Chapter Text
You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest.
You think you probably hate this toilet paper. It’s powdery and scratchy and squishes like rotting meat under your touch. A black hole in a white ring, glaring like a huge judgmental eye. Or like those symbols of the Change God.
You hate the Change God almost as much as you hate this toilet paper.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” you tell it. “It was supposed to be you.”
The toilet paper doesn’t answer. Because it’s toilet paper.
The weird thing is, you’ve never felt saner.
It’s like all the ugly things you said had been collecting in your veins, clouding your mind, eroding your resolve, and now you’ve finally bled the poison out of you. There’s a lucidity to it. A focus. Soon you’ll be in control again, and you’ll be able to keep everyone happy forever. Except for you, obviously. But you’ve never been very happy.
You’re not really sure how to go about this. You can’t remember how to make a Wish, much less reverse one. You can feel the knowledge floating at the fringes of your mind, just beyond your field of vision. But the moment you turn to look at it, it dissipates.
Okay. Okay, okay, okay, you’ll just… count down from three and when you get to zero, you’ll say the first thing that comes to mind, passed straight from your subconscious to your mouth. Really ‘cutting’ out the middleman, ha ha!! No. Stop laughing. You sound insane. Focus on not focusing. Three, two, one, “You’re disgusting.”
…Wow. Thanks, subconscious. No, that’s really helpful. Almost as helpful as the toilet paper. But not quite as helpful, because at least the toilet paper can still be used as toilet paper.
The simplest solution is just to say the opposite of what you said before. Unfortunately, what you said before was, I don’t want to be alone. (It probably wouldn’t work. Odile said that you had to really want it. But even so. When it comes right down to it, you can’t bring yourself to tell an omnipotent wish-granting Universe that you want to be alone.
Besides!! You wouldn’t want to wish your whole cast out of existence on accident, haha!! After all, you’re doing this for them.)
You close your eyes and think.
You can’t remember exactly how you Wished, the last time you were here. But you can feel a tug toward something true. The details are lost to the fog of your past, but you’re pretty sure that Wish Craft loves blood. Blood and stars.
You didn’t bother to pick up the shard of glass this time around. But that doesn’t matter. The point of your dagger is sharp enough.
You prick the skin above your wrist, right where you’ve always noticed Loop’s brightest star, and watch with interest as black wells from the wound. The spreading void, the creeping dark. The hollow that swallows the stars. You twist your wrist and watch the emptiness drip down.
You remember… pictures. Constellations. Inverted silhouettes, bright against the dark. A Warrior, a Hero, an Orphan, a Sage. Or is that only in your head? How would you ever know? You giggle as you draw each dot. Poke, poke, poke. There’s pleasure in the sting of tearing meat. The way the skin puckers before it breaks.
The darkness washes down your arm like the tide coming in. The prowling void, swallowing the bright. Did you know a story like that once? You can’t remember.
“I used to know a joke about memory loss,” you tell the toilet paper. “But I forgot it.”
The toilet paper stares at you. No sense of humor. Isa would have laughed. No he wouldn’t, he hates you. You made him hate you. But not for much longer, hehe! You’re going to fix everything.
You laugh and laugh and fill the void with stars.
* * *
[Stardust,] you think, as loud as you can. [Stardust. Stardust. Siffrin!! Are you doing something stupid?]
No answer. Either they can’t hear you, or they have nothing more to say.
Your nails dig into your knees. Curse them. You hate them. They deserve whatever they have coming. He chose this. He’s worse than you ever were!!! They did this to themself!!!!
[Siffrin,] you try again, like a total blinding idiot without even a speck of self-respect. [Talk to me.]
But of course they don’t.
You could just let them blow themself up. You probably should. It’s what he deserves. The absolute audacity of self-destructing so violently after only a few hundred loops… honestly, it’s just sad. Were you ever this weak? You can’t imagine that you were.
So why can’t you let this go?
…Ugh. You’re actually going to have to do something about this, aren’t you?
When you squeeze your eyes shut, you’re not granted the reprieve of darkness. Even the backs of your eyelids are made of light.
* * *
Isabeau spends the rest of the day running after Sif. But he might as well be chasing smoke. He’ll see them across the courtyard and run straight for them, only to close his hands around empty air. Sif is a flash of white flitting through the trees; a flutter of cloth in a crowd. Untouchable.
It’s impressive, objectively. It’s objectively impressive. It’s just also extremely inconvenient.
He’s so distracted that he nearly runs straight into M’dame Odile.
“Isabeau,” she snaps. “Watch where you’re going.”
“S-Sorry, M’dame! Um… Have you seen Sif?”
Her mouth curves down. “Not for a few hours, no.”
Huh. She doesn’t sound happy. “Um. M’dame. I, uh, I don’t mean to pry, but… is everything okay?”
“Wonderful,” she says darkly. “I’m just, ah. Processing some new information.”
Isa frowns. He’s processing new information, too. “It wouldn’t happen to be about Sif, would it?”
“Hm? No. No, not about Siffrin. It’s not always about Siffrin,” she adds, bone-dry.
“I-I know!!!”
M’dame Odile huffs a laugh. “Ah, Isabeau. I can always count on you.”
* * *
Isabeau is just skirting the House’s entrance when his shadow shifts, sliding along the grass till it’s thrown straight out in front of him, like the sun just took a hard left turn. Or like something extremely bright just sidled in behind him.
“Fighter,” a voice hisses. “Fighter. Isabeau!!!!”
He flinches around to find Loop glaring through the trees. “Oh! Um! Yyyyyes?”
“Your stupid Traveler is blowing himself up. Do you maybe want to do something about it?”
* * *
Loop fills him in on the details. Most of those details are speculative at best. But, to be fair, there’s no one better qualified to speculate on Siffrin than Loop.
* * *
Before Isabeau can ask any followup questions, Loop startles—eyes wide, hackles up, static electricity skittering over their skin—and vanishes into the trees.
A moment later, Mirabelle flings herself at him.
“Oh, Isabeau, it’s been the most horrible day, I– I don’t even know where to start!!!”
It’s a lot to take in. The truth about Mira’s power: a gift from the Head Housemaiden, not any god at all. The lie she found herself trapped beneath, growing into something she couldn’t control. Siffrin teasing, joking, laughing as they flayed her open. Smiling as they twist the knife.
“—and I c-couldn’t even keep my orb!!” she concludes, tearfully. “I might not have been Chosen by Change, but!! I worked very hard for that!!!”
Isabeau winces. Loop wasn’t wrong. Sif’s been on a whole bridge-burning spree.
“Mira,” he says, only a little unsteadily. “Have you, uh… or, I mean… are you familiar with The Tilted Thorn series? Specifically the third one?”
“Huh??? W-Well, of course, it’s one of my favorites, but—why do you ask?”
“Oh. I guess I kinda need your help? Or, I mean, Sif does. But there’s, uh…” He bites back a grimace. “There’s something I should tell you, first.”
* * *
You feel. Cold. Even the dark that leaks out of you feels cold. Like you’re dead inside and rotting, all the way down to your bones.
Maybe you really did die in that first loop, crushed to pulp by that boulder, and the collective will of Vaugarde is just dragging your corpse around like a meat-and-bone marionette. Rot smells sweet, doesn’t it? The bouquet of decay, ehehe. It would explain why no one wants to touch you.
“I don’t like it when they see me,” you whisper to the stars. “Stop looking at me, stop looking at me, I d-don’t want to play anymore, I—”
No. You messed it up. You’re supposed to repeat the same thing. You’re the only one left who knows how to do this, so why can’t you do it right?
Your head feels light. Fizzing with hissing static, like seafoam. Like all your thoughts could slide out through the stars on your arms and the socket of your eye and leave you empty. You think it sounds nice. Peaceful.
…Oh. That’s something, isn’t it? That’s a creative solution. You could just die. Maybe if you wished hard enough, the Universe would let you. Your family would be okay. Loop could take your place. That’s what they want, isn’t it? To be you again?
Funny. It’s the exact opposite of what you want.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you whisper.
Something whispers back at you. A memory, calling your name.
Oh. You’re hearing things again. Memories of things that Wish Craft wiped away. Like a phantom limb inside your mind. An empty skull, fighting to fill the space.
“Oh, Change, Siffrin—”
You smile a little. You don’t mind the voices. They’re comforting. Familiar. Even if they aren’t real.
“Boniface, with me, now.”
“But I wanna see Frin!!!”
“W-We need a lookout, okay, Bonbon? It’s a really important job. Mira, can you—“
“Of course!!” And mentholated cool spreads up your arm, washing away the sting of your stars. Your mouth tugs down. You weren’t finished Wishing. “B-But they lost a lot of blood. Healing Craft can close the wound, but it can’t undo what’s done… They’ll probably be disoriented.”
“Can I, um. Is it okay if I talk to him alone? I don’t wanna overwhelm them…”
“Of course!!!” The same words again, and in the same tone. An echo of an echo. You smile a little. You like it when things stay the same.
Something takes hold of your hand. Warm. Wet. A moment later, you feel a… something. Skin sensation. Warm damp thing scraping gently up your arm.
“Change, this is… Change, Sif, this is so much blood, I c-can’t believe you’re even… Can you even hear me? Can you hear me right now?”
You’re pretty sure the voices aren’t real, but you manage a shrug, to be safe.
“Oh, thank Change,” the memory whispers. “You’re gonna be okay, okay? But, Sif… what did this to you?”
You kick out a little, nudging your dagger with the toe of your boot.
“…Yeah.” You can hear the wince in his voice. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured. Th-This isn’t how you loop, though… Change, Sif, what were you trying to do?”
Your tongue feels stiff and clumsy, but you manage to mumble, “Piss Craft.”
The memory sputters a laugh. “Sif!!!!!!”
You wink cutely. No you don’t, your eyes are closed. But that’s sort of like an extended wink.
Through great personal effort, you manage to pry your eyes open. It’s weird… The memory looks real, too.
“…Isa?”
He perks up a little. “Sif?”
“Really Isa?”
“As far as I know!” the memory says cheerfully, then hesitates. “Oh. Sorry. I mean, uh, yes.”
“But. Why?”
“Pfft— Okay, yeah, that checks out.” Isabeau gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry, bud, I know you feel like crab, but I’m not sure you’re ever gonna stick around for this conversation unless you’re too weak to run off, so… I think we’ve kinda gotta do this now.”
“M’always weak,” you mumble.
“What!! No way!!”
"No, I meant,” gesturing vaguely, “emotionally.”
Isabeau snorts. “Well. We’re all a work in progress. But hey! We’re working on it, yeah?”
…Are you? You hadn’t noticed.
“Okayyy,” you sigh at last, and try to stand up.
Your legs fold like wet cardboard. You don’t try to catch yourself. Shattering your skull against the toilet bowl would only come as a relief. But before you can do more than bang your elbow on the side of the stall, two strong arms hook you by the armpits and hoist you onto your feet.
“I gotcha, Sif! Don’t even worry about it!”
He’s not looking at you. You don’t know what to make of that, so you ignore it. “Um. I… can’t walk. I don’t think.”
“Do you… W-Would it be okay if I… ‘Cause I’m pretty strong, actually, and you’re p-pretty, um, small, so… But only if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable!!”
“Isa.”
“S-Sif?”
“What are you even asking.”
He looks confused for a second, then snickers. “Oh. Sorry. I could, carry you? If you want?”
You should say no. It shouldn’t matter what you want. You should say no and crawl outside on the ground like the worm that you are. But.
(But now that he’s put it in your head, you can’t stop picturing it. Isa’s arms wound around the small of your back, the crook of your knee. Strong, warm arms holding you in place so you can’t float away. Your head nestled into his chest. The scent of sandalwood and nervous salt.)
You clear your throat. “You don’t have to…”
“Eheh. I, uh. I really don’t mind.”
* * *
Your whole (not family, not family)— Your whole party is waiting outside the bathroom. It’s sort of like every other time you’ve left the bathroom, except that this time they all hate you.
To your embarrassment, when Isa moves to put you down, your head lolls forward like a wilting flower. But before you can slump to the floor, he’s already got his arms around you, gathering you up like a heap of old laundry.
“Support their neck,” Odile snaps.
She looks tense. They all do. Odile’s face is drawn, her spine wound tight as a bowstring. Mirabelle is vibrating in bizarre, arhythmic little buzzes of motion, all bouncing heels and bitten fingers. Bonnie just looks mad. Which makes sense. You broke them into pieces. Took them apart with your hands.
You blink at them numbly. “Why are y—”
“Eat this!!!!”
Bonnie’s thrusting a cookie toward you. But it’s—not the cookie. It’s not the cookie. It’s always the same cookie but this one is, it’s, different, flatter and crispier, not cakey, not—
“Just eat it!!! Dile said you got hurt so you gotta eat!!” When you just keep staring, Bonnie rolls their eyes. “It didn't touch any stupid pineapples, okay? We just didn’t have any more eggs. Or chocolate. So I added more butter. It’s what we had!!!!”
…Oh. They made these for you.
“What,” you say dumbly. “Why would you… What?”
“Be more specific,” Madame Odile suggests. You can feel Isa’s chuckle rumble through his chest.
“I—lied. To all of you. Obviously.” They must’ve compared notes by now, so they’ll know this already. “So… what are you doing here.”
“We came to save you, stupid!!!” Bonnie shouts. “Za and his weird friend said you’re being really stupid!!!”
A weird friend, huh? You have one of those too.
(Had.)
You—don’t know. What to do. This isn’t in the script. You were going to fix it, you were supposed to fix it and now you’ve missed your chance for the rest of this loop and maybe you won’t even get the chance after that, because even after you loop back, Isa will remember. He’ll know what you did, what you’re going to do, and this time he’ll be ready. And Loop hates you now, too. Isa could—recruit them, maybe, to help him stop you, and of course you could take out Isa without hurting him, but Loop? Loop and Isa both at once? You don’t know.
…What if you have to hurt him? What if the only way to set things right, to keep everyone happy, is to put your dagger to his throat and press until he— And you know, you know, you know how it feels to die.
You can feel your breaths coming quicker, your heart squirming up your throat. The room shivers. It mantles itself in shadow, a spreading dark that creeps in from the corners and writhes in the walls and you don’t want to do this again, you don’t want to do this again, you—
“Sif!!!” Isa calls, a ringing clang of a sound. He’s still holding you upright, supporting your neck with one hand, but the arm looped around your knees squeezes a little: a living harness, tethering you to the ground. “It’s okay if you loop back!!!!”
It’s so unexpected that for a second, you stop panting just to stare.
“If it happens, it happens!” he says firmly. “We’ll just talk this through then! That’s totally fine!”
“Huh???”
He flushes. “I was… Mira was telling me about, um. I guess, panicking? Anxiety and stuff. And it sounded like…” He darts a glance at Mirabelle. “What was it, again?”
“It’s always worse if you feel cornered,” she explains. Faint, but with the sort of conviction that only comes from experience. “The more, ah, compulsory something feels, the more impossible? So it’s… Y-You don’t have to worry. If you loop back, this will just take a little longer. It won’t ruin anything.”
Oh. “So. You know.”
“Ah. Well. Yes.”
It’s a glacier tilting in your gut. A lurching reorientation. A slow, sinking cold. “Oh.”
Isa’s arms tighten around you. Warm, warm, warm, seeping in from the edges. “Sif? What are you thinking?”
“It’s over,” you mumble. You probably should have been ready for this. It was always going to end someday. (No it wasn’t. You could have lived like this forever, if you hadn’t ruined it. But you always ruin everything eventually, so maybe it’s better to get it over with.)
(It isn’t, though. It’s so so so much worse.)
Isa’s brows pinch in the middle. “What do you mean, over?”
“What do you think?” You have to suck in a breath to stop your head spinning. “I ruined it. I couldn’t just… I was trying to fix it but of course, of course I only made it worse.”
Maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe you can still do whatever Loop did. Break yourself, unmake yourself. Leave some other Siffrin to pick up the pieces. It sounds sort of nice. Relaxing. Loop said that to you once, didn’t they? That they liked being in the sun.
“Hey, come on,” Isa says unhappily. “You haven’t ruined anything. You just kinda lashed out a little. It happens to the best of us.”
No, it really doesn’t. “But… I lied. To all of you. Not just today. The whole time, months and months and years, I— Nothing I ever said was true!!”
“Haha!” Mira laughs tearfully. “Well! One thing you said was true!”
…Huh?
“Because… B-Because I wasn’t…” She looks at her palms. “I really didn’t get chosen. Not by Change. So, I was lying, too. For—maybe not years, but… as long as you’ve all known me. Um. Euphrasie—that’s the Head Housemaiden—she gave me her blessing. She’s who protected me. I wasn’t Chosen at all. I was just… convenient.”
“The Change God likes you so much,” you mumble.
Mira startles. “Oh!! N-No, you don’t have to—”
“No,” you tell her firmly. You might hate the voyeuristic little freak, but they definitely love Mira. “They really like you.”
“O-Oh???”
“But even if—” You huff a breath. “It’s not just the lying. I… hurt you. All of you. Everywhere I go, everyone gets hurt.”
“My sister froze!!!!” Bonnie shouts.
You stiffen.
“I…” Bonnie draws the back of their wrist across their nose. “She… could’ve got away. I think. When the curse got to our town she… she grabbed me and—she ran. As long as she could. An’ then she couldn’t run anymore, so she put me down and said, run. Far as you can, fast as you can. And I wanted to stay but she—!!!” They’re crying in earnest now, tears streaming from the creases of their eyes. “And you!!! You!!! Your stupid eye, it was the same!!! People keep— I know them an’ then they get hurt!!!!!”
“No,” you say, unthinking. You believe a lot of stupid things, but you know that this is wrong. “No, that’s not… It’s not your f—”
“I know it’s not my fault!!! So it’s not yours either! Stupid!!! Just ‘cause bad stuff happens doesn’t mean you made it happen!!!! Stuff can be bad and still not be your stupid fault!!!!”
But—no. That’s different. Of course it’s not Bonnie’s fault, but— “That’s different. It’s different!! You… You were just trying to survive. That’s human. Me, I’m… h-haha!! I’ve never been a real person! Everything I did, everything I ever said, it was all just… I was always just pretending!!!”
When Isa laughs, you can feel it rustle through your hair. “Aw, come on, Sif, you know that’s silly. Or, I mean… isn’t that what Change is? Trying to be someone, until they turn real? Wearing a mask till it becomes your face? It’s all just play-pretend until it isn’t. At least, it was for me.” He grins down at you, rueful. “It… probably still is, heh. But that doesn’t mean I’m not real.”
Well. Well, of course Isabeau’s real. “But that’s not the same.”
“I think it kinda is, though?”
It isn’t. “N-No. You don’t… You can’t understand. At least you have anything, any piece of yourself that’s… At least you got to choose what you wanted to keep! I have nothing!! No history, no family, no home!!!”
“I suppose it’s my turn?” Madame Odile says drily. “I… well. I’ve gathered that you may know a great deal more about us than we’ve been privy to, so this may not come as a surprise, but. I’m not exactly a square peg in a square hole, either. I’ve… never had much of a family.” Her mouth tugs up. “I suppose I’d come to think of you all as my family, in a sense. So to speak. You’re certainly more of a family than I have waiting at home.”
“Yeah!!!” Bonnie agrees. “Like me and Nille!! We stay together! We eat together! We say good morning and good night!”
“Oh, are we saying it out loud now?” Isa asks, grinning. “Yeah. Of course you’re my family.”
You stare from one to the next. Of course you knew that you could make them feel that way. When you did everything right, they loved you, always. But this time you did everything wrong. So why would they… “But I was so mean?”
“Me and Nille fight all the time!!!!” Bonnie shouts. “Sometimes I even yell!! But she still tucks me in after I say I’m sorry!! That’s just family!!!!”
Is it? You guess you wouldn’t know.
“Do you get it yet?” Isa asks, with a crooked smile just for you. “You’re not any worse than the rest of us.”
No. You might see the sense in some of what they’re saying, but you absolutely cannot agree with that.
“You don’t understand,” you whisper. “I lied to you for—years. Years. I never would’ve stopped. If Isa didn’t get caught up in it—which was my fault too, by the way—I would have… hah!!! I know exactly what I’d do, because it already happened!! I lie and lie until there’s nothing left of me, till I c-can't even remember… And then I give up. On everything. All of you, all of…” A bitter laugh scrapes up your throat. “I-I'm the same as the King. Worse!! Because my wish actually comes true!!! And I still screw it up!!! I fail and I fail and I—hurt everyone, forget everything, and then I give up.”
Isa’s arms squeeze at your back. “Come on, Sif, we know you wouldn’t—”
“No!! No!! You don’t know!!! You… You’ve already seen it, you just didn’t know!!! You’ve seen who I become and you h-hate them!!”
“Dude. Loop is delightful.”
“Wh-What?” You blink at him, slack-jawed. “What? What? What? You… How long have you known?”
Isa looks a little guilty. “Oh, uh. Only since the last loop.”
“Since when do you like Loop?”
“...Probably since the last loop?”
You huff a breath. “Well… W-Well, that doesn’t change anything! I still hurt you. All of you. I c-could have talked to, to any of you, anytime, if I wasn’t so—if I was just—but I was too scared!! So instead I hurt everyone!!! Just so you wouldn’t…” Your throat closes over the words. You don’t want to be alone.
“I dunno, Sif,” Isa says unhappily. “It’s not a one-way street, though, is it?”
“…How so.”
“Oh. I guess I just mean…” He shifts his weight a little, sending another ripple of nausea bubbling up from the pit of your stomach. “Even just from the loops I remember, it was pretty clear you weren’t doing great. There were a million times when I was like, oh, man, is Sif okay? And I just always backed off ‘cause… I guess I was scared, too.”
“But that’s not your fault. That was my fault. I was being careful, covering my tracks so you…” You trail off, because Isa is looking down at you with a smile that is much too fondly amused for this situation. “What.”
“Snrrk. Sorry, Sif. It’s just, uh… no offense, pal, but I think you might be a worse liar than you think.”
“Hah!!!” Bonnie crows.
“You are a uniquely terrible liar,” Madame Odile agrees, adjusting her glasses. “Frankly, it’s astounding that you got away with this for as long as you did.”
“You found me out once,” you admit.
“Yes, Siffrin, I’m afraid that doesn’t come as much of a surprise.”
“But I don’t—” You look away. (They should be angry.) “Why aren’t you…”
“We are upset!!!” Mirabelle says fiercely. “I’m mad at you for not telling, and I’m mad at me for not asking, and… I’m mad at you for being so mean!!! But I’m mad at myself for lying…” She’s crying again, but she doesn’t stop to wipe her eyes. “Ohhh… I’m not any more upset with you than I am with me, is what I’m saying!”
It still doesn’t make any sense. Just looking at her is starting to give you a headache, so you turn away, tucking your head into the crook of Isa’s neck and ignoring the way that he tenses against you.
“I don’t understand,” you mumble, the words muffled by the side of Isa’s throat. You can feel his shiver on your lips. “Why would you still want to keep me?”
Mira stamps one foot, emphatic. “Because we care about you, Siffrin!”
“We’re not gonna get mad at you for going a little crazy after spending a whole year alone in time prison.” Isa’s voice sounds a little strained. Probably getting tired of holding up your dead weight. “I, for one, wanna know you as long as you’ll let me. And I—I know big cities aren’t really your thing, but there’s this vineyard outside Jouvente with the cutest little bed and breakfast, and I thought… m-maybe after we beat the King, we could maybe go and, I dunno… stay for a little? To celebrate? And like, rest and stuff? B-But only if you wanted!!!”
“Sounds awfully romantic,” Odile tells him, with a knowing gleam.
“I meant all of us!!!!”
Bonne frowns. “We gotta go get Nille first. Or else it’s not fair.”
“Sounds good to me!” Isa assures them. “The more the merrier! And it means I get more time with all of you, so, you know. Everyone wins!”
Mira brightens a little. “Ooh, there was that lovely hot spring outside of Veragne that I’d hoped to visit when it was less… well, frozen.”
You stare from one face to the next. Even with the oxcarts up and running, Bambouche is more than a month’s journey away.
“W-Wait,” you blurt out. For a second, Isa’s face falls. “You mean… me too?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You—wanted to stay with me?”
“O-Only if you want!! It was just a thought!! Or we could go somewhere different, if anyone else—”
“No,” you say quickly. You don’t want to give him time to take it back. “No, I want to.”
For a second, you can feel his grip tighten around you, an involuntary little clench. “Y-Yeah? Really?”
You nod.
“Hehe… Yeah. Yeah, of course you do! I dunno why I was…” Isabeau shakes his head, but he still can’t stop smiling. “Aw, it doesn’t matter. Just being stupid, I guess.”
You shake your head fast. You knew they might want to keep the role you’ve been performing, but not you, never you; not the real you, desperate and greedy and cruel. But Isa’s seen you, now. They all have. And still they want to keep you.
“I didn’t—” You stumble, start again. “I—wanted to stay. With all of you.“
“Well, then, it sounds as though we’ve all been somewhat stupid.” For once, Madame Odile looks almost embarrassed. “On my end, I… well. I suppose I don't have much waiting for me, either. I knew you had lives to get back to, but I'd intended to ask Siffrin, at least, if they’d care to accompany me in escorting Boniface home before we... well. Before I resumed traveling alone.”
“But I don’t want to be alone,” you can’t help blurting out. “I don’t want any of us to be alone!”
Odile smirks. “Yes, Siffrin, believe it or not, I’d begun to gather as much.”
“Ehehe,” Mirabelle giggles into her hands. “I didn’t want to hold anyone back; I know that Change is a part of life, but I—I still hoped you might… Ohh, I think perhaps we’ve all been very silly!”
“Not me!” Bonnie scoffs. “I was always gonna make you guys come meet Nille! I just thought we weren’t talking about it ‘cause you were all too chicken!”
“All but Boniface, then,” Odile agrees.
You feel so, so warm. Like you could melt. They want to keep you. All of them, all of them wanted to keep you and they were just—scared, the same as you. “You really didn’t want me gone?”
“Really really,” Isa promises.
Mira draws herself up indignantly. “Siffrin! How could you—! No, I suppose this was our fault, too… I should have talked to you sooner, only I didn’t want to overstep…”
“Like I said,” Madame Odile says drily. “Stupid.”
* * *
Of course you beat the King. It was never even a question. Beating the King is easy, now. Everything is easy, except telling the truth.
But on your way out of the King’s sanctum, you just—freeze.
It’s not a matter of physical weakness. That’s… not really something you do anymore. At least, not in a way you can perceive.
It’s not exactly fear, either. Fear is rooted in uncertainty. The knowing, the not-knowing. Knowing that you can’t ever really know. You’re having the opposite problem. You know exactly what’s waiting for you on the other side. It’s just that you’re not sure you’ll survive it.
“...Sif?” Isa says uncertainly.
You shake your head fast. If you’re not Siffrin, maybe it won’t happen. If you’re not afraid, maybe it won’t happen. If you don’t hope for anything, then maybe, maybe—
“Frin!!!” Bonnie huffs. “Are you doing more weird cursed magic???”
You blink at them. “It’s not magic. It’s Craft.”
“Are you doing more weird cursed Craft???”
Oh. “I don’t think so?”
“Good!!! ‘Cause you still hafta meet my sister!!!”
You hesitate. You can’t quite bring yourself to promise.
Isa nudges you gently. “Hey. If it happens, it's okay, okay? We'll just go from there. You don't hafta be scared, Sif, I swear.”
“But—”
“No buts!!!” Mira says fiercely. “And if any stupid Wish tries to drag you back in time, it’ll have to go through me!!!”
In spite of everything, you can’t help smiling. If anyone could take on the Universe head-to-head, it’d be Mira.
…But you still can’t quite force your legs to walk.
“Aw, Frin,” Bonnie snorts. “D’you need to hold my hand?”
Huh? What? But Bonnie didn’t hug you this loop. They didn’t teach you to be normal about touch. So why would they…
“Za said you didn’t like getting touched but you obviously do,” Bonnie says, impatient. “Or else you wouldn’t keep trying to hold his hand.”
Wh— “I don’t.”
“You really do, though,” Odile snorts, looking far too amused. “Honestly. There are children present.”
“Did you wanna hold my hand, Sif?” Isa asks hopefully.
(Yes.) “No!!!!”
But when Bonnie reaches out, you hold on tight.
* * *
You talk to the Head Housemaiden.
You can barely hear her over the thud of your own heart. The lurch of your gut, the slosh of your blood in your veins. But you can feel Bonnie’s sticky hand in yours. You can feel the warmth of Isa’s arm against yours.
You breathe in and out.
* * *
“Sif!!!” Isa shouts. “We did it!!!!!”
You’ve seen this before. But you distinctly haven’t seen Isa leap at you like a poorly-trained puppy and sweep you up in his arms, crushing you against his chest.
“Hhhh,” you wheeze.
Isa pulls back, guilty, and sets you gently on the ground. “Sorry! Sorry! I got excited! Um… too much?”
You shake your head dizzily.
“Haha, yeah!!!!” he laughs, beaming, and grabs your hands instead. You feel drunk on warmth. Will it always be like this? You think it might kill you. “Man, traveling is gonna be so much more fun now that we know that you… yeah!! Yeah!!! This is gonna be the best!!!!”
Your mouth tugs up. It’s hard not to smile at Isa. Like trying to glare at a very friendly hamster. “Would you say it’s going to be…”
“Uh huh???”
“…a touching experience?”
“Hah!!! Yeah!!!! Yes!!!! You'll just have to tell me if you need some space. I wouldn't wanna seem... out-of-touch.”
“Pffft,” you snort, and squeeze his hands a little tighter. “Hey, Isa?”
He leans in closer. “Yeah, Sif?”
“What were you going to tell me?”
Isabeau chokes. “Um?? You mean—”
“After we beat the King.”
“You.” His throat bobs. “Y-You still don’t…”
“You never told me,” you remind him. Of course you have a sense of it. But what is and isn’t true seems to flicker in your mind. He wants you. He’s afraid of you. He thinks you’re pathetic. He thinks you’re a person. He wanted to spend the last night of his life alone with you.
“Right,” Isa says hoarsely. “H-Haha, uh… right! Of course! Yeah, of course. How would you know if I never… yeah! Makes sense!”
You can feel it expand in you. The anticipation. It’s hydrogen gas in your belly, a solar flare in your throat. Heat and pressure. Bright, buoyant. Highly flammable.
Isabeau swallows. “I, um. It’s just… I know it's been, haha, s-sort of a long day, and you've already been through a lot, so I—I wouldn't want to… But you’re, um. Y-You’re sure it’s okay?”
You tilt your head. Listening.
“Right,” he whispers. “Right! Then I just… I just w-wanted to tell you that I… I’ve been having so much fun traveling with you, Sif. So so so much fun. You’re really important to me, and I, I value your friendship so much, so I wouldn’t want to—um—put any pressure on you, or anything… And if you don’t feel the same, it’s! Totally fine! I totally don’t expect anything, I just… I just had to tell you, at least once.”
Hope isn’t sweet, it’s tart. A shock of citrus like a winter wind. Bracing, but in the way that makes you feel more awake.
You look Isabeau square in the eyes. They’re good eyes. Not glassy-cold like yours but honey-warm and dark. You really, really like looking at him.
“Isa,” you say gently.
“S-Sif?”
“You haven’t said anything yet.”
“Oh,” he says muzzily, looking either transfixed or mildly concussed. “O-Oh! Right! Sorry. I just needed to say that I… Sif, I… Siffrin, I—!!”
Oh, he is such a coward. You find yourself grinning as you tug his hands closer, till his knuckles only barely brush your cheek. Isa’s breath stutters. Gently, gently, with only the backs of two fingers, he traces the line of your cheekbone. When his thumb curls up to circle your temple, you can’t help closing your eyes and letting out a little hum of—relief, as much as pleasure. You want him to touch you so much, everywhere. You want arms at your back, pressing you closer; strong hands on your wrists, your shoulders, the nape of your neck. You think you sort of want it to hurt. But this is good. It’s so good. It’s a start.
“Sif,” Isa breathes, and it’s almost a whine. “Change, I— I love you so much, Sif. So much. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just do.”
It’s a buzz of energy like liquid lightning. Warmth that thrills up your spine to fizz in the tips of your fingers, curling your toes in your boots. You feel drunk. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
“I’m not!!” he says, indignant. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t keep it!”
“You didn’t like it.”
“Yeahhh, I’m pretty sure I did.”
You open your eyes to frown at him. “You definitely didn’t.”
“No offense, Sif, but you don’t have the best track record for this kind of thing. You thought I didn’t wanna touch you, either.”
“…You really did?”
“Sif,” he groans. “You can’t even… I wanted to so much.”
“Oh.” You tuck your chin into your cloak. “Me too.”
Finally he uncurls his fist and holds your face in earnest. Fingernails grazing your hairline, twisting in the tangle of your hair. His thumb stroking up and down the line of jaw. When you close your eyes and lean into his touch—please don’t stop, don’t pull away, more, more, more—a little whine creaks out from the back of his throat and oh, stars, you love him so much.
“Don’t leave,” you whisper.
“Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t want to be alone…”
“I won’t let you. None of us will.”
You reach up and lay your hand over his, pressing down hard enough to hurt. (Make me feel real, make me feel awake. Give me somewhere to go. Be my home, be my home, be my home.)
“Sif,” Isa breathes. With his free hand he pries your hand back from your face and holds it between you gently, gently. Like holding a baby bird. “Be careful with yourself.”
You want to laugh. You want to cry. You died a hundred bloody deaths and now you’re supposed to be careful. “I don’t know if I remember how.”
“That’s okay. I can show you, we all can. It just takes practice.”
You sniffle a little. It feels like you’ve spent the whole day leaking. Blood and venom, snot and tears. “…Isa?”
“Yeah, Sif?”
“I love you too. Um. A lot.” Probably a little too much.
You can feel his hands clench. “R-Really?”
You nod.
“And you’re not just saying that to—to make me happy, o-or because you think you owe me something, or—“
You shake your head. You’re really not.
“Because I’d still wanna stay with you even if you didn’t— It’s not like I’d leave, I’d just, I’d stay with you and l-love you quietly and I swear I wouldn’t make it weird, so—“
“Isa.”
“S-Sif?”
“I really love you.” You take a second to think it over before mumbling, “I probably won’t do it right. I think I might be, um, wrong. In my… head. But I definitely want to be close. And I want you always to be touching me.” Oh, stars, STOP. Stop thinking out loud, you blinding idiot, you’ve lost too much blood to remember how to sound normal. “N-No. Sorry. I didn’t say that.”
“Aw,” Isa sighs, but his tone doesn’t match his giddy grin, or the flush spreading down his neck. “That’s a shame, cause I really always want to be touching you.”
“Gems alive,” Odile snorts, and you both flinch apart. “You two are going to be insufferable, aren’t you?”
“M’dame!!!” Isabeau wails, covering his face with his hands. “This is private!!!”
“Your entire family is on this roof.”
“It’s a big roof!!!!”
“I’m standing ten feet away.”
“Madame, please,” Mira says earnestly, dabbing at her eyes. “Let them finish!!!”
You can’t stop smiling. You don’t mind getting interrupted. You don’t think you have it in you to mind anything, right now.
(You like it when they see you.)
* *
* * *
* * * * *
It’s not until after you’ve started making your way down from the rooftop that you freeze. “Wait. Where’s Loop?”
* * * * *
* * *
* *
Well! That’s that, then! A happy ending! Just like your stardust wanted! A win for the whole team!
Of course, you were never much of a team player.
“It’s been a pleasure,” you tell your nest of swallows. “No, really! I mean it! Watching you not-grow up has been a rare bright spot in my miserable existence.”
The fledglings screech derisively.
“You know,” you tell their mother, conspiratorial. “I wasn’t sure it was my business, but—Dahlia, darling, he’s cheating on you. He’s been wagging tails with Lucretia all along.”
“Chee-chee-chireee!!” Dahlia squawks.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Then, when another swallow alights on her usual perch: "Ohh, Lucretia. Lucretia. I think I'll miss you most of all. You beautiful powderkeg. You absolute tramp. Don't tell the others, but you were always my favorite.”
You can’t help getting a little misty-eyed. Pathetic as it is, you really are going to miss her. Though you suspect that, pretty soon, there won’t be enough of you left to miss anyone at all.
“If my stardust stops by, poop in his hair,” you tell her sweetly. “For me~”
Lucretia flares her wings and screams in your face.
Of course you can feel the Traveler coming. You don’t always have your finger on their pulse, but absolute, heels-over-head panic makes itself fairly hard to ignore. At least it gives you the chance to arrange yourself on your usual perch before your stardust comes pelting around the corner. (You may be the exact same height, but that’s no reason not to make him feel small.)
“Loop!!!” he gasps, as they skid to a stop.
“Aw, stardust! Have you come to trade places? Wow, you’re sooo~ sweet.”
Your stardust doesn’t answer. Probably still catching his breath.
“And I see you’ve brought your loyal hound! For some reason! Such a nice boy… shame about his atrocious taste.”
When your stardust looks over his shoulder, he jumps, like they actually hadn’t noticed that they were being followed.
“Sif didn’t bring me,” their Fighter says seriously. “I came for you.”
Oh. Well. That’s… not really something you have space for. “Teehee! Oh, but there’s no reason to pity me. I got ~exactly~ what I deserved.”
“No,” your stardust mumbles.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “No?”
“No!” he says again, this time with force. “That’s not the ending I want!”
Even after everything, you can’t help snickering. They’re just so spoiled. “Oh, isn’t it, now? Adorable. But honestly, stardust, riddle me this: what does wanting have to do with it?”
“Everything!!!!”
Oh, he is so spoiled. “I suppose you would think that, wouldn’t you.”
“Wh– No!! No!!” He shoves his hair back from his face, glowering. “Wish Craft, it’s… Wanting is the only thing that matters! So what do you want?”
It is your last day on earth. You suppose you could be honest, just this once. “Well. If you must know, I want to die.”
Your stardust flaps a hand dismissively. “Before that.”
“I want to… drown?”
“Closer…”
You roll your eyes. “I guess I might not hate to see the ocean again. One last time before I drown in it.”
“Okay!!!” your stardust tells you, grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
*
* * *
* * * * *
* * * * * * *
You wake up in the Clocktower. You wake up in a tent with warm arms wrapped fast around you. You wake up on a bench in a city to the north. You wake up on a beach, under the stars.
You touch. You touch, you touch, you touch. You hold a dozen different hands.
You talk about your feelings, you don’t talk about your feelings. You talk about your past in passing. In desperation. In hushed voices, in the dark. You plunge your face into the sea and come up gasping. You watch the tide roll out.
Life goes on.