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“You might learn to forgive—!”
You feel
a tug
on your stomach,
(Loop 108)
And then you’re back.
You open your eye. You’re back again, again, once more, for the millionth, billionth, trillionth time, staring up at the bright sky in the meadow.
Time to get up. Start again. There’s still more you haven’t tried, right? Still more paths to follow. More doors to open. More to learn, if you just try again.
But…
…But you’re so tired.
You stare up at the sun.
(again, again, again)
You stare at the sun until your eye waters.
(again and again and again and again)
You stare at the sun until you can’t see anything else.
(and again and AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN)
You stare at the sun until you can’t see anything at all.
(AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN—)
[Stardust, stop!]
And again.
You close your eye.
It burns, now. The pain is nice. It almost feels real.
[…Stardust?]
…You’ll have to start a new loop, now. You’ve blinded yourself — ha! In more ways than one! — and that’s no condition to fight the King in. You were useless enough with one dead eye. But for now, in this moment, you don’t care.
This doesn’t matter, anyway. Nothing does.
[…]
You ignore them.
She’ll be here soon.
“—frin!”
Right on cue.
“Siffrin!”
Footsteps through the grass, closer and closer.
“…Siffrin?”
You don’t open your eye.
You don’t do anything at all.
“…Siffrin, wake up.” Movement, fabric shuffling. Her voice gets closer. “Hello? Siffrin? …Siffrin?!” Higher pitched now, frantic. Your fault. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
A hand barely grazes your cheek. Distantly, you flinch, but you still don’t respond. You’re so tired. You just want to sleep forever.
Quick breaths above you, in and out, in and out. You should remind her to breathe, but you just can’t bring yourself to say anything.
“S-Siffrin, wake up, you’re scaring me! This isn’t funny!” Another few taps against your cheek with the palm of her hand. It rocks your head slightly.
Something wet slips from the corner of your eye and trails down the side of your face.
She gasps.
“Oh Change, is that blood…? Oh Change, oh Change, oh Change… Siffrin! Siffrin, please, wake up!”
Her hands rest on either side of your head. Healing Craft washes over you, soft and soothing. It’s… warm. Your eye stings less, but you still don’t make any attempt to open it. The light sears behind your eyelid, still.
Shuffling again. Two fingers prod your neck, feeling for a pulse.
Not there, you think. The artery is higher— yes, that’s it. You could find it in your sleep, now. Her hands are gentler than yours could ever be.
“…Okay. Okay,” she says, breathing heavily. “Siffrin, please. I don’t want to leave you here to get help, but I’ll have to if— if you don’t wake up. Please, Siffrin.”
She shakes your shoulders, but you’re already awake. You just wish you weren’t.
You’re so tired.
“…Change,” she whispers. “Okay. I-I’m going to go get help, I… I won’t be long. I’m sorry. Please be okay, Siffrin.”
Gently, she presses a kiss to your forehead. She’s… never done that before.
You hear her stand, turn, and run back towards the village.
And then it’s quiet again.
Alone in the meadow, you open your eye. You only see stars.
You close it again, and breathe.
[…Stardust… If you need to rest for a while, that’s okay.]
[But…]
[…]
You don’t react.
[…Never mind.]
[Just… if you feel like doing something drastic, come talk to me first, okay?]
…You’re not sure what would count as doing ‘something drastic’. You’ve killed yourself more times than you can count, both in blood and in tears, with the neat precision of your dagger and the blunt clumsiness of falling alike. You’ve died, let your actors die, practically killed them with your own hands, over and over again. You’ve lied and taken and ruined and lost.
None of it made a difference. None of it matters.
You are still here.
But still, they don’t have anything to worry about. You don’t feel like doing much of anything right now, drastic or otherwise.
The grass is soft under your head. Leaves rustle quietly in the breeze. Birds go piou piou in the distance.
You rest.
It doesn’t last.
Heavy footsteps trudge through the grass again, running towards you. Multiple sets, this time.
“Sif!”
“Siffrin—”
“FRIN!”
They’ve reached you, now. You can’t see them — probably couldn’t if you tried, but you don’t want to try, don’t want to do anything, don’t want to move a single muscle — but you can hear their knees hitting the grass, feel their presence around you.
“I— I just found them like this…!” Her breath hitches in her throat. “I tried using Healing Craft, I… I think something’s wrong with their eye? That stopped the bleeding, and nothing else seemed to be broken, but… he still won’t wake up…!”
“Frin, wake up! Wake up, you crab, wake up!!!” A small voice trembles as a sticky hand slaps your cheeks. It doesn’t hurt. You still flinch.
“Oh, they moved a bit…!” His voice now, breathless, relieved. “Sif, can you hear us?”
You can. But.
You still don’t say anything.
“Everyone, move aside for a second. Let me take a look at him.” This voice is the calmest of all of them, but there’s a strain to it, a hidden undercurrent of fear. You did that to her. Your fault, your fault, your fault.
A cool hand comes to rest on your forehead. “No fever,” she says. “They still flinch when we touch them, though… so they are registering some stimulus. I wonder if…”
Fingertips against your eyelid, attempting to pry your eye open. You squeeze it closed tighter.
Even this is too much effort. You feel like you’ve exhausted what little energy you had left.
“…Huh.” The hand retreats. “Siffrin, are you conscious right now?”
You wish you weren’t. You haven’t slept in…
“Siffrin. If you can hear us, answer me.”
…You can’t remember the last time you slept, actually.
“Siffrin!” Is that anger in her voice, or panic? You can’t tell. It doesn’t matter.
Stars, you’re so tired. Haven’t they got the picture, yet? Why won’t they leave you alone?
[Stardust, you’re scaring them. Just answer her.]
No. You don’t think you will. You’re so tired.
[…The Kid and the Housemaiden are crying. Come on.]
You know. You can hear them.
[Stardust!]
NO!
You’re tired, you’re tired, you’re tired! You just want to lie here! You just want to sleep! You just want rest. Why don’t they understand? Why won’t they just leave you here?
You just want rest. You just want rest. Not even death allows it. The closest you’ve gotten in what feels like months, years, millennia is those blinding Tears, and those are cold, they settle into your chest and freeze you from the inside, stealing your breath, and you’re just so tired—
You’re just. Tired.
And none of this matters.
So.
[…Fine. I suppose they won’t remember this anyway.]
Yeah, that’s what you thought.
Your eye is wet again. You thought the Healing Craft had stopped the bleeding, but apparently not. It doesn’t hurt, this time. The droplet tickles the side of your face as it travels down.
Everyone’s still talking around you. You’d zoned them out. They seem to be trying to decide what to do with you.
They shouldn’t bother. It won’t matter soon.
You only half-listen. You mainly just like the sound of their voices, but you manage to catch some of it without trying. There’s some talk of finding a doctor or a healer, but anyone who could help is already frozen. You’re glad. Being brought to a doctor wouldn’t achieve anything; it would only interrupt your rest.
Ultimately, they decide to take you to the Clocktower. You’d rather not go anywhere at all, but at least there’s a bed there, and no extras to beg for the spotlight. You can rest there. You won’t have to do anything. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you might even be able to sleep.
Gentle, callused hands touch your face again, sending another wave of Healing Craft across your body. This one doesn’t seem to do much — the only broken parts left are the ones that can’t be fixed — but it’s warm. She wipes your eye.
“Oh, Siffrin… He’s crying,” she says. “He must be in pain…”
Ah. So it wasn’t blood, then. But you’re fine. Nothing hurts anymore.
You’re just… tired.
Large, firm hands slide under your body and lift you up, strong arms cradling you to his chest. You can’t help but go limp like a ragdoll. Doing anything else would just require so much energy, and you don’t have any left to burn.
“Sorry, Sif,” he says. “I know you don’t like being touched, but we don’t really have a choice, here.”
But you do. You almost want to laugh. You’re disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Making him touch you, making them all have to touch you, just because you’re selfish and won’t get back onstage? Was this what you wanted?
You don’t understand why they won’t just leave you behind.
“I got your hat, Frin.” Their voice is barely a whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring it with us.”
You hadn’t even noticed it falling off.
“…Come on, everyone.” She sounds tired, too. “Let’s get them somewhere comfortable.”
And so you go.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You know you’ve reached the Clocktower by the sound of the door opening and the thud of everyone’s shoes against wooden floorboards, the drop in temperature as you’re carried out of the sun and into the shaded interior. You don’t see the shift in brightness. Your eye’s still closed, but behind your eyelid, all you can see is stars, stars, stars.
They’d had to jump over the broken bridge to bring you here, and he had held you so tightly in his arms, careful not to let you fall. Now you’re being carried up the stairs and placed on a soft mattress; you already miss his touch.
Someone takes your shoes off for you, pulls the blankets up to your shoulders. They take off your eyepatch, leaving your scarred eye exposed. You’re too tired to protest.
“Sit up, Frin. Drink this Crafted water.”
Your head is propped up on a pillow, a glass brought to your lips. You consider pressing your lips together tightly to stop the water from going in, but that would take too much effort.
The liquid slides down your throat. It doesn’t taste like anything.
“…He’s still not waking up.” They sound disappointed.
“Give them time, Boniface. Whatever this is, it’s clearly not a normal knockout like we’d get in battle. He’s unwell.”
“But WHY?!” Loud, too loud. You wince, the movement involuntary. “This makes no crabbing sense! What’s wrong with them?!”
“I don’t know, but—”
“What do you MEAN you don’t know?!” Too loud, too loud, too loud! You don’t want to listen anymore, you want it to be quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to anything about it. “You guys are adults, you’re supposed to know about this stuff! Belle’s a healer, she was supposed to fix him, why didn’t—”
“B-Bonnie, I—”
“Bonbon.” Stern, but not angry. Still warm, despite everything. He must’ve been a good Defender. “C’mon. I know you’re worried, we all are, but don’t take it out on Mira. She did everything she could.”
They breathe in, and out. You think you might have taught them that once, but you don’t remember. “…Sorry, Belle.”
“It’s okay, Bonnie. I… I’m sure Siffrin will be all right. We’ll look after them.”
“But… tomorrow…”
It doesn’t matter.
“…We’ll discuss that later, Boniface.” A chair squeaks against the floor as she stands. “For now, I’m going to head back to Dormont and ask around. Maybe the villagers might know something… If it’s a local illness or something of that sort, they might have a solution.”
Why are they so worried? You’re fine, you’re just tired. Aren’t they tired, too? Don’t they feel it?
Are you the only one in the entire blinding Universe who feels it?
More footsteps on floorboards now, retreating. “Mirabelle should probably stay here in case Siffrin needs more healing,” she continues, her voice further away than before, “but would anyone else like to come with me? We’ll be able to cover more ground that way.”
“I’ll—”
“NUH UH!” Something knocks into the bed you’re lying on, rattling you slightly. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying here with Frin! J-Just in case he wakes up and needs food or something!”
“That’s… fine…?”
“…I’ll go with you, M’dame.”
“Thank you, Isabeau.” There’s a sigh. “We’ll be back soon. You two, if anything changes, send Boniface to come get us, okay?”
“We will. W-We’ll look after them! I promise!”
“Super duper promise!”
“Good. I’m sure you will.”
More movement, more noise. Then, softly, from the far end of the room: “Hang in there, Sif.”
And then they leave, and the room is quieter.
“So, um… What do we do now?” Something shifts next to you, like someone small at the edge of the bed. They don’t usually get this close to you. You wonder how they can stand it.
“…We wait, I suppose.” She sounds uncertain. “We’ll have to watch over them just to make sure nothing happens… B-But I’m sure he’ll be fine! Don’t worry, Bonnie. When I used my Healing Craft earlier, there was nothing wrong with him, so I’m sure he just needs rest.”
“…You’re lying.”
“Huh?”
“You said there was something wrong before, w-with his eye!” Yelling, too loud, too close to your ear. You deserve this. “You told the others, I heard you!”
“Oh, Bonnie…” Footsteps, then shifting, and then the edge of the mattress dips a little bit more. They’re both so close to you, now. Close enough to touch you, if they wanted.
But of course they don’t. You’re disgusting.
“…I meant their other eye, Bonnie,” she says softly. “The— The good one. It wasn’t… You don’t have to worry about that.”
“…Oh.” Their voice wobbles. “So… It’s not my fault?”
“Oh, sweetheart, come here. It was never your fault.”
“But…”
“Never, ever, ever your fault.” It’s rare to hear her so firm, so confident. It suits her. “Any one of us would’ve done the same thing Siffrin did for you back then. And that Sadness was so quiet, none of us saw it coming! It could have gone for any of us! It was just bad luck.” You’re glad she’s the one saying it, this time. She’s much better at it than you are. “But this— this is something else. I can promise you that. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay?”
They sniff. “…I hate this.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I hate it, too.”
Ah. That’s your fault. You’re selfish, Siffrin. They wouldn’t be feeling like this if you didn’t manipulate them into caring about you, if you’d just stuck to the script and got on with the show. You’re ruining it. Callous, aimless, manipulative.
You
don’t care.
…You’re so tired.
They stay there for a while, not saying anything, but you can hear their sniffles and the rustle of their clothes, feel the way they rock back and forth on the edge of your bed. It’s still not silent, but it’s quieter now. Almost peaceful.
It’s not the first time you’ve made them cry. You doubt it’ll be the last.
It doesn’t matter.
You don’t want to listen anymore.
You don’t quite fall asleep yet, but you drift in and out of something close to it. The others move around you, sometimes disturbing you with quiet conversation, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Sometimes, one of them will press a hand to your forehead again and note the temperature, and you’ll silently wish they’d linger a little longer. They never do.
The remaining members of the group return after a little while. You’re not paying attention to their hushed words, but they sound disappointed. This, too, is your fault. You’ve been awfully selfish this loop.
Still, a part of you can’t help but wonder: What were they expecting? Why do they care so much? They seem to think you’re sick, so maybe they’re worried you’re contagious? But then why won’t they leave you alone?
…You don’t think too hard about it. You’re so tired.
You zone them all out.
In the quiet stretches in between, you almost dream. Your mind conjures the stars, tries to imagine the patterns they should make against the night sky; you don’t know any, you can’t remember, even if you could see them now you wouldn’t recognise them— but you know, somehow, that they’re there. Each one a story, a grand tale lost to time. You will never know them again. This play is all that remains.
You think of the sky. You think of the ocean. You think of your family; they’re here, they’re right beside you, but you miss them. You miss when they were real.
Was anything ever real?
You think of Loop. You’re not sure why.
…Even thinking is exhausting. Something aches inside your chest. You feel hollowed out, used up. Empty.
You let time pass around you, and think of nothing.
At some point, dinner starts. They eat without you downstairs. You can smell the samosas from here, the same as always, but you don’t hear the usual lively chatter that always accompanies it.
They’re probably talking about you. You don’t bother trying to listen.
You hope you’ll be able to sleep soon.
You aren’t left alone for long. Soon enough, light footsteps hurry back up the stairs, and a new smell hits you.
“Frin? Are you awake yet?” If only you weren’t. “I, um. I made you some soup.”
…Soup? But that’s…
That’s new.
You haven’t had ‘new’ in a long, long time.
“Soup’s supposed to help when you’re sick! My sister used to make this for me back home and it always made me feel better… I-I even put lots of ginger in it!” Their voice trembles. “So… Can you wake up now? So you can eat some soup?”
You… should. You should try the soup. Because it’s new. Different. And it would make them happy.
You wanted new, didn’t you? Didn’t you?
…You don’t think you know how to want anything, anymore.
You just want to sleep.
They stay there for a while, waiting. You can hear their breaths, in through their nose and out through their mouth, unsteady.
“Frin…?”
Maybe your brain is finally broken, after all this time. Maybe you’ll never be able to sleep again. Maybe this tiredness is all you’ll ever know.
You can still smell the soup. It’s sweet.
Your stomach burns.
Someone else climbs the stairs now, their footsteps slower. Quieter.
Softly, she says, “Boniface… Perhaps you should let Siffrin rest a while longer.”
“But— But he’s already rested!” Loud again. You don’t even have the energy to flinch. “It’s been all day!!! And, and if they don’t eat, they won’t get better, so…”
“…These things take time, Boniface. Let’s just give him some space for now.”
“But…” They pause. Breathe. “…Okay.”
Ah, they’re leaving now. They take the soup with them.
That’s probably for the best. You’re starving, but it’s not like it would fill you up. You’d just expend more energy eating it than you’d get back. You’re used to the hunger by now, anyway; you can’t remember the last time you felt full.
The scent still lingers. Sweet, like burnt sugar.
You wish for rest.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You wake briefly in the middle of the night. It’s the only reason you know you slept at all.
You don’t even realise that time has passed, at first. Behind your closed eyelids, it all looks the same to you. But then you hear four sets of slow, gentle breaths and the occasional light snores, and no one’s moving around you or talking, and the world outside is quiet, and— and at first you think you’ve looped again. Stupid. There was no tug on your stomach, no violent flinging into the next scene. You were just awake, and then you weren’t, and now you are again.
So you can still fall asleep. You’d forgotten what it felt like.
…You’re still tired.
There’s no one on the bed beside you. He must have slept on the floor. Of course. You can hear him nearby — you’ve memorised the sound of his breathing, because you’re disgusting, and you cannot remember a time you didn’t know it by heart — but it’s further away than usual. He must not be able to stand being near you, now that you’re not putting on an act. You can’t blame him.
Hesitantly, you open your eye. You still only see stars.
You close it again and breathe, breathe, breathe.
Are you ready, now? Are you done? Have you had enough? The stage awaits! Your cue was hours ago, and the audience is waiting!
Get back on the stage! Get on with the show! Start again! Start again! Start again!
…No. No, you’re not ready. Not yet.
You’re still so tired.
Just a little bit longer. You just want to stay like this, peaceful, resting, for just a little bit longer. Is that too much to ask?
It is, of course. It’s far too much. You know it’s unforgivable. You don’t deserve this. You never did.
You don’t care.
You fall asleep.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
An eternity later, you’re awoken again.
It’s morning. You can tell, because there are birds piou piou-ing outside, and everyone starts making noise again.
It’s time to go to the House.
. . .
The others get up, get dressed, eat breakfast. They check on you, try to pry you from your rest, but you’re stubborn. More than that — you’re tired. You’re still so blindingly tired.
It was nice, being able to sleep. You want more of that.
You ignore them all, and don’t move a single muscle.
They fuss a little more — taking your temperature, giving you more water, applying Healing Craft that doesn’t do anything — but eventually, they have to go. You hear them discussing it; you don’t bother lingering on their words, but you get the gist of it. They’re going to the House. They’re leaving you behind. They’re leaving you behind. They’re leaving you—
You feel
a hand on your cheek.
“Siffrin, if you can hear me… We’ll be back for you,” she promises. “We— We’ll do our best against the King. We’ll save everyone, and then we’ll save you. So… So, please…” Her voice cracks. “…Please be okay until then? We love you, Siffrin.”
…!!!
She loves you…!!! They all love you!!! Ahh… You haven’t done anything to deserve it, but still, it feels nice.
“And— If you wake up, or if you need anything, Bonnie will be here! To look after you! Right, Bonnie?”
“…Yeah.” They don’t sound happy about it, but… “I’ll stay with you, Frin. Someone’s gotta.” There’s a poke against your arm. “But that just means you gotta wake up soon, you crab! So we can go and help everyone fight the King!”
Oh.
They’ll stay with you? You won’t be alone?
That’s… more than you deserve.
And yet. You’re grateful, you think. Even now, you don’t want to be alone.
(Which means you should go with them. The best way to stay with them all is to be useful, after all. But you can’t, you can’t, you don’t want to— not yet. Just a little bit longer. You just want to stay like this a little bit longer.)
(You’re so tired.)
When they finally leave, you almost feel it. It’s not quite a tug, but something in your stomach tenses, waiting for it.
They’re going to die. You never told her about the shield, so they’ll never survive the King’s first attack — if they even make it that far. They don’t know about any of the traps, or the keys, or which paths lead to dead ends. That’s your job, and you’ve been lousy at it, but still, it’s all you’re good for. That’s why they keep you around, isn’t it?
It’s the only reason you’re here. But now, because you’re tired and selfish and disgusting, you won’t even do that. And they’re going to die.
Because of you.
But…
…The blankets around you shift, and then there is a small, warm body curled up on the bed next to you, breathing gently.
“You’re stupid, Frin,” they say. “We were supposed to help them. I was gonna make snacks, and Dile was gonna put me on tonics duty, and Za was gonna let me throw rocks at the Sadnesses from a distance, and… and…”
They sniff.
“And you were supposed to lead us, Frin! Now Belle’s gotta do it. And yeah, she’s like, the super cool magic Chosen One and everything, but… I dunno.”
They’re quiet for a moment.
“We were supposed to do it together.”
…Yeah. You were. And you will, eventually, but… Right now, you’re tired. It’s no excuse, but you’re tired.
You wish you could tell them it’ll be okay. That none of this matters, because of this power you have. Because of the prison you’re trapped in. This little slice of eternity.
But you can’t tell them, because they’ll hate you. And because that would require talking — moving your mouth and your jaw and your tongue and pushing air through your windpipe and applying pressure to your vocal chords — and the mere thought of it is enough to send another wave of exhaustion crashing over you. So you don’t.
But it doesn’t matter. Even if you did tell them, they wouldn’t remember.
They won’t remember any of this.
You’re glad.
“…Dile and Za and Belle said we’re not allowed to touch you,” they whisper, “but they’re not here. And I wanna hold your hand. So… If you don’t want me to, you have to wake up and tell me, okay?”
Their hand finds its way into yours.
“…You flinched again,” they say. “I don’t get it. Why do you still jump even when you’re asleep? You’re so… so crabbing stupid, Frin…!”
You are. And now they’re crying again.
Your fault.
If you were a better, braver person, you’d be able to comfort them. But… that’s a bad idea. You still remember what happened the last time you tried. You only made it worse.
They hated you, then. They still do. So… being silent like this, unmoving, just letting them hold your hand… That’s the best you can do for them.
Useless.
They cry quietly, like they’re trying to hold it all in. They squeeze your hand tighter. It hurts, a little bit. You don’t mind.
“…I’m scared,” they admit. “I don’t wanna be frozen. I know it’ll happen soon, a-and… The others said they’ll beat the King, so it won’t last forever, but… I’m scared.”
You don’t say anything. What could you say? You’ll loop back as soon as the Curse reaches you, but you can’t tell them that. And the villagers in Dormont were right, being frozen in time is like being asleep, but you can’t tell them that either.
Being asleep is a lot nicer, anyway. It’s a pale comparison.
Silence falls, broken only by their quiet breaths and quieter sobs, though even their cries fade after a while. Their breaths become slower, further apart.
Their hand stays in yours.
You feel it when the Curse starts to settle in. It starts subtly; the birdsong outside quietens, the air starts to chill. Then your lungs begin to feel heavy, and your heart begins to beat slower inside your ribcage, and…
Their arms are around you suddenly, their head buried in your chest. They tremble.
…Ah.
It’s almost over.
As time s lows
ar ound yo u ,
y o u f e e l a
t u g o n
y o u r
s t
o m a
c h
a n
d
y
o
u . . .
.
.
.
(Loop 109)
And then you’re back, once more.
You open your eye. You see clouds.
[…]
You don’t bother burning out your eye again. You’re not sure why you did it in the first place. It was a waste of energy.
You let your eyelids close.
You still feel so heavy.
[…Another one, huh?]
…Yes.
You know you should get up, but…
You are, at your core, a weak person. You are still tired.
You just want to sleep.
[Take all the time you need, stardust. Stars know you’ve got enough of it to spare.]
[…Rest well.]
And so you do.
When she comes to wake you, she doesn’t panic the same way she did before. It’s probably because you haven’t injured yourself, this time. But still, she fusses.
She leaves, and brings the rest of them back with her. Much of it is the same. They disturb you, they touch you and prod you and make noises to try to make you move, but you won’t. You just… don’t want to. They can hate you for it all they want, but they won’t remember this anyway, so why should you care? Nothing matters. Nothing is real. This will all be reset. Stars forbid you take a moment to blinding rest.
You get a kick in the ribs this time. Everyone scolds them for it, but you know you deserve it. You still flinch.
Once you’ve sufficiently worried them enough, they bring you back to the Clocktower again. Look at you, getting a free ride back to bed! You don’t even have to walk! You awful, manipulative, disgusting thing.
What would they say if they knew you were awake? What would they do if they knew you could get up at any time, and are simply choosing not to? They’d hate you, you’re sure. They’d leave you in an instant.
But they’ll leave anyway, won’t they? Not right now, not in this moment, but soon, inevitably. It’s the fate the Universe always leads you towards, every time. So it doesn’t really matter what you do to get there, does it…?
Whatever. The bed is comfortable, and for now, they’re here. That’s more than you can ask for.
You let them pour water down your throat, but refuse the soup again. It would be new, and you don’t deserve new. Besides, you’re starving; you think if you started to eat, you would never stop, until you’ve consumed everything in your path. You’ve already taken enough.
Your stomach burns. You try to ignore it.
Hunger and fatigue battle within your body, but finally, tiredness takes the lead. You drift. Everyone’s still being too loud to really let you sleep, but you’re getting better at zoning them out.
…You don’t like thinking of them like this. As nuisances. It’s not their fault. They’re not doing anything wrong; it’s you, it’s all you, it will always be you. They’re the ones trying desperately to perform their roles, to keep the play going. You’re the one ruining it.
But you’re tired! Stars above and beyond, you’re so tired. You feel like you might die, actually. Not that the Universe would ever let it end so easily, but…
You just want
everything
to stop, for a while.
You breathe.
You don’t see stars behind your eye. You don’t see anything at all. You could open it, let the light filter in, but you still wouldn’t be able to see them; the ceiling is in the way. You’re not even sure if the Sun has set, yet.
But they’re there. You know, you know, you know. They’re still there, even if you can’t see them. They have to be.
Please, you beg silently. Please let me sleep. Just for a little while. I want to sleep, I want to sleep, I want to sleep.
A thumb brushes your cheek again, wiping something cold away from your eye. She says your name.
You don’t hear it.
You’re already gone.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You don’t dream.
It’s a blessing.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You don’t want to wake up, so when morning comes, you pretend you haven’t. It’s not even them you’re trying to convince.
If you perform it perfectly, maybe it will be real.
Ha. You wish.
. . .
They leave again. Three go, and one stays. They don’t stand a chance either way. These versions of them were doomed from the beginning, because of you; they were never going to be real. They never had the chance to be. You never let them.
Was it worth it?
Is it ever worth it?
Their hand is in yours again. They still hate you. They’re still scared.
But they’re here.
And eventually
e veryth i n g
s t o p s .
(Loop 110)
And then you’re back again.
You don’t even bother opening your eye.
She arrives, calls your name, and leaves. Then the rest of them arrive, call your name, and bring you back to the Clocktower. You don’t really listen. You’re already half asleep. You only know it happens at all because it’s all the same, the same, the same.
The tiredness still settles in your bones, but it’s less crushing, now. You could move if you wanted to.
You don’t.
You sleep.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You don’t dream. You just rest.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
Is this satisfying? Are you happy? Was it everything you ever wanted?
Are you done now?
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You hardly notice when they leave. There’s still a small hand holding yours, so it’s fine. You’re fine. You aren’t alone.
You rest together, and wait for it to end.
.
.
.
(Loop 111)
You’re back again.
It doesn’t matter what you do.
This will never end.
You’re still tired.
You wish for rest.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You dream of stars.
Even when you can’t see them, they’re always there, watching you. Judging you silently. They’ll remember what you’ve done. Everyone else will forget, you will forget, but the stars will always know.
Is this where the Universe was leading you? Or have you been following It wrong? You want to ask, but when you try to scream, no sound comes out.
The stars aren’t listening. They just watch. They must hate you for all you’ve done.
You love them, still.
⋆ ✧ ⋆
You are hated, but you are not alone. Even when the temperature starts to drop, their hand is warm.
It would be nice, you think, if it could end like this. Actually end, without time rewinding and setting the stage back to where it started. If the curtains could just close here.
But it won’t end. It can’t, because they’re going to die. And you can’t let that happen.
…You just don’t know why it always has to be you. Haven’t you done enough? You probably haven’t, but still, it feels like too much. Maybe it’s supposed to be this hard. Maybe you’re just weak.
You weren’t made to be a protagonist. You weren’t born for centre stage. You were only ever supposed to sit on the sidelines, either in the wings or the audience or as an extra in the background. You were cast as a side character, a comic relief; you’re the type who dies before the story ends, not the hero who saves the world. It shouldn’t have to be you!
But you just had to hog the limelight, didn’t you? You deluded yourself into thinking you were important.
And look where that got you.
. . .
You hope, when the scene changes, that you won’t remember this. You don’t want to remember.
You just
want
to rest.
You’re so tired.
.
.
.
(Loop 112)
And then you’re back.
…You feel like you forgot something.
You feel like you forgot a lot of somethings.
What have you been doing, for the past few loops?
. . .
You suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s not like anything new would’ve happened, anyway.
Back to the stage, Siffrin.