blessing to dig in before grabbing the first roll. They taste heavenly, melting in your mouth, sweet and soft. The texture is only distantly familiar as it’s ripped apart between your teeth, and…
Wait.
Why…
Why did Bonnie make something different this loop?
Did you leverage your newfound friendship against them after their quest yesterday? Used it to ask a favour?
Oh, you’re an awful and terrible person, if even that! You’re more like a monster.
You put down the half of the cinnamon roll you haven’t eaten yet and stare at your plate. You try to remember what you did last loop. You can’t remember. You can’t remember, it’s dancing at the edges of your consciousness, and you ca n ‘ t re m e mb e r !)
“–ink he’s still sick,” Mirabelle whispers to Odile. “That’s why he’s not eating. He was off when he woke up this morning, too. And he’s been zoning out.”
…You’re not zoning out, though. You’re trying to remember. You lift your head and you look at Mirabelle.
She startles when she catches your eye on her, sinking into her seat.
(She’s scared of you. You scared her!)
You force your face to even out. She doesn’t immediately relax. You must be doing a bad job at it. You struggle, trying to change expressions, trying to make yourself kind and gentle, the Siffrin that wasn’t just a stage director.
It’s not working. She still looks upset.
(Say something, stupid, say–)
Mirabelle takes another breath in… and out. She picks up a roll and smiles at you. It doesn’t touch her eyes, either. “I was thinking, after breakfast, maybe we can draw a bath for you? I bet it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to properly clean up?”
…that was… true? He couldn’t remember when he last…
How had she known it had been a while? And why only him?
Shouldn’t everyone else be washing up? No, that had never happened in any of the other loops. They shouldn’t be taking a bath, that didn’t make sense.
“Will we have time?” You ask, but it doesn’t really matter to you. You have all the time in the world, after all. You have an eternity. However, you know it matters to them, and they can’t just… skip the House. They’ll want to try to reach the king, and you’ll try to figure out more about your situation.
(…what were you looking into today? Wish Craft?)
(Right, yes! You have to find out more about Wish Craft!)
(…no. No, not Wish Craft, that went nowhere. You need to ask the king–?)
(NO. What’s wrong with you, you blinding fool! Remember what happened last time?!)
(It was something to do with the Head Housemaiden, wasn’t it? No, nothing came of that, either. Eternity. Alone. There was… something else.)
(What were you supposed to be doing again? Stars.)
(You’ll need to ask Loop for a reminder.)
(...Loop hates you because you’re a fake, stupid copy. You forgot about that. Loop hates you, wishes you were dead. Wishes that they were you. After all, you replaced them, didn’t you?)
(How could you forget…)
(Your one friend who knows better, and you lost them by existing. It’s inevitable you’ll lose everyone else, too. Soon as you figure that out, you’ll finally be able to let go, and–)
“Of course we have time!” Mirabelle’s laugh doesn’t feel quite right. It isn’t a real laugh, instead squeezing out small and strained. Her eyes never peel away from you. “We have all the time in the world, Siffrin. Don’t you remember? It’s… tomorrow.”
(...of course you remember.)
(You remember a lot, now.)
“Yes.” You seriously nod. “It’s tomorrow.”
Well, that explains the cinnamon rolls.
Everything suddenly makes sense now. Why everyone’s looking at you, why the food is different, the way Bonnie’s smiling while they watch you eat, the way Isabeau’s hand is still on the back of your chair…
Yes! That’s right. It is tomorrow, it’s tomorrow, and the sunlight coming through the window is tomorrow’s sun, because the nightmare was finally over, the looping is over, and Loop is. Is.
You don’t want to cry.
Instead, you bite into the cinnamon roll.
It still(?) tastes like heaven.
(...)
(...)
(their dialogue washes over you.)
(...)
(...)
(you don’t need to pay attention, you think.)
(...)
(they haven’t said your name. so it isn’t important.)
(...)
(...)
(...)
(...)
(You blink.)
(The backdrop has changed. Your fellow cast members have rotated again and shrunk back down to one.)
(Mirabelle!)
“I’ll be right here if you need me. Just shout if you need anything at all.” She tells you, hovering next to the bathroom door with her hand on the knob. “Unless you want help?”
For a minute, all you can think of is the comb, brushing through your hair, parting the knots until it runs smooth, soft threads coming off your scalp. Her smile blinding as she takes you in, an animal finally groomed for the first time in–
In–
You nod.
“That’s okay! Take all the time you– Did you just say ‘yes’?!” Mirabelle squeals, reaching out before you can flinch and she takes your hands again. It’s too similar to the loops, but at the same time…
You force yourself to focus on the feel of her hands in yours. Her fingers are a little shorter and chubbier than your own, but they curl perfectly into place. She feels so warm. You love it.
“Oh my goodness, Siffrin!” She coos. “This is big! I– I– This is a big step!”
“I’m glad,” you say quietly. She’s happy and that’s all that matters to you.
Her smile brightens, and then it thins immediately. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated. I can just stay right here, if you’d rather. I just want to make sure you don’t… trip, or forget where you are, or–”
“Not obligated,” you spit, hating how sharp your tone gets and hating it twice as much when Mirabelle winces at the sound of it. “…I really do want…”
(Please please please touch me please still want me I promise I’m not gross and disgusting I just don’t want to be alone I don’t want to be alone please stay with me, please stay with me–)
You twist until your fingers are completely interlocked with hers, and you scrounge up a smile. “Don’t leave me alone?”
Funny. It’s actually really funny, isn't it? Being in the bathroom had been your only alone time in the castle, and you had craved it. You had latched onto it and tried, tried, to enjoy every second of it. But after that last loop, especially…
You don’t think you ever want to be alone ever again.
Especially since… since…
You had spent the last loop chasing ghosts. Knowing that they hated you for every second of it, but still needing them close. It’s fine that they didn’t like you as long as you could stay with them.
That’s what you thought, anyway.
Mirabelle’s nose crinkles, face growing distraught for a second, and then it evens out. “Never,” she promises. “Ooh, I cannot wait to do a spa day with you!”
Isabeau’s offended squeak sounds off distantly. You snap your head around, blinking in the direction of the kitchen. Could he hear you from over there? You guess so, if he’s actually reacting to your conversation. You suppose he must’ve lost a bet with Mirabelle about you.
Once you escape from the loops, you would do something personal with Isabeau. Something to match the hair thing.
(…maybe Isabeau could do braids? Help you dye your hair again so you can look normal? Or maybe–)
(a hand a kiss a shove a tug at your stomach)
(you blink)
“Hi, Isa! I need to do the Favour Tree thing!” You declare as you feel the world right itself again, not giving Isabeau a second to think about anything. You never have to worry about messing up that line, anyway. Too many times you just wanted to hurry on to Loop and get Isabeau moving on–
“What?” Mirabelle blinks.
Wait, this wasn’t in the script. Why was Mirabelle here?
Oh, you didn’t mess up that line, you just said it at the wrong time.
Hey, that’s fine, take two, everyone! From the top!
“Hey Mira, have you thought about doing a sleepover tonight?”
“Siffrin.” Mirabelle says, strong as a boulder. You would know. She starts to tighten her grip. “Right now, we are enjoying a nice spa day. It is tomorrow.”
(Hmm? Yes, you knew that already. Zone out for this part?)
“It’s tomorrow,” you echo back, squeezing her hands. “I’m excited to have a spa day with you, Mira.”
“Me too,” she smiles. It looks oddly strained. You can’t figure out why, because the king was defeated, and you’re finally out of the loop, and she said she isn’t mad at you, and–
(Is she mad at you?)
(She said she’d tell you if she was, but that was before you revealed you were expecting to get screamed at. She seemed a lot less willing to talk about her feelings after that.)
(She’ll never say if she’s upset at you or not.)
You frown, but she’s already turning away, pulling her hands out of yours as she pushes open the bathroom door. “I can’t wait,” she chimes, and you can do nothing but chase her wake. “I brought all of my things back from the dorm! When we’re done here, you’re going to smell just like a fresh autumn morning!”
Ah, autumn. The season of Change.
You’re not sure how you feel about the Change God anymore, honestly. Sure, they were helpful to a point, helping with the Keyknife and boosting your strength when you asked for it. Maybe they didn’t care much about direct assistance, but at least their help was palpable, unlike the Universe, who hadn’t actually helped you since
(…)
(Huh.)
(What were you thinking about, again?)
Anyway. The Change God. Sure, sure, they were kind of a crab to you about the whole looping situation, but when it came to Mirabelle, they spent their time with her hyping her up, loving her, making sure she felt happy and supported when you failed. They loved her, no matter what she did.
Maybe she still only thought of them as a lazy god, but you would make sure to, eventually, tell her how much they adore her. Maybe not now. Not when your heart is still downtrodden by their dismissal of you.
Maybe there was a way to make them help you more? Maybe if you were able to interact with the statue, you’d be able to meet them again, maybe you could force them to change something, help you escape, so Mirabelle could escape. Manipulative, yes, but when it wasn’t against your allies, you–
Wait, wait, focus. Worry about finding out new information later.
What are you doing? You had zoned out for too long.
Mirabelle is standing with you, and you are inside the bathroom, facing the sink. Hmm. This doesn’t happen often, does it? Only two or three times that you can recall, when you were really seeking some solitude.
What is your line?
Ah, right.
“I’ll wash up quick,” You tell her. “Meet up with you all outside?”
Mirabelle frowns. Actually frowns. She looks broken or something. Hmm, did you say something wrong, either today or yesterday? You’ll have to fix that later.
“No,” she tsks with just a little bit of impatience. “We’re having a spa day, and you said not to leave you alone.”
Oh? Oh! And she agreed? You– you asked to take a break loop, and she said… Yes??? Isn’t the looming threat of the King…
Hmm. Who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Mirabelle shoos you over to the tub and turns back to start unpacking things from underneath the sink.
That’s funny. Those were all things you had seen in the bottom drawer of her closet when you were looking for the bonding profiles. You have never seen her use those products before, but you suppose it makes sense that Dormont sells all of her favourite goods.
Huh, one of those bottles has the same stain, and another has the same crease, as the ones in her dorm. That is–
Your cloak is already halfway off before the realization hits you, and a shuddering breath escapes from your lips. “Oh–” you say with a small pant, struggling the rest of the way out of your cloak and letting it fall to the ground before turning to Mirabelle. “Oh, it’s… I’m not in the loops anymore…”
Mirabelle’s hands still. As she grips the edge of the counter and hunches slightly into herself, the wood begins to quake with the force of her grip. Next to a forty-something level hero, the countertop doesn’t stand a chance. “Oh,” she murmurs to herself, thin. “Crab.”
You blink at her. That wasn’t quite the reaction you were looking for. Trying to deduce how best you could come back from this, you start to peel off the rest of your uniform, watching her carefully. There must be something you can say, something that’ll fix this whole situation.
It isn’t like–
It isn’t like you can just stab yourself now!
(Not like you could do that anyway, Stardust,) you mutter to yourself, filling in for Loop. You’ll miss them. (Much longer and useless of a death than anything else. You wanted to know the difference? There you go! Loop, providing all the answers for you because you’re so useless you can’t do anything yourself–)
You blink as you finally pull off your boots, taking in a shuddering breath. Mirabelle is still gripping the counter. There is no cue, no direction.
You’re the director, aren’t you? You’re supposed to puppeteer everyone else. If even you don’t know the right thing to say, what are you supposed to do?
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in–
“Mira,” you call, watching as her shoulders somehow tense even more. “...Mirabelle. Are you okay? You seem like you’re zoning out, there.”
She looks up at you and (stars, why is she crying?!) sighs. “That’s not funny, Siffrin!”
What? Huh? What?
She slowly pries her strong hands off of the wood. She leaves it splintered (kitchen counter, breaking under your fist) as those terrifying hands reach towards you instead. (...Mirabelle slapped you?) They hover near your face, but she does not make contact. You remind yourself to breathe.
“It scares me,” she says softly, “when you forget where, or, um, when you are.”
(Huh.)
(Huh?)
You try to recall, stretch as far back as you can to remember, remember, what you had just said, what you both had been doing, but you come back lost. You’re out of the time loop, you know that, but everything still feels so vague, so distant, and…
“I’m sorry.” you murmur, wooden.
“It’s not your fault.” Mirabelle whispers. “But it’s… spooky? Because even when I tell you you’re out of the loops, it doesn’t always… click, I think.”
…you.
You’re awful.
You don’t remember that at all, you’re not meaning to scare her, stars forbid, you just want to–
You have to fix this. You really need to fix this.
“I would like to see if we can find something that’ll break you out every time, if we can.” Uncertainty hangs thick in the air. “Because calling today ‘tomorrow’ isn’t really… sticking. I don’t think saying it’s ‘a new day’ will help much, either…”
You stare at her.
Her nose wrinkles. “Or not! It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re just taking a spa day, see?” Gesturing first at her bottles and then at the bath behind you, she smiles anxiously. “And it’s going to be a ton of fun, I promise!”
It was going to be a ton of fun! You can’t wait.
You shrug off the rest of your clothes and slowly step into the water.
Oh! …it’s warm.
Purified, too, none of the mud or sand you were used to in streams, and you know Isabeau and Mirabelle had brought it in from a river or lakebed or something. You had watched them carry it in from your spot on the couch.
“How’s it warm and clean?” You mutter, not really needing an answer.
Mirabelle answers anyway, she never cares about how confused you can get. “Heat Craft! Some inns had it, too, but I guess it… makes sense you don’t remember.”
(You don’t remember much from before the loops.)
“It’s just a Craft imbued into the material. It heats up the water!” Mirabelle tells you cheerfully. “Or anything you put in, really. We could cook with this! But it’s… incredibly unsanitary even so. It’s clean because we pour the water into this weird machine,” she gestures to something that looks more like a water silo with a funnel leading into the tub, “and it comes out all purified!”
Oh. That makes sense.
You nod.
You reach for the soap, but Mirabelle grabs your hand and stops you. “No, no, none of that.” She protests. “I’m taking care of you, remember?”
You… can only nod. She has become so strong and authoritative. It’s incredible. You wish you could visit more places with Mirabelle–
(No! No, Siffrin, bad, Siffrin!)
The amount of times you had thought about your wish in the loops–
Mirabelle is frowning at you. You blink at her, and then scrounge up a smile.
“Hi, Mira,” you say softly. “I thought we were–”
Her fingers touch the shallow gashes on your arm and chest, leaning over to look at them. She traces them up to your shoulder, skips the gap where the Craft skipped your skin, and then down across your sternum. “Oh,” she murmurs quietly. “I thought I healed these.”
You look down at them. You haven’t looked at them yourself yet. A majority of the wounds are scarred over, but the one she’s found is one of three that are still a scab.
(You don’t think about where you got them.)
(You don’t think about it.)
(You don’t.)
Her fingers find a bit of fuzz from your shirt that had gotten stuck in one of the wounds before it had scabbed. She pinches it tight and pulls, and it yanks free easily. Whatever pain it caused was drowned out. You don’t even wince.
“I thought I healed these up,” she says in distress, holding up her hand to press against the scabs. It’s not a fresh wound, so Healing Craft won’t do much.
You don’t correct her, though. You know she does it to feel better.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” She whines, blinking harsh tears out of her eyes as she glares at you. “You promised you would!”
…did you?
You wish you would stop being surprised you forgot things. All you can consistently remember are your lines. You know that. And a promise, aside to the ones you keep making to Bonnie, are outside of your normal script.
You settle for a half-truth. “They don’t hurt.” You know that they’re supposed to. If you had gotten them near the beginning, they probably would still be causing you so much pain, maybe worse than losing your eye. But, pain has become a very familiar ally.
(Hah–)
(A very familiar family member, really.)
“I should’ve tried to heal you again, as soon as we were on the ground,” Mirabelle frets, eyes glossy and sad, and…
Yeah. Your injuries haven’t visibly changed. They still kind of ache, you think.
“Maybe a more experienced healer…?” She wonders anxiously, still running her hands over them. “Oh, Siffrin, I should’ve checked better! We all love you, and we don’t want you to be injured! Even if they don’t hurt.”
She doesn’t look like she believes her own words.
You feel your chest squeeze, and you twist away to hide the wounds. “They don’t, Mirabelle. They didn’t… they didn’t even hurt when– when I got them.”
She frowns at you for a long time. “You were flinching when you were, though. You looked… so scared. And so angry.”
Of course she thinks these are self-imposed. They’re both made from very similar Scissor Craft attacks, after all. And you had… done them to yourself earlier, hadn’t you?
Naturally, you don’t feel great about leaning into the lie, but you offer her what you hope is a guilty smile. You reach over to pat her hand, and she tenses. Ah. Back to touch being off the table, then? “It’s okay.” You soothe. “It was just a nightmare.”
“It wasn’t, though!” Mirabelle snaps, wrenching away from you so she can stand – tower – over you. (Mirabelle slapped you. Mirabelle slapped you. Mirabelle slapped you. Mirabelle slapped you.) “This wasn’t just a stupid croissant dream, Siffrin! This was real life! All of it was real! The loops were– They were…” As she folds her hands, she lowers her face to weep into her intertwined fingers. “And you were stuck in there for so long…”
(it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine it was fine)
“It wasn’t all bad, Mira!” You scramble to reassure her. “At least I was with you!” (Characters. Stage characters. Get up, say your lines, take a bow, encore encore! No time to go backstage, get up, say your lines, take a bow, encore encore!)
“You… were with us, yes.” Mirabelle acknowledges. “But, I know…” She withers, staring at you for a long beat.
(What is she thinking of?)
(Probably about how mad she is, how much she wishes you never came along with them, or maybe that she wishes she lived in one of the loops where the other Mirabelles are, where the other Siffrins are dead, or–)
And then she sighs, coming down once more to sit down on the edge of the tub behind you. “Nevermind,” she says distantly, reaching to one of the shelves on the wall to pull down a wash cloth.
You bury your face into your knees. The water laps at your legs. You don’t try to push things further. Whenever you did, or tried to do things too fast instead of following the stupid script, everything fell apart.
…Honestly, you’re lucky that you’re even allowed in the clocktower.
They should’ve shut you out, closed the door, left you b e h i n d –
Mirabelle sniffles behind you. You turn, but she isn’t… crying. She’s just… pouring some soap onto the washcloth. Her nose is scrunched up again.
(Cute!)
She catches your eye, and she smiles, though it’s a painful, sorrowful thing. You wish you knew how to fix it. “I’m going to start scrubbing now, okay?” She says softly, and passes you the soap. “You get your front, and I’ll get your back.”
You nod, taking the bottle into your hands. As you rub the soap between your hands to create suds, you hunch slightly into yourself to allow her full access to your spine. Slightly hysterically, you wonder if she is going to try to stab you in the back. Let her needle sword dig into the calloused flesh, weaving through tendons and bones until it found your heart.
…except, does she even have her needle sword? It shouldn’t matter, you never needed to recollect it before, but this loop is…
This loop is weird. Broken, rotting, failing.
This loop represents everything wrong with you, your inability to protect your allies, to make them love you, to make them stronger. They had been at a disadvantage because you weren't there, but…
(Light blazing from the highest floor of the House, they’re dead, but how did they make it up so far safely, without you…?)
(You already had this suspicion early on, but in one brutally painful moment, it confirms itself for you. They don’t really need you. They can evade traps, kill sadnesses, and track down keys so much easier than you.)
(At least they did need you to learn how to Craft Mirabelle’s shields. It was because of you that they stayed alive against the King, because of–)
(No. No, it wasn’t.)
(Somehow, Mirabelle had learned that herself, hadn’t she? One quick reflection, and she had returned the King’s attack right back to him, freezing him in time.)
(You failed.)
Mirabelle’s hands press against your back, her skin separated from yours by the washcloth. You shiver anyway. She stills her scrubbing, her presence a warm balm over all things.
“You’re… breathing awfully hard, Siffrin.” Mirabelle worries, leaning forward.
You hiss, squeezing your eye closed again. Deep breath in, breath out–
“Keep breathing,” she urges with great authority, scooting around you to put her hand on your shoulder and–
You flinch. She pulls away.
(No! Why?! Why again why again why again why again you need you need you need)
(something)
“In and out, Siffrin,” she pleads softly, kneeling down on the ground again, watching you intently. She starts to inhale in demonstration, chest rising in obvious bait, tempting you to echo after her.
You heave back, forcing both your breath to slow if only to appeal to her. You can’t believe they had actually noticed the breathing, something so small, so inconsequential, something that didn’t even affect them.
They must’ve noticed it long ago, before the loops, because–
(You forget what they said, what makes you think it had gone on longer then the loops, but… it scares you, to think that you had manipulated them to pay attention to you even back then, and–)
“Siffrin, you really need to breathe!” Mirabelle coaxes, desperate, leaning forward sharply to look you in the eye, and all you can see is the lightless shade of her irises boring into you, and her hands reach and–
“It’s tomorrow,” Mirabelle pleads. “It’s a new day, please, please, listen, it’s tomorrow and you need to breath–”
(breathing is good, breathing is good, he had to stay afloat for th e m .. …)
You breathe.
In and out.
Breath after breath wheezes out from between your lips, first entering your lungs, filling them until you feel like you are drowning on the air, and then out again until you are suffocating, trapped in a vacuum, trapped in sp
(…)
(…spa day?)
(nono never stuck in a spa day, being here with Mirabelle is–)
(...it is incredible.)
“I’m fine,” You hiss, shaking off the blistering fog to breathe.
Mirabelle… does not look like she believes you. Her lips thin into a not-quite-a-frown, and she shudders slightly. Everything feels slightly disconnected, pieces falling together like a jigsaw that has already been half destroyed, but the scraps are still enough to get a general idea of the final look.
You are scaring her.
…She should be scared, because you are an awful, awful person. Next to her, you must seem like a wild animal, jaws open, heaving in fumes after a long hunt. You’re prepared to bite because at least blood would satiate you. At least sinking teeth into flesh would fill your stomach and make you lie down like a dog.
“I really hope it’s your fever making you like this,” she frets, reaching out to press the back of her hand to your forehead. You tense slightly but hold perfectly still. You watch her expression fall and fall and fall. “Because if it’s actually this hard for you to remember that you’re here…”
She pulls back abruptly. “We already knew you were in the loops for a long time… Can you tell me how long? How many loops?”
You…
Don’t say anything.
Hopefully, if you’re lucky, she’ll just think you forgot. She’ll think that you had a classic Siffrin slip of the mind, that hard as you wrack your brain, you can’t remember how long you’ve been in there. It was probably a month at best! Or… two months?
What was the minimum time you could be in there that excused you from losing your mind, while also not being too worrisome? What was a good number?
Why did it take you only a few hundred times before you broke but it took Loop so many of thousands? You’re weaker than them, you think, in the ways that matter.
Mirabelle is still watching you intently. She’s handwringing again, fear and terror playing a dangerous game in her eyes. She keeps opening her mouth to ask you a question, and then sealing it shut again just as fast.
Her whole body is trembling. She wants answers.
You can’t give them. Worse, you won’t give them. You don’t want to scare her.
(You never were good at keeping promises, were you, Stardust? Not even to yourself.)
Your hands are still thick with soap. You turn away from her and start rubbing your arms, trying to find something to distract you both. This was supposed to be a nice thing she’s doing for you, and you’re ruining it. Ha, what’s new there?
“You…” Mirabelle begins, voice coming out thin and terrified, and you didn’t think about it. You thought about nothing. “You don’t have to tell me, but can you at least tell Madame Odile? I think she would understand best how to help you. So– so if you could just talk to her–?”
You must be an awful person, because even though you know better, you say, “Talk to her about what?”
Mirabelle’s face immediately falls along with her clasped hands. She stares at you, and you try to look innocent as possible.
She….. . .. .
Shakes her head. “Nevermind… Just…” she reaches up to scrub at one of her eyes with her palm. You’re impressed she doesn’t get any soap in her eye, and then she’s reaching back towards you. “...let’s… just try to have some fun…”
You hate yourself for doing that to her. You hate that she bites her nails and avoids your eye and pretends like she’s enjoying scrubbing your hair. You can hear her sniffle behind you.
You wish you could loop back. You wish your dagger was within reaching distance instead of on the floor. You wish you could fix things, force yourself to focus so she’s never scared again.
But you’re no longer able to loop. The ability was stolen away from you by yourself. What had Loop called it? Your little temper-tantrum?
You’re an awful person. You wish you could fix things. You wished you could just do well the first time you did things, instead of scrambling to make up for everything. You never really take responsibility for anything.
It’s not even been a full day since you ended the world, and you’re already back to causing problems. You’re already back to ruining everything for Mirabelle.
You can’t even keep your head in the right time for longer than ten blinding minutes–!
Above you, Mirabelle starts breathing with great exaggeration.
There’s no verbal prompting this time, but you follow along anyway. Chest rises and falls with great, dramatized breaths.
You’re doing your best to copy her. Keep her happy, right?
No, that’s manipulative. That’s just so–
…stop it.
They told you to stop doing that.
So you… do. Or try, anyway.
You stop thinking about every rude, crabbing thing you’ve ever done, start focusing on the way she’s massaging your head, the way she doesn’t even feel angry even though she could be pulling your hair or yelling at you still, or–
But she’s not.
(seconds slip by and then minutes.)
(...)
(...)
(mirabelle stops asking for your participation.)
(...)
(you can feel the cold water she pours over your head to rinse out the suds.)
(...)
(the brush running through your hair to make sure it’s untangled is nice.)
(...)
(...)
(...)
(the water’s gone now. in its wake, you’re left shivering.)
(...)
(...)
(you don’t remember getting dressed. your cloak is warm.)
(...)
(...)
(...)
(...)
(...)