Chapter Text
You shouldn’t have looked.
Your chest is too tight, something scratching against your ribcage from the inside like a wild animal in a trap. You dig your fingers into the dirt, ripping up blades of grass in handfuls, clenching them so tight your nails bite into your palms. Your skin itches, a million tingling points of absence so deep it hurts.
But you’re used to pain. So it shouldn’t matter.
You roll over onto your back, staring blankly up at the latticework of cracks painting the sky, and try to think about nothing. Breathe in and out, nice and slow. It’s okay. Your lungs are clear and your body is unharmed. You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.
…
Stars! Why, why, why did you look? Why remind yourself of what you don’t have? What you’ve never really had. Because it’s not yours, none of it is, it’s theirs. They’re the one who’s loved, who’s wanted, and you’re just…
You put the heels of your hands over your eyes and press down until you see stars. Get it together. Mira will be back to check on you soon. She never lets you rest that much longer. After all, you have to be ready to fight the King.
….
Hah. What a distant memory.
Before she arrives, you sit up, pulling your hat down low over your face and taking a few more deep breaths until you’re sure your heart won’t explode out of your chest. You need to be careful not to upset her. Let her think that all of this might work out for a little while longer. It’s the kindest thing you can do.
When you hear the crunch of her footsteps in the grass, you stand up and turn to her with your practiced smile. She smiles back. It’s an anxious, frayed smile, but an innocent one. She’s scared, but she has hope. She believes in all of you if not herself.
Something about that smile twists your stomach.
“Did you have a good nap? I…know all of this is really stressful. So! Take it easy today, okay! And, um, I have an idea for–>>”
You nod along, letting her words turn to background noise. She doesn’t touch you. No hand on your cheek, no warm healing craft to soothe your pains. Of course not. You aren’t injured, and you should be grateful for that luxury, for these few precious hours free of agony.
But you’re horrible and selfish, and so you’re not.
…
What if you keeled over right here, pretended you were hurt, would she touch you then? Would Isabeau carry your broken body around, so gentle despite his strength? Would Bonnie make a snack just for you, and finally look you in the eye again?
Stars, why would you even think about that? About tricking them into touching you, into worrying over you. You’re disgusting, Siffrin! It’s no wonder you have to suffer.
You shouldn’t want to be touched anyway. People only touch you to hurt you.
“>>--could let everyone know? I would really appreciate it!”
You know that doesn’t matter, but you’ll do it anyway. It’s something to distract yourself.
You follow Mira back into town, then pretend to wander for a bit, enjoying the fresh air and comfort of a working body as best as you can. You talk to everyone too, go through the same rote lines as always. It’s still nice to see them happy again, isn’t it? To actually talk to them like normal, without the looks, without the fretting, without the pinched expressions. It almost makes you feel like a person again.
There’s no point in going to the well, so you don’t. But it’s fine that there’s no one waiting for you. It’s fine that you’re doing this all alone. It’s fine. You can just keep everything close to your chest. Talking about all this would probably just feel icky anyway.
Breath in and out. Unclench your fists.
You retread the same tired pathways around the town, passing the time until dinner. There was something you were supposed to do this loop, you think, but you don’t remember now. It probably wasn’t important.
You win your rock paper scissor game against Tutorial Kid, even if the extra tonics won’t be enough. Then, you sit and fish for a while, eye and mind focused only on your bobber floating in the water. You don’t catch anything, but that’s okay. At some point, you find yourself holding a flower, small and bright and perfect. You wonder if Lupus would like it.
…
You rip all the petals off one by one.
Outside, you find the little artist in their usual spot. They offer you a drawing again, kicking their feet and beaming when you take it from their hands. It’s incomplete, but it still makes you happy.
At least this child is okay in this world. Them and so many others. Things are better here, even for you. So many more people, alive and whole. That should be enough for you, shouldn’t it?
But you’re selfish. You’d trade every one of them for just two people.
“Phew, Bonbon…that was–>>”
You zone out, nibbling on the edges of a samosa. It’s perfectly cooked, the shell crisp and flaky. It turns to ash in your mouth, but you hold each bite on your tongue as long as you can. Even though you haven’t messed up the blinding tart since your 4th loop, your throat still burns every time you swallow.
Your stomach feels like a black hole. You force yourself to eat what you can.
As usual, Bonnie notices your lack of appetite. As usual, you lie about having a snack earlier, and pretend to laugh when they joke about blowing you up. It wouldn’t be such a bad death, you think. Quick, at least.
Remember your cue during Mira’s speech. She’ll get upset if you forget again.
You ignore Isa’s failed confession. You know what he wants to tell you now, and it doesn’t matter. It will never matter. You remain curled up at the edge of the bed, Isa shrinking into himself to make sure there’s room for you. Careful not to touch you, just like always.
Your skin prickles. You feel bare, like a chicken plucked of its feathers, and the blanket over your shoulders only makes you shiver. You squeeze your eye shut and try to remember what it felt like to be curled up next to Dusk and Lupus. It must have been warm, you think, and nice. But you can’t really picture what the sensation of your body pressed to another would actually be. Not in any way that feels real.
Why not? Surely you have enough of Dawn’s memories to remember that…so why can’t you? Why don’t you remember what it felt like to be hugged? To even be touched?
You wrap your arms around yourself as tight as you can. Is this what it feels like? To be hugged? You don’t think so. This just feels cold and itchy. And pathetic.
Your eye burns. You bite at your lip. Don’t cry. You can’t cry. Someone might hear. Don’t blinding cry.
You bite down on the pad of your thumb and hold your breath until you’re sure you won’t make any embarrassing noises.
You hate this! Even those mini Director puppets get more affection than you do! Mira would never cup you so kindly in her hands, none of them would. You’ve seen how they step away from you every time, like touching your skin might burn them. The touches they’re forced to give, when you’re injured, when they bump into you, when they pull you out of the dirt in the garden, are fleeting and performed with a wince.
What’s wrong with you, you wonder, for you to be even more revolting to touch than the blinding Director?
Maybe it’s the same reason you’re stuck here. The reason you need to be punished for eternity.
Loop said you didn’t do anything wrong, that it’s not your fault, but you’re not sure you believe that. You must have done something to make you deserving of this fate. Even if you don’t remember it now.
Maybe it’s just all of you. Rotten down to your core. The Director can see it. Your party can see it. Loop must have, too. They were just being polite.
You wish you could talk to them again. Get more answers. But then you’d have to talk to Dawn and you. Don’t want to do that. Ever. So you can’t.
…
The night drags on. You don’t sleep. You don’t even try anymore. Your waking reality is terrifying enough, you don’t need to be tormented in your dreams too. Better to just…lie awake, count down the precious pain-free seconds that still remain. It’s…dull, but dull is better than what awaits you.
You chew your fingernails down one by one, until your nailbeds are raw and exposed, then pick at the skin around them. It doesn’t really hurt. This level of pain barely registers to you anymore.
Soon, you’ll go back into the labyrinth, and you’ll be tortured, and then you’ll die. Maybe you’ll make it to the final game this time. Probably not, though. And even if you do, it won’t matter. You haven’t survived that one yet.
Oh. Stars, you forgot that you were supposed to go grab a different anatomy book from the library this time. Stupid, stupid Siffrin! Literally can’t even remember anything to save their life.
It’s fine. It probably won’t make a difference. Nothing else has thus far.
…it should have all gotten easier by now, shouldn’t it? You should be used to the pain. You should have figured all of this out already. But you’re not, and you haven’t, and it never, ever gets any blinding easier.
…stars, you’re so tired. How long will you have to keep doing this? How long until something breaks, be it you or this horrible play?
Can’t it all just stop?
You could make it stop. But no, you can’t, not really, because if you do, what will happen to Dawn’s world?
It might fix things, if this world didn’t exist and…and everyone in it, but…what if it doesn’t? What if Dawn’s world can’t exist without yours? If it’s a copy, then…it might depend on the original.
If you give up, it might erase them. All of them. Dawn, Dusk, Loop, stars, even Lupus. And you can’t let that happen. You can’t. Even if you don’t know them, even if you’ve never truly known them, you can’t just let them vanish. Die, basically, just because you weren’t strong enough.
You can’t take the risk. Can’t even think about it. You have to stay, and endure this, for as long as it takes.
…
And then what? Can Dawn even win on their side? If they do, will that fix things? Will your world cease to exist when this play ends, or will theirs? Will you merge again, somehow?
If only you had someone to answer your questions. But you don’t. You never have. You didn’t know what was happening to you when this started and you probably won’t when it ends. All you can do is keep enduring.
You can do it. You can handle it. You’ve held on for this long, after all.
It’ll be worth it. If Dusk and Lupus make it out, then it’ll all be worth it. It’ll be worth it. I’ll be worth it. It’ll be worth it.
You’ll tell yourself that as many times as it takes.
The labyrinth is the same as usual. But it feels worse, somehow. Not the pain, that’s always the same. It doesn’t get easier, but it doesn’t get worse at least. No, it’s…everything else.
The way they look at you is burned into your retina. The fear, the disgust, the apprehension. The way they back away from you as soon as they can, faces all twisted as they stare at you. Like you’re some sort of crime scene, one too gruesome to look closely at, but impossible to fully ignore.
In the snack room, you slouch in the corner, pulling your hat down over your face. You can still feel them glance at you over and over, their eyes like torches pressed to your skin. The sight of you makes their words falter, their hopes drain away. Your very presence is discouraging.
“But why Siffrin? I don’t understand…shouldn’t it be–>>”
You know how this goes. They’ll spend the snack break trying to figure out what to do with you, if leaving you back here will keep the Director from targeting you. As usual, they decide that it wouldn’t matter, that leaving you alone would only put you in more danger and that the Director would teleport you in regardless, just like when you waited outside.
You can’t blame them for trying to get rid of you. Even your other self didn’t want you around. But you don’t like listening to it, so you don’t.
They eat, and you don’t. Your disgusting soufflé sits heavy in your stomach. You still can’t get it to rise properly, no matter how many times you asked Bonnie to teach you. You stopped asking a while ago, because it always annoyed them and because they don’t want to be around you anyway. They don’t love you. Not like Dawn’s Bonnie loves them.
The soufflé is edible, and that’s all it needs to be. It won’t kill you, and it doesn’t hurt. That makes it a mercy compared to the rest of this.
You rest a hand over your stomach. Residual pain still seeps through your gut, even though there’s not even so much as a scar. The rest of your body is fine too. No burns, no bites, no puncture wounds.
Objectively, things should be easier now. Bit by bit, you’ve gotten better at these games. You can cook without poisoning yourself. You can convince Mira to try the crane first. If you don’t flail, you burn less. And you know that she doesn’t hate you, that it was all a trick. Or at least, she doesn’t hate you enough to want you dead.
…so why is it all still so hard? Why does it still hurt, every time?
You pull your hat lower over your face. You can’t cry. Not now, not right in front of everyone.
If you did, would they notice? Maybe Mira would come over and ask if you’re okay, and you could try to say yes but it would come out all shaky and then she’d hug you and you’d feel warm and safe but not like you’re burning and you’d be able to believe maybe for a moment that it would be alright…
You don’t cry, and nobody asks if you’re okay. They keep stealing those glances, though. If it’s that upsetting to look at you, they shouldn’t bother at all.
“Sif?” Ah, it’s Isa. Above you, wringing his hands, looking at you with that pinched expression. It doesn’t fit him. “Are you ready to go? We can rest up longer if you need, but…”
You shake your head. No point delaying the inevitable.
“SIF!”
For a brief, fleeting moment, he touches your chest, only to keep you from hitting your chin on the floor. You’ve tried to focus on the sensation, tried loop after loop, but you’re always too busy coughing your lungs out. Your chest burns, your throat burns, your mouth burns, your face burns, your eye burns, you taste blood and stomach acid on the back of your tongue. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
The warmth of healing craft crackles over your chest, soothing the pain just enough to take a full breath. Isa lowers you to the ground, moving away quickly. You press your forehead to the stone. Your face feels too hot and your body feels too cold, and your cloak is still in the trap room, doing its best to cover that…strange pipe. You feel naked without it, but that’s the least of your problems. The key is clutched in your fist, the teeth biting into your palm. It took longer than usual to find it this time.
“Gems, Siffrin, what happened in there? What’s that smell?”
“FRIN? Is Frin okay?!?”
You can’t speak. Your throat still burns, like steel wool scraping against the inside of your windpipe. Tears leak from your stinging eye. The closest you get to crying in the labyrinth.
“He…breathed something in, I think? I–I don’t know…I can’t do any more than this…not when it’s internal.”
“That shattering piece of–>>”
You tune out their words, waiting for him to touch your chin. His hand is gentle, like he’s afraid to press his fingers any deeper into your flesh in case you’re rotten beneath the skin.
“Sorry, Sif, sorry, I just–M’dame, the waterskin, please?”
It’s a lot less pleasant to have your eyelid pried open and washed out, even if the stinging eases afterwards. The water burns as it runs down your cheeks, Isa wiping it away with his sleeve. He’s still talking to you, something about needing to get the poison out of your eye, but you don’t listen. You are being touched. It’s not pleasant. But it’s touch.
You soak it in like the greedy little thing you are, ignoring his revulsion.
Soon, he’ll stab you. He’ll never touch you again, after that.
This game is your least favorite on the second floor. It’s because the Director is stupid. A stupid blinding idiot who almost killed all your allies the first time around. Why did that blinding black hole think only you would be affected by the poison?
The useless needle pen she gave you after the first time didn’t do anything to stop the pain in your throat. So now you just have to live with it. And whatever permanent lung damage it might cause.
Not that it matters. You won’t live with it for that long.
Odile makes a sound in the back of her throat. “We need to get moving. Siffrin needs proper medical treatment as soon as possible. Siffrin, are you able to walk?”
If you weren’t, would he carry you? Probably not. It’s more likely they’d just leave you here outside the trap room until your throat closed up. You shake your head as firmly as you can. You still can’t speak.
They’re looking at you with those horrible expressions. Except for Bonnie, who’s glaring, cheeks soaked with tears. Your skin crawls.
At least you still have your hat. You lower your head until you can’t see their faces, and they can’t see yours. Breathe, as best as you can.
Keep going. See this through to its end, and then do it over and over again.
…
What else can you do?