Work Text:
You look at the picture the amazing artist drew for you back in Dormont. It’s you and your family, static, frozen in time as you were back then. They could never really understand why you treated it with such care, to them, it’s just a child’s scribbles on some cheap, crumpled paper, framed and standing on your nightstand.
Mira offered to craft some movement into it for you, but you’d never change a single thing about it.
To you, it’s everything. It was with you through every single loop, a reminder of your family that felt so much more real than the actors that replaced them. You’re sure that without it, you would’ve snapped, irreparably.
So despite you leaving behind most things that reminded you of the loops, the picture always stayed with you.
It’s not accurate anymore, of course. Isa isn’t as broad as a barn anymore for one, but Bonbon has changed (and Changed) much more. They’re much taller than you nowadays, their hair and skin has become much brighter since their Change, and the clothing they wear these days is much longer and almost entirely darkless. It was quite a surprise to you back then. You knew they always loved your style, but you didn’t expect them to go for it themselves. Still, you were thankful. It helped seperate the real Bonnie from the one you saw in your worst moments, helpless in the Kings fist.
Looking at the picture had always helped you calm down. In the weeks after you broke free, its presence in your pocket grounded you whenever you flashed back to that accursed meadow. After Isa (and later Bonnie) had Changed, it reminded you that time moved on, that you weren’t cursed to stay stagnant as you once did.
You don’t look at it that often nowadays. You healed as the years passed, slowly relying on its comfort less and less, until 17 years ago you finally felt safe without it in your pocket, when it was always there in your dreams even when it wasn't in reality. Now it’s been years since you dreamt of waking up in the meadow, so you didn’t even cling to it in the mornings anymore. Though maybe you’ll need it more these coming days.
…You don’t want to think about it.
You don’t want to get up and face the world yet.
You just want to pretend things are fine for a little longer.
You search through the room for something to distract you.
Your gaze catches on your cloak, bunched up with some other clothes on the dresser. Back in the day you would never have allowed it to be so far from you. It was the only thing tying you to your home, especially since your dagger got confiscated following a panicked attempt at looping. You never let it out of your sight for years after, scared of losing the only thing that made you human.
But you don’t need to cling to it anymore.
After all, you know all about your home now. It’s right here, in this house, with your family, with Mira, Isa, Bonbon, and…
You shake your head, trying to get the thoughts out. Maybe you’ll take a look at what Isa has on his nightstand. As long as it helps stow away your thoughts for a while.
Turning over to his side of the bed, your spine groans at the movement. Ugh. Now that you’re that age, you can empathize with how your journey must have tortured Odile.
…
Odile.
You didn’t want to think about it, but that was never in the cards. You knew this day would come someday, but Odile taught you the difference between theory and real, human knowledge in the loops 30 years ago.
She’s 74 now, an age where even the healthiest falter. The sustained craft use on your journey made sure that she is far from the healthiest, despite the best efforts of Vaugarde’s foremost doctors.
The cancer had an easy target. She got worse rapidly over the past months.
The doctors switched to palliative care two weeks ago, but with so much powerful craft coursing through her, they can do little to dampen the pain. It’s not what she deserves.
So today, Odile is going to die.
You will kill her.
Odile said it would be fine if the doctor did it, but you both know that with her strength, no one outside your party will be able to cleanly cut through her craft-laden body, let alone prevent the craft-empowered cancer from running wild after.
And though you loathe to dwell on it, none know how to end a life as gently as you do, a skill honed in many a loop.
Still, even if you know it to be a mercy upon her, even if you know no one else can take your place, you can’t help but huddle away in your bed, hoping to wake up from this nightmare.
Odile saved you from your hell with that strange craft that stopped you from looping. Odile bandaged your arms without judging when you relapsed. Odile calmly took your dagger when you blinding fool attempted to loop after hurting Mira. Odile wrote all your stories in the Familytale, not the paperasse one, but yours, inherited from Isa’s parents. Odile bought this house you all live in. Odile convinced Nille to let Bonbon travel with you.
You don’t know if you can exist without her.
…But she gave you so much.
You know she would never demand repayment.
But you do.
It’s the least you can do now.
You force yourself to stand up, your back aching.
You have a job to do.
Your family, sans Odile, is gathered in the kitchen, waiting for you. Bonbon even closed their restaurant for the entire week so they can be here, for as long as needed.
Usually this would be a place full of warmth, Mira bemoaning the tragic ending of one of her books, Bonbon cooking while complaining about a rude customer, Isa gushing about some outfit he came across.
Now they just sit there in silence, looking at you with faces full of worry.
When you talked to them yesterday, they didn’t want to put this burden on you. They gave you out after out, Isa and Mira even separately offered to take your place. But you didn’t waver. Odile deserves only the best.
You give them a resolute nod.
No one makes a sound on the way to her room.
No one comments on the wetness running down your cheek. You’re glad.
As you open the door, the stench of decay hits you, like the remains of a sadness.
You’d very much appreciate a sadness to turn into remains right now.
Odile doesn’t notice you come in. She’s just looking off into space, eyes glazed over, a heap of misery.
As Mira gently takes her hand, she snaps back to reality and gives you her best attempt at a smile.
Her voice sounds raw and brittle, with none of the snide energy it held when you met her.
“Ah, everyone… You’re here… Good… I’m glad I-” a wheezing cough breaks through her facade “glad I get to leave now, while I can still say goodbye.”
You grip your dagger, tightly enough to turn your knuckles white. You can’t bear to see her like this. Such a wonderful person, reduced to a miserable husk begging for death.
A small, nagging part of you whispers that you should have listened to the King, that you should have taken the eternal glory he always promised in the final battle. You find it hard to shut it down.
You don't let any of the thousand thoughts running through your head show. You have always been an actor, after all, and this is the most important stage.
Each of you put a hand on her arms. They’re cold. So cold.
Bonbon moves to say something, but Odile cuts them off.
“You know I’m not good at emoti-” another cough “emotions. Just know- Just know that I love you, that I’m so-” Her entire body is wracked by tremors. Her shoulder splits open as a cancerous clump of flesh imbibed with rogue craft energy shoots out with a screech.
You see Mira panic and channel her healing craft into Odile. All of you know it won’t help, but desperately hope it will dull the pain, help her with speaking.
You see Isa crush the clump with a burst of craft in the corner of your eye. You know exactly what expression he’s making, the same mix of concern, sadness and anger at the world he so often directed at you during your recovery.
You just stay still, keeping your eyes on Odile. You want to help her, you want to cut that clump into a thousand ribbons, you want to drag over those blinding doctors that failed her, you want to slice into yourself over and over and over for making her use so much craft with your incompetence.
But you have a job to do. And you know that if you stray even a bit, you won’t manage. And Odile deserves for you to manage.
So you sit perfectly still, looking at her, tightening your grip.
You owe it to her.
“That I’m so, so proud of you all. Th- Thank you, for being my family through everything.”
You see in her eyes that she just wants this to be over with. That she’s only forcing herself through this so you can have closure. It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with. You bore it often when your knife slipped or a sadness got the better of you.
You hope the others don’t notice.
“Siffrin… Please… and… thank you…”
You want to say so much. You want to tell her what she means to you, how much you love her, how you will take her ashes to the greatest gemsmith in all of Ka Bue and forever treasure her gem like your own life, how you will never forget her, how much you adored your secret quests, and a million other things.
But you have a job to do. And she deserves your best performance.
So you stuff it all up, and draw your dagger.
Your heart screams at you. Your ears are ringing. Your eye is holding back a waterfall.
But you have a job to do. You owe this to her.
Your hand moves into a scissors sign. Craft begins to channel through you.
For the first time in weeks, relief washes over her face.
Through all your stowed up emotions, you are so, so glad that at least once, in this small way that fills you with disgust, you will be able to pay back some of the immense debt you owe her.
For once, you don’t have a pun to go with your strike. You aim as precisely as you can, to free her from this torture right this instant, hopefully without coating your family in blood.
Sachiko Odile Aiuchi, Savior of Vaugarde, has died at age 74, with a relieved smile on her face, surrounded by her family in the confines of her own home.
In you, a dam is broken. Your job done, nothing can hold back your emotions.
Your hands shake. Thank the stars they only shake now.
Your eyes, even your dead one, feel like they will burst from your head.
Your heart is racing and racing and racing. You don’t think it even has time to refill before pumping again.
And your lungs…
Wait.
That’s not your lungs.
That’s…
NO
NONONONONONO
Isabeau notices something's wrong and tells you to breathe.
NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO
Isabeau hugs you tightly with panic in his eyes.
PLEASE DON’T
NO
A certain smell is in the air.
DON’T DO THIS TO ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
You
Feel
A
Tug
On
Your
Stomach
You wake up on a meadow, surrounded by trees.
There’s no picture in your pocket.
You wished to stay with all of them.
You will.
Always.