Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest.

You think you maybe love this toilet paper. It feels… important? And also: soft. Squishy. Friendly, even. It won’t judge you or hate you or pity you. It can’t ask impossible questions. It never flinches away when you step too close. Maybe the toilet paper can be your new family!!!

You bite back a laugh. Sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek till you taste copper on your tongue. Flecks of black on white tile. But that’s okay. The toilet paper isn’t going to ask if you’re okay. Because it’s toilet paper.

It occurs to you that you’re probably losing your mind.

Which makes sense!!! Doesn’t it!!! You should’ve lost your mind yesterday!!! Months and months of yesterdays ago. It’s not like it would be some great loss. Your mind isn’t very useful here, is it? Not now that all the rules have changed. Now that there’s no one left who’s real, and the only one you can trust, really trust, with your whole stupid heart, is this roll of toilet paper. And you can’t even take it with you, because it’s toilet paper.

If you tried to take it with you, your actors would definitely notice. They’re not polite, like the toilet paper. No one ever taught them not to ask intrusive questions. It would be all, What’s with the toilet paper, Siffrin? Are you going to pee your pants, Siffrin? And why are you hugging it like that? Is it, perhaps, because you’re a blinding pathetic excuse for a person?

It’s time to leave the bathroom. If you stay any longer, your actors will get antsy. Still, you can’t bear to leave the toilet paper behind. (You are tired of leaving things behind.)

…Your inventory isn’t fully wiped when you loop, though, is it? You always keep the coin. And those garden shears. And Mira got to keep that pretty ribbon. Maybe you could keep the toilet paper, too.

You peel off a square of cottony softness and whisper into it, as loud as you dare. “Come with me. Please, please, please loop back with me. Loop back with me. Loop back with me. I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone.”

Then you fold it over and…

Hm. You’re not sure how to do this part. It’s not like wishing on a tree or a star. How do you tell the wish where to go?

Well. It is toilet paper. You shrug and flush it down the toilet.

* * *

Siffrin’s acting weird.

Siffrin’s been acting weird for 48 hours, at least. Distant, detached, dissociated. They speak up every now and again, but it feels sort of… perfunctory? Like talking to their friends is just another job.

—Not that Isabeau can blame him!! They’re all charging into a fight for their lives; for the lives of this whole country. It would be weird if Sif wasn’t feeling weird.

But even so… Even given everything ahead of them, Siffrin feels especially weird. More so than Mira, who’s taken the fate of all Vaugarde upon her tiny shoulders. More than Odile, who continues to confront each new impossibility with the same flat, deadpan stare. And definitely more than Bonnie.

Maybe it’s that it’s the wrong kind of weird? Sif doesn’t seem daunted, or even particularly scared. They’re just… blank. Resigned. Like there’s nothing left to hope for.

Isabeau shakes himself off. It doesn’t matter. Everyone copes in their own ways. There’s no reason to judge. He’ll just… keep an eye on Sif, without thinking too hard about it. He wouldn’t want to stress them out.

This strategy works well enough until they reach the King. At which point Siffrin asks two inscrutable questions and then drives his own dagger through his throat.

“Sif????” Isa gasps, reeling. “You— Mira!!!”

Mira turns. When she sees Sif, she stumbles back, both hands flitting up for a healing spell. “Oh, Change. Oh, Change, you—you can’t!!!”

“Hhhh,” Sif breathes. Every exhale is a little puff of blood.

No, no, no, they can’t— Isa has to, he has to put pressure on the wound but he can barely find it through the blood and it’s Siffrin’s throat, their whole neck slit crosswise like bleeding a pig to be butchered. Isa’s hands are slick with slippery heat and he can, he can feel their windpipe, the rubbery rigidity of cartilage and behind it a shock of white—Sif’s vertebrae, he thinks numbly, their actual spine, they cut all the way to the bone. He needs to shout, can hear Bonnie screaming already but he can only manage the barest whisper. “S-Sif…”

“Hahhhha…ha!!” Sif wheezes. When they hang their head, a mucusy string of bloody phlegm slips from the crease of their mouth.

“Sif,” Isabeau chokes out, wrist-deep in viscera. “P-Please, you— I don’t want you to…” But what can he tell them that they don’t already know? “Just—please!!!”

Siffrin’s pupil dilates and contracts. Their huge bright eye, focused and unfocused. Their mouth curves up into a smile. “H-Haha!! Ahh… Isa. Isa. None of this matters.”

“I— What? What do you…”

“None! Of this!! Matters!!” Blood wells up from their throat, slopping down the fabric of their cloak. “So just. Hhhhhhh. Just… let me help you.”

I don’t WANT help, Isabeau wants to say. I don’t want any help that asks you to DIE! There’s no point saving the country if I can’t save you!!!

But it’s too late for that. Mira’s magic can’t heal something like this.

Siffrin is dying.

“Please,” Isa whispers instead. “Please, please, I just—I don’t want—I just n-need you to stay, Sif, please.”

Siffrin grins with blood seeping through the cracks in their teeth. “S-Sorry, Isa. I’ll s-s-see you yesterday, hhhhha!!”

“No,” Isa pleads, “no, you can’t, I—”

* * *

—And he wakes up.

* * *

Woah. Woah!! Oh-kay!!! What the CRAB was that????

It doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been real, because Isabeau is just… standing in the grass. Not blood-drenched, not sobbing, not holding Siffrin’s windpipe together with his hands. But it just— It felt so real!!!!

Okay. Oh-kay, okay, okay, let’s just— Let’s just calm down for now!!! Okay?? Whatever it was that Isa thought he saw, it obviously didn’t happen. Because if it did, Sif would be—

(—calm down, calm down, it wasn’t real, IT WASN’T REAL—)

Isabeau just has to see them, is all. He knows it’s stupid, but he has to see Sif moving, smirking, breathing. He has to see that they’re okay.

* * *

When he whips around the corner, he nearly bowls over Mirabelle.

“O-Oh!!!” she squeaks. “Are you—”

“Sif!!!!” he bellows, before he remembers himself. “Um!!! Sorry!!! Where’s— Have you seen Sif???”

Mira blinks. “I was just on my way to wake them? They’re taking a nap in the meadow, south of—”

“I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT!!!!” Isabeau bellows, and bolts.

* * *

He finds Siffrin stretched out in the field, patting vaguely at their pockets with a grim, lightless expression that Isa’s never seen on them before. Not even when they were thrusting that dagger through their—

“Sif!!!!”

Sif jolts to their feet. When they meet his gaze, they look weirdly shocked. “Wh— Isa? What are you doing here?”

“I was just—!!!!” He has to hold his own hands to stop them shaking. What he needs more than anything is to reach for them. To feel the thrum of their pulse under his palms, warm and solid and alive. But he knows how Sif feels about touch. “I just… had a… bad dream?”

It didn’t feel like a dream, though. It felt so real.

Siffrin frowns at him. “Um. Well. I have to go… do something. Now. But are you—um. Can I… help you?”

“H-Haha!!” Isa sputters. “I—Yeah! Or, I mean, no! Don’t worry about it! I’m totally fine!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!! Yeah!! All good!! Totally super normal!!”

Sif shrugs. They move to sidestep past him, but stop halfway. “…What was your dream about?”

“Oh! Um. I… wouldn’t worry about it, haha! I’m probably just nervous for tomorrow.”

“But what happened.”

“It doesn’t really matter…”

“Isa.”

Wow. Has he ever heard Sif sound that forceful? “Uhh. Um. Well. The fight with the King, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and grins, sheepish. “Makes sense, huh?”

“But what happened.”

Ah. Okay. No weaseling out of this one. “It was just… um. You… got hurt.” He shudders, remembering. Blood on his hands. Fingers brushing bone— “Uh. P-Pretty bad.”

“...Huh.”

“D-Don’t worry!" Isa says hastily. "I know you wouldn’t— Or, I mean, it’s not like I’m doubting you or anything!! I know how good you are in a fight!! Way better than me, honestly!! It was just a stupid dream. Just my dumb brain trying to mess with me.” He raps on the side of his skull. “Bad brain. Cut that out. Am I right?”

Sif’s eye narrows.

Isabeau flushes. “Aw, I dunno, Sif. I guess I’d just… I’d kinda lose my mind if something happened to you, and tomorrow we’re… well. You know.” He shakes his head vigorously, trying to shake off the traces of nightmare still clinging to his skin. “Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid.”

“I had a dream, too.”

Isa’s eyes widen. “Y-You did?”

“I was fishing in a giant bowl of alphabet soup.”

“Huh? What? Really?”

Sif nods solemnly. “I guess I was trying to catch some z’s.”

“You— Sif!!!!!!”

When they smirk at him, he can feel the weight of the nightmare lift a little. Sif always knows how to cheer him up.

* * *

Isabeau waits until Siffrin’s out of sight before raking a hand through his hair. He’s sweating a little. Or… maybe more than a little. Sif doesn’t usually catch onto feelings-stuff, but even they seemed sort of suspicious, near the end. But what was Isa supposed to say? ‘I’m probably having nightmares about you because I’m totally stupid in love with you? I want to touch you so bad it feels like my heart’s gonna climb out my throat? Just being around you is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, and the thought of losing that—losing you—makes me want to burn the whole stupid House to the ground?’

—Nnnnope! Haha, no thanks! Hard pass, actually! Isa acts pathetic enough around Sif as it is! He really doesn’t need to look even less cool.

…Not that that’s ever been his strong suit.

Ugh. It’s always been like this, with Sif. Or maybe Isa should say that he’s always been like this. Can you blame him? They’re just so cool!! They saunter around with their big floppy hat and their big swooshy cloak and that sly little smirk, like they’re listening to a joke that no one else can hear. Always watching and listening and taking everything in. And Isabeau does mean everything. If you say something that no one else hears, Sif will always, always notice. They’ll wink at you with that big bright eye and for a second it’s like you’re the only two people in the world. Sharing a secret, just between you.

Isa squeezes his eyes shut and covers his face with his hands. STOP. For Change’s sake. They’re not even here!! How are you still this embarrassing when they’re not even HERE??

Not that he’s much better when they are around. The first time he saw Sif, he practically forgot how to talk. The whole party was boxed in and worn down, bloodied and gasping and totally out of their league. M’dame Odile managed to slow the Sadness down a little, but every blow that it landed was nearly a knockout. Mira was too busy healing to get a single hit in. But it wasn’t enough. They were losing.

And then a blur of black and white hurtled out of the canopy and gouged a gash clear through the Sadness’s sobbing face. All Isa could do was stare, goggle-eyed and totally beyond dumbstruck, as the stranger looked over their shoulder and winked. “Mind if I cut in?”

* * *

“Stoooop,” Isa whispers into his hands. He can’t afford to waste time flailing around in a field like a total crabbing loser. Nightmares or no, he still has a country to save.

Chapter Text

Isa remembers.

Except Isa can’t remember, because… because he just can’t! Loop promised. And, and—and if the actors are starting to remember, then what’s even the point? All this time you’ve been saying your lines for them, smiling and winking and playing along to protect them. If you can’t shield your family from this, why go through with it at all?

And what are you supposed to do when the others start to remember? You can’t even imagine how dangerous Odile would be. And how angry. And Mira, stars, Mira will be so disappointed; but even worse, she’ll blame herself, you know she will. And oh, stars, Bonnie—

“What makes you think they’re going to remember?”

You whip around, bristling. “Weren’t you listening? It’s already happening! Isa knows!! He saw what happened last time and he, he doesn’t know it’s real yet but when it happens again… Why are you laughing???”

“Who, me?” Loop hides their smirk behind one hand. “No reason. I just, ah, remembered a joke.”

“You’re the one who should be upset!” you hiss. “You lied to me! You’re supposed to be helping me and you said, you promised that no one would remember! That it was only me!”

“That’s certainly the impression I had, yes.”

“How am I supposed to do this if you’re just going to lie to me???”

“Ohh, stardust,” Loop sighs. “You always take everything so personally! It isn’t all about you, you know.”

“He saw me use the dagger!!!”

Loop shrugs innocently. “I did tell you not to do it. I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but…”

“No! No! You are not blaming this on me!!!”

“I’m not the one who put the dagger to your throat, stardust.”

“You put it in my hand! You put it in my head! It’s the same blinding thing!!!”

For the briefest instant, Loop almost looks pained. But the moment you blink, it’s gone. “Haha. Maybe. I suppose it doesn’t really matter who’s to blame.”

“So what do I do?”

“We~ell,” Loop muses. “What makes you think that all of them are going to remember? It might just be the Fighter.”

Your forehead furrows. “Why would it just be him?”

“Why not?”

You shoot them a murderous glare.

“Oh, come on, stardust,” Loop giggles, “don’t look like that. I’m trying to help you! Besides. Did it ever occur to you that this might be a good thing?”

“No.”

“But if you had a co-conspirator… someone to provide a fresh perspective; to help you think things through…”

“No!!”

Loop gives you a tolerant smile. “Alright, stardust. Enlighten me. Why not?”

“I don’t need help!!” But—no. That’s not the reason. “No. I mean. It’s… Isn’t it already bad enough? And Isa’s…” Soft. Honest. True to the bone. “…sensitive. His feelings all come spilling out. And he’s a coward. He couldn’t handle the truth.”

“Haha, ouch! Mee-yow! Who knew you had such sharp claws?”

“You did.”

“Yes, I suppose I did, at that.” Loop stretches and yawns. Whenever they pull in a really deep breath, their face glows just a little brighter. “So? What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

Loop taps their chin thoughtfully. “Sometimes a nightmare is just a nightmare, no? It sounds to me like you need to test your little hypothesis.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Hm… You could smell him!”

Ha, ha. Hilarious. It’s so funny, you forgot to laugh.

“What!!” Loop protests. “I’m not joking! Your Kid said that Time Craft smelled like sugar, didn’t they? If your Fighter smells sweeter than usual…”

“And how am I supposed to know what he usually smells like?”

“Aw. Stardust. My sweet, adorable, stupid little stardust. You know there’s no point trying to lie to me.”

…Okay, so maybe they have a point. You have spent 100-some nights—100-some of the same night sharing a bed with Isabeau. Curled under the blanket just a heartbeat away, so close your noses nearly brush. Listening to Isa stammer his way through a cut-short confession. Watching him sleep, face slack, cheek scrunched against the pillow. By now you could trace the outline of his face with your eyes closed. Of course you know how he smells. Like fresh laundry and cut grass. Like sweat and salt and good clean dirt.

“Okay,” Loop says tolerantly. “If you really won’t smell him, I’m certain you can find some other way. Sleep on it, stardust. Unless you’re ready to give up…?”

You wrinkle your nose at them. “Is that what you want?”

“Stardust!” Loop gasps, clutching their pearls. “You insult me! You know I’m only here to help.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Ohh, don’t be like that! There’s no one keeping you here, you know. If you’re upset, you’re welcome to storm off anytime you like.”

“No,” you say on reflex, and then hesitate. Of course you’re upset. You’re always upset. But this is the only place where you get to be upset without upsetting someone else. “I mean. Um. Is it okay if I stay?”

To your immense irritation, Loop reaches out to tap you on the nose. “You’re the master of your own destiny, stardust. Do what makes you happy.”

* * *

It’s a beautiful day. Dormont is a beautiful town! It’s all steep, sloping rooftops and cozy clay facades, and you can always hear the gentle burble of the river running through it. There’s a buzz of anxiety in the air, but the whole town seems to have agreed to point all their nervous energy toward preparations for their end-of-the-world party. Isa can’t think of a better place to spend what might be his last night on earth.

By the time he finds his way back to town square, he’s more-or-less calmed down. So, of course, that’s when the deja vu hits.

“Good morning!” the boulangier greets him, holding out a picnic basket. “You’re one of the saviors, aren’t you? A friend of little Mirabelle’s? I wanted to give you all a treat! It’s nothing much, just a token of our appreciation!”

A chill drips down Isabeau’s spine. Hasn’t he heard this before? Every word; every pause for breath and sheepish smile… He saw this already, didn’t he? But that was just a dream. It wasn’t really real.

The boulangier is still smiling, waiting for an answer.

“O-Oh! Haha, wow, thanks so much! That’s really nice of you! Aw, but we couldn’t possibly—”

“But you must!” the boulangier laughs, again, exactly like he did in Isa’s dream. “Besides. If you don’t succeed tomorrow, there’ll be no one left to sell to, heh. It’s really the least I can do!”

“Ahh… Haha, well, um. I guess if you insist, we’ll take you up on it!” He grins at the boulangier, trying to look like someone strong enough to put your faith in. (Just like he did the last time.) “But once we beat the King tomorrow, we’re coming back to pay for ‘em!”

The boulangier pats him on the shoulder. If you beat the King, I’ll— “—bake you all the croissants you can eat!”

…Right.

* * *

And then. It just. Keeps happening.

The kid standing at the north end of town challenges him to a rock-paper-scissors-off. Odile gives him a distracted nod on her way into the general store. The runner jogging around the statue of the Change God whacks him on the shoulder and grins before wishing him good luck. Just like Isabeau remembers. Every step, every smile, every shift in the wind… it’s all exactly how he remembers.

…What is he supposed to do with this????

He needs a sanity check. A sounding board. So Isabeau does what he always does when he needs to make sure he’s not being completely stupid: he goes and finds Mira.

* * *

He finds her sitting in front of the library, exactly where he found her yesterday. (No. Not yesterday. His dream of yesterday. His dream of… today? Whatever.)

“Mira.”

“Oh, Isabeau!” she says, brightening. “Are you feeling any better? You looked a little out of sorts, earlier.”

He can still feel the fear crawling over his skin, but Mira’s voice makes the itch recede a little. Just looking at her is enough to make him feel more relaxed. He can always trust Mirabelle to act exactly like herself.

Isabeau isn't here for advice, exactly, because Mira doesn’t really give advice. Mostly she listens intently, her whole face scrunched with focus, and asks leading questions until she’s nudged you to the answer. If pressed, she’ll insist that you got there on your own. Isa’s learned by now that it’s pointless trying to argue.

It was just the two of them, once. Before they found Odile; before Siffrin found them and then saved Bonnie… Just a little more than half a year ago, their little family was only Isa and Mira. And it was already good!!!

“Mira,” Isabeau says seriously, taking a knee in front of the bench so he can grab both of her hands. “Is there a hallway in the House called the Death Corridor?”

She blinks at him, owlish. “Um. Well… yes, actually. How did you—”

“And your roommate, back in the House. Is her name Claude? And you don’t really get along?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that we… Well, maybe we could get along better, but—”

“And you— Did you teach a class once? But it went really bad?”

“Isabeau!” Mira huffs, drawing herself up. “What is this about! And—how do you know all of that?”

Isabeau takes a breath. He lets it out. “Mira,” he says. “I think maybe I can see the future.”

Whatever she expected, it clearly wasn’t that. She takes one of her hands back so she can rest two fingers against his forehead. Checking for a fever, probably. He almost wishes that he was sick. At least it’d mean that what he saw was just some stupid fever-dream.

But he’s out of luck. Mira draws her hand back, frowning. “You… um? Or? What… makes you think that?”

“I’m pretty sure I just dreamed, like, this whole day.” Just saying it out loud makes him feel a little lighter. “And I don’t just mean a normal dream. I mean, like, accurately. All the little details and everything. And tomorrow, too. I thought it was just a dream, but—stuff keeps coming true!! I keep knowing stuff I couldn’t have known, and recognizing stuff I shouldn’t have seen, so… So what the crab else am I supposed to think????”

“Hm,” she hums. “Hmm. It’s not— I don’t understand how it would work, but… if you really knew all that, then I suppose I can’t just deny it.”

“How did it feel when you got Chosen?” he asks hopefully. Generally speaking, he tries not to ask about the Change God’s blessing—talking about it always puts Mira in a weird mood, and the last thing he wants to do is upset one of his favorite people in the world—but these seem like extenuating circumstances. “Was there, like, a moment? Where you felt… you know. Magic?”

Sure enough, Mira’s face darkens. “Haha. I, ah… no. Not a moment.”

“So someone could get blessed and not even notice?”

“I—ah—theoretically? I suppose?”

Isabeau nods slowly. “Mira. I think maybe I got blessed.”

She snorts, and then very quickly tries to look like she didn’t. “Oh. You’re serious. W-Well, um… I suppose it could only be a good thing! Theoretically speaking! Especially if you can warn us about potential pitfalls. Did we, um… In this vision of yours, did we beat the King, or…?”

Oh. Oh. Isabeau absolutely cannot tell her why they didn’t beat the King. “Uhh. We… didn’t make it that far. But!! But we definitely will this time!!”

“Yes,” she agrees, nodding fiercely. “We’ll make sure of it.”

* * *

Sif doesn’t show his face until dinnertime. When they finally turn up, they’re almost their normal self again. A little quiet, but that is normal, for Sif. If Isa hadn’t seen what he saw, he wouldn’t think anything of it.

But he did.

Unfortunately, he can’t just ask about it in front of everyone. So Isabeau bides his time. He doesn’t try to talk to Sif until he’s sure that the others are definitely asleep. Then he whispers for their attention.

“Psssst. Sif."

Siffrin’s feet twitch.

“Sif. Siffarooni. Siffrin.”

Grudgingly, Siffrin rolls over. (Isa tries not to look at his neck.)

“Um. Sorry? To wake you? I just—sorry, it’s kind of a weird question b-but you, um. You wouldn’t… hurt yourself, right?”

Sif’s eye widens. Surprise, then wariness. “What is this about?”

“N-Nothing!! Nothing!! I just—I had that nightmare, remember, from earlier? And I guess it freaked me out pretty bad 'cause I— I trust you, of course I trust you, I just. Um. C-Can’t get it out of my head.”

Siffrin stares at him. Their expression is completely unreadable. Almost as blank as they looked before driving that blade into their neck. The ragged edge of tearing skin. Blood on your hands. Blood on his—

“Sorry,” Isa whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “Sorry, sorry, I just—I know I’m being really crazy, I know you don’t like to be touched, I just— Can I touch you? Just for a second? I know I’m being stupid, I’m really sorry, I just—I think it might, um…”

“Okay.”

Isa’s eyes fly open. “O-Okay?”

Sif nods.

“Really?”

Another nod.

“‘Cause there’s really no pressure!! I know I was being… s-sort of dramatic, but it’s really totally fine if you don’t— I really don’t wanna feel like I forced you, or—

“No. It's okay.” Sif goes quiet for a second, considering. “Tomorrow's important. We all need you to get enough sleep.”

“R-Right. Right!! Then I’ll just, um…” Isabeau hesitates. Sif’s neck is almost always covered by their cloak. Even when they share a tent, Isa’s always careful not to look too close. He wouldn’t want to weird them out by staring—or, worse, make himself look like an even bigger loser than he is. But he has permission, now. And he kind of really needs this.

Lightly, with just the pads of two fingers, he brushes the side of their throat. Whole, now, and unblemished. Not torn open, not seeping blood. Warm under his hands.

—But the second his hand meets their skin, Siffrin flinches violently.

Right away, Isa jerks his hand back. “S-Sorry!! Sorry!! Maybe if I just— Can you give me your wrist? And I can, um, f-feel your pulse, maybe?”

He can see Sif's throat bob as they swallow.

“Sorry!!!” he yelps. “Never mind!! I was just—”

“No,” Sif whispers. “Um. Here.”

Sif’s hand creeps up the mattress, settles on the pillow between them. It is so much smaller than Isa’s. (Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how it would feel if they let you hold their hand; if they wanted you to. OH FOR CHANGE’S SAKE, YOU’RE STILL THINKING ABOUT IT. PLEASE. JUST. STOP.)

As soon as he finds their pulse, Isa feels like the world’s biggest crabhole. Siffrin’s heart is racing, their pulse pounding like a terrified rabbit.

Isabeau lets out his breath and gives Sif their hand back. “Um. S-Sorry. And… thanks for humoring me. And sorry for being so selfish?”

Sif shakes his head. “I don't want you to have a bad dream.”

Isa’s chest swells. He beams at them, dizzy with love. “Well!! Don’t worry!! I definitely won’t now!!!”

Sif gives him a puzzled look, their face half-tilted like a dog hearing a sound it’s never heard before.

“U-Um! Just because, um—”

—there’s a blur of white, and a pillow collides with the side of his face.

* * *

If walking into town yesterday was unsettling, entering the House is downright chilling. Everything is exactly as he remembers.

As soon as they step into the Death Corridor, Isa elbows Mirabelle. “So this is—“

“Yes!” she gasps, disbelieving. “Wow! Yes! It really is! I don’t understand how you could—“ When she looks up, she startles, reaching out with both hands. “Ohh, Siffrin, do be careful!! This wing is called—“

And a boulder the size of a two-bedroom apartment crashes down from the ceiling. (Just like Isabeau remembers.)

…Wow. Okay. So this is really happening.

“So there’s this floating water everywhere,” he whispers to Mira, as they make their way past the boulder. “They’re called Tears and I guess if you touch them, you get frozen in time? But to get past them, we use these, um—“

“What are you two whispering about?” M’dame Odile asks sharply.

“Nothing!!” they chorus.

* * *

They make it as far as the second floor. That’s when Sif wanders up to a Tear and glances over his shoulder to stare straight at Isa. “Hey. Isa.”

“Siiiif~?”

“Why did the time traveler break all of his clocks?”

“Wh–Huh? Uh… I dunno, why?”

“He wanted to kill some time.”

—And Sif plunges his arm shoulder-deep into the Tear.

Isabeau’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth to scream but he can’t make a sound, he can see the scene getting darker—

[ h e   f e e l s    a    t u g    a t    h i s    s t o m a c h ]

—and he wakes up.

* * *

Siffrin’s in the field again. But this time, they don’t look surprised to see him. “Hey, Isa.”

“H-Hey, Sif.”

“Hey, Isa?”

“Sif?”

“Why did the time traveler break all his clocks?”

All the hair on Isabeau’s neck stands up. “Hhhhhha! Um! Because he… wanted to kill some time?”

“Oh, stars,” Siffrin whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut, covers his ears with both hands. “You remember.”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, remember???” Isabeau sputters. “Are you saying— Is this really happening?????”

Siffrin stares at him for several seconds. “Oh,” they say at last.

(Oh??????)

Sif wets their lips and darts a glance over Isabeau’s shoulder, toward the path he just ran down. “Um. Can I just… I’ll be right back, I just—“

“What!!! No!!! What??? Obviously not!!!!”

Their face hardens. “You think you could stop me?”

“What?” Isa gasps, flabbergasted. “I’m not—This isn’t a fight! I am asking you to stay! And talk to me! Like a real person!”

Sif seems to find that last part amusing.

Isabeau scowls at him. “What about this is funny to you?”

“Hm? Oh. It’s just. A little ironic.” An unspoken ‘coming from you’ hangs in the air between them.

“I— Well, I—” Isa’s face heats up. “Aw, come on, Sif! I am so confused right now! I have no idea what’s going on! And it kinda seems like you do, so… Don’t you think you’d want a little help, if you were me? Don’t you think…”

He trails off. This is pointless. Siffrin sounds like a stranger. Isabeau barely recognizes them.

A subtle movement catches his eye. Sif, biting their lip. “I—um. I guess it’s only fair.”

Isa’s eyes widen. “You’re gonna explain?”

“No.” At the look on his face, Sif heaves a sigh. “Sorry. I’m just… not really sure what to say? But. Um. I know someone who might.”

* * *

There’s something impossible waiting under the Favor Tree. A figure formed from light and shadow, with ink-dark limbs and a shatter of shimmering white where their face should be. Light bleeds out from every seam in their surface, the cracks under their nails and the crease of their eyes and the gaping chest-wound carved into their sternum. Just looking at them hurts Isa’s eyes. (And also his brain.)

They’re not human, that much is clear. But they’re obviously a person. Even without clothes or a mouth or any semblance of solid form, personhood radiates off of them.

Isabeau swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s weird. He can’t put his finger on why, but looking at them makes him feel sort of… lonely? Like he can feel the melancholy washing off of them. Something darker than sadness, more hollow than grief.

—Until the impossible stranger spots him and Siffrin coming up the path. At which point they laugh hysterically for at least five minutes.

“Gee, stardust,” they wheeze at last, making a big show of wiping their eyes. “You sure do get everything you want!”

“Yeah, right.”

“And now you’ve trapped your Fighter in here with you! Doomed him to split your suffering! Soooo~ romantic!”

Sif rolls his eye. “Loop, this is—“

“I’m aware.”

“And Isa, this is Loop. They use they/them.”

“Uhh,” Isabeau says. “Hi?” Then, elbowing Sif as discreetly as he can while standing in plain sight: “Um. Uh… And Loop is…”

“You know that help you wanted?”

Isa nods.

Sif shrugs at Loop. “So.”

Isabeau looks from one to the other. Wasn’t Sif going to explain? Or… was that supposed to be the explanation?

Loop bursts out laughing. “Wow, stardust. Even for you, that was—wow. And I’ll have you know, my expectations are very low.”

Siffrin shoots them a murderous glare.

Loop bats their eyes at him before turning to wink at Isa. “You’ll have to forgive my darling stardust! He’s a little out of practice.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Sif mutters.

“Stay in your lane, stardust,” Loop says sweetly. “Being mean is my thing.”

Isa holds out both hands. “Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but can someone maybe catch me up?”

* * *

Loop catches him up.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Isa is swaying on his feet. “So this is… You’re actually time-traveling? It’s not a vision or a dream or something? It’s really actually happening?”

Sif nods.

“And we already beat the King?”

Another nod. “A lot.”

Wow. Well. That’s… sort of encouraging? Except for the part where they’re still stuck here. Isa was hoping that his horrifying visions were a gift from the Change God, to help Mira break the King’s curse. But if that’s not the case… “Then what is it for?”

Sif shrugs.

Isa turns to Loop.

“Don’t look at me,” Loop snorts. “I’m stuck here, too. If I knew how to break out, don’t you think I would’ve done it already?”

In theory, maybe. But only if they’re actually telling the truth.

“So…” Isabeau mumbles, darting a glance at Siffrin. “So the loops end when you… die?”

Sif nods.

“We-e-e-elll,” Loop cuts in. “Careful, now! It’s not just when you die, is it, stardust? Wouldn’t want to poison the well with premature assumptions, now, would we?”

Sif glares at them. “Stop trying to influence him.”

“Teehee! Sure thing, stardust! First you just have to stop telling him stuff that’s wrong!”

Isabeau raises his hand.

“Yes?” Loop says, looking amused. “Fighter?”

“Um. I was just wondering… Why does no one else remember? When I talked to Mira, she looked at me like I was—”

“You told Mira?”

Isabeau flinches. Sif’s eyes have gone dark, just as sudden as turning out a light. He’s never seen them look like that before. “Um? I mean? Yyyyyes? Was that not okay?”

Just as quick as it appeared, the shadow lifts. “Of course it’s okay! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not like you have anything to hide.”

Huh. That's… sort of a weird way to put it. “Um. Sure, I guess. I just mean… why is it only me?”

Loop claps their hands together briskly. “An excellent question! Let’s take a closer look, shall we? Fighter! When did you start to remember?”

“Yesterday,” he says mechanically. He's starting to feel a little lightheaded.

“Teehee! Yes, I’d certainly expect so! But I’m afraid that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

Oh. Right. “Um. Two? Two… loops ago, I guess.”

“Now think hard, stardust! Was there anything memorable, that loop? Anything new?”

Sif chews their lip. “I tried the palmiers…”

“After your Kid made your favorite food just for you?” Loop gasps. “For shame! I’m sure you hurt them grievously! But that would only be relevant if you’d dragged them into this. Try again!”

“I… spent a little longer in the bathroom?”

“You stabbed yourself in front of us!!!” Isa sputters. “You— In the fight with the King, you— With your own dagger!!!!”

“But that’s not—” Sif freezes. “Um. I mean. Yeah. I guess that could be it.”

That’s not new. That’s what they were going to say, isn’t it.

Isabeau feels sick. He feels sick. No matter how slow he breathes, he still can’t catch his breath. “H. How many has it been for you.”

“Not very many,” Sif says, much too quickly for it to be true.

“And you. You—die every time.”

“Not every time.”

“But most of them.”

Sif looks away. “…Most of them.”

Isa’s vision blurs. Sif was so quick, when they cut their own throat. They didn’t even hesitate. Like it was rote, mundane. Practiced. One quick clean slice to sever their external and internal carotid. Cutting off the flow of blood to their brain; starving their nervous system of oxygen so completely that, in a minute's time, they wouldn't even feel the pain. Another minute and there’d be no one left to feel anything at all.

How many times has Sif died, without anyone knowing? How many times did they do it on purpose?

“I,” Isabeau chokes out. “—have to go to the bathroom.”

“Isa, wait—”

But he’s already running. Running away from the things he can’t bear to see, just like the bad old days, before he learned how to pretend he wasn’t scared. It’s almost nostalgic.

He makes it as far as the field south of town before he collapses under a tree. His head feels swollen, his throat clogged shut. Crying, still, but losing steam. That was always the best thing about running away. By the time you’re too tired to move, you don’t have enough energy left to cry.

“You’re really slow,” a familiar voice says, from immediately behind him.

Isa almost jumps out of his skin. “Wh— Sif??? When did you—”

“The whole time.” Sif shifts his weight from one foot to the other. They still won’t look at him. “Sorry. I got worried.”

Isabeau barks a laugh. “Pretty sure I'm not the one to worry about here!!!” When Sif just stares at him, blank-faced, he throws his hands up. “You!! I obviously meant you!!”

“Oh. Well, um. Don’t? I can't die, remember?”

…None of this matters, they told him, at the beginning of it all. Isabeau feels sick.

Sif tilts their head at him, curious. “Isa?”

“Just—give me a second.” He lets his eyes fall shut, grinds his palms into his eyelids. “That… person. Loop. Who are they to you?”

“Oh. I guess they’re… sort of like my… helper?”

“Okay, but like. What are they?”

“Umm…”

“Who are they?”

“…”

“How do you know them?”

“They just sort of showed up,” Sif says, shrugging. “And sometimes I can hear them in my head.”

Oh. Uh. Okay. That’s… not what he expected. “Are you sure we can trust them?”

“Oh, definitely not.” At the look on his face, Sif grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how.”

“Well, I can't trust them to be honest,” Sif explains. “Or straightforward. Or nice. Or to want what’s best for me. Or… to be very helpful, mostly.”

“Uh huh…?”

“But I can trust that they hate it here. They’re stuck here, too. That’s not a lie.”

Isa’s face scrunches. “But how do you know?”

“I just know.”

…Huh. “Wow, Sif. You’re, uh. A lot more trusting than I would’ve guessed.”

Sif shrugs diffidently. “We’ve been through a lot.”

How much, though? How much is a lot? Ten deaths? Twenty? “Ummm. Sif?”

Siffrin looks at him.

“How long has it been for you? How many loops, I mean.”

“Oh,” Sif mumbles, looking away. “Um. I don’t know. I guess I had a little too much time on my hands, haha.” When Isabeau just keeps staring, Sif huffs defensively. “It’s not like I could take notes. It’d get wiped every loop.”

Isabeau lets out his breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Okay, I…” Yeah, no, he was trying to be cool but he absolutely cannot do this. “You could take a guess, though, surely. Right? Like. A rough estimate?”

Sif doesn’t answer.

Yikes. Okay, well. That’s not super encouraging.

Okay!!” Isa says, a little too loud. “Sure! That’s totally fine, I totally get it! But it’s— You don’t have to hide anymore, you know? If we both go and tell the others, they’ll have to believe us!”

Siffrin’s face shutters. “No.”

“N-No?”

“We don’t involve them.”

“Pretty sure they’re already involved…”

Sif just shakes his head.

“Oh,” Isabeau mumbles. “Um. How many times have you tried?”

No answer.

“Umm.” Isa shifts his weight. “Your, um, friend said it wasn’t just your death that ends a loop…”

Sif stays silent, but his face tightens.

“…so I guess I was wondering if there’s, like, maybe another way? If, um… maybe it doesn’t have to hurt like that?” In his mind’s eye he can still see Siffrin torn open, bleeding. The light fading from his eye.

“No,” Sif says flatly.

“But— But what about—”

“No.”

“But why not though?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?” Sif hisses. Isa’s never heard them sound so outright angry. “You just got here. You barely even know what's going on.”

“So tell me!!”

"I can’t. I don’t know either.”

“So then why are you so sure you have to die???”

Sif’s lip curls. “Is this in your Defender training or something? This isn’t your job, Isa. You’re just supposed to beat the King. I’m supposed to make sure you can do it without dying.”

“But why? Why does it have to—”

“Whyyyy are we still talking about this?” Siffrin spits back at him. “Why can’t you just stick to the blinding script?”

“Wh-What?”

Sif’s eye widens. “I—um. I didn’t—”

Something twists in Isa’s stomach. His vision blurs, and then he’s—somewhere else. Not far. Just a few feet from where he was just standing. It takes him a second to realize that Sif’s moved, too. They’re standing behind him again, like they were when he first got here.

Isa stumbles a little as he pushes himself to his feet. “What just… D-Did we just loop?”

“I’msorryimsorryimsorry,” Sif blurts out, in one frantic exhale. “I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t trying to, I just got—“


“So it’s not just dying!!!!”

Sif stares. “Huh?”

“When you loop! It’s not just when you die! You literally just did it!! Without dying!!!”

“I,” Siffrin mumbles. “I, I didn’t mean to, I—“

“That’s obviously not the important part!!!”

Sif stares for even longer this time. “Oh. I see. But—no. You don’t understand. I can’t control it, it just… happens sometimes. The only way I can control it is if I die.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Um. Yes? Sort of.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to try harder!!” Isabeau is aware that he sounds a little crazy. In his defense, this is a pretty crazy situation. “I’m not just gonna watch you die over and over, Sif! That’s crabbing crazy!!!”

And there it is again. That flash of something hollow in Sif’s eye. Something hungry, something dark. “You think you could stop me?”

“YEAH, actually! I kinda think I could!!”’

Sif laughs. Not a happy laugh. It’s one of the least-happy sounds that Isa’s ever heard. “Hehe. Maybe. Do you wanna find out?”

Before Isa can open his mouth to answer, they’ve already got their knife in their hand, blade pressed tight against their throat. Isabeau lurches forward, ready to, he doesn’t know, tackle them to the ground or something? Hold them down and pry the hilt out of their stupid stubborn hands? But before he can close the space, Sif has flipped the blade shut and secreted it away in his cloak.

“Change!!!” Isa gasps. “What are you— Why would you— What?????”

Sif shrugs. “I wasn’t going to do it. I was just explaining. It’s been a long day, okay? ‘Cut me’ some slack.” When Isa just keeps staring, trying to remember how to breathe, they roll their eye. “What. You don’t like puns anymore?”

…Isabeau needs to sit down.

He can feel Sif’s gaze on him, bright and curious, as he stoops over and very slowly lays down on the ground. He thought he’d always want to look at Sif, but he can’t see them right now. He covers his face with both hands. “Sif…”

“Isa.”

“How long have you been stuck here.”

"Um. Well. Technically, two days."

“Sif.”

Siffrin lets out his breath. “…A pretty long time.”

Yeah. Isabeau was starting to get that impression.

“Okay,” he says numbly. “I think I need to. Um. Think. About this. For a little.” When he uncovers his face, Sif is still standing over him, looking vaguely perturbed and a little annoyed. He lets his palms fall back over his eyes. “...Alone.”

Sif doesn’t answer, but he can hear the leaves crunch as they wander away.

Change. Change. It’s what happened with Bonnie all over again, except a million times worse.

Of course Isa knew that Siffrin wasn’t brimming with self-preservation instinct. Or self-esteem. Or… almost any regard for his own life. After losing their eye, Sif was the only one who never cried. Mira was a nervous wreck for weeks. Bonnie was even worse. Even Madame Odile lost her composure the first time she changed their wound dressing. But when Sif finally woke up, he seemed more confused than anything else. He was only really upset about having upset everyone else.

Of course Sif thinks it doesn’t matter, dying and dying without anyone ever knowing. They’ve never cared what happened to them, have they?

Luckily, Isabeau cares enough for both of them.

###

On his way to the Clocktower, he nearly walks right into Odile.

“Isabeau! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry, M’dame!! I’ve just, um. Got a lot on my mind.”

“I saw you and Siffrin running around earlier,” she tells him, with a knowing gleam. “You two looked thick as thieves.”

“Haha, uh. Yeah.” That’s one way to put it.

Odile narrows her eyes. “I would’ve thought you’d be happier.”

“I— I mean, yeah! Of course! I’m… Do I not seem happy?”

“No, you decidedly do not.”

Of course not. Stupid. Odile is way too sharp to try to fool with such an obvious lie. Isa tries to smile for her, but he can’t make it fit.

Annnnd now she looks outright suspicious. “Is something the matter, Isabeau?”

Change. There is nothing he’d like more than to tell her everything. Who’s better-qualified than Madame Odile to learn the rules to a rigged game? But he can’t stop seeing Sif in his mind’s eye. We don’t involve them. You just got here. You barely even know what’s going on.

…Yeah, no. He can’t do it.

Isabeau rubs the back of his neck, pastes on a sheepish grin. “Just, uh. A little nervous for tomorrow, I guess.” When she still looks unconvinced, he throws in a little honesty, just to give it the ring of truth. “I just… really care about you guys, you know? All of you. If anything happened to—to Bonnie, or to Mira…”

“Or to Siffrin.”

He winces. “Heh. Yeah. You got me.”

“I suppose it’s only natural,” she sighs. “You young people have too much energy. When you get to my age, you learn to stop worrying about everything that might go wrong.”

“Oh, yeah? So you’re not stressed at all, huh?”

“Would I say so otherwise?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“...No.”

He grins at her—a real one this time. “Then of course not, M’dame. Clearly, you’re not worried in the slightest.”

“And don’t forget it,” she snorts. “Now, if you’re quite finished, I believe Mirabelle is waiting for us.”

He gestures at the path ahead, gives her a theatrical little flourish. “After you.”

* * *

He can’t bring himself to talk to Sif at dinner. It’s hard enough, just trying to act normal on what is easily the least-normal day of his life. He doesn’t even really look at them until they’re already in bed.

Sif’s eyes are closed. It looks like he's actually asleep, somehow, in spite of... you know. Everything.

Isa can’t say the same. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Siffrin choking on blood. He can’t stop remembering holding them in his arms like a broken bird. How light they felt, like something Crafted from paper. And how cold.

“Sif,” he whispers.

Sif doesn’t move.

“Psst. Siffrin. Sif.”

Clearly reluctantly, Sif cracks an eyelid to glare at him.

“I know I can’t stop you,” Isabeau whispers. “Okay? So I'm asking— I am begging you, Sif, please, please, please don’t do it with the dagger. I can’t— It isn’t fair, you have to see that. Please.”

Sif eyes him warily. “It wouldn’t be as gross if you didn’t always get so close.”

Change. He wants to grab them and shake them. He almost does it. He feels wildly unhinged. “It’s not about—!!!” Isabeau takes a breath, lowers his voice. “Sif, I— I care about you a lot. Like. Literally so much.” Probably a little too much. “You know that, right?”

Sif looks away.

Isa tries another angle. “What if it was one of us? If you had to watch that happen to Mira, or—“

“No.”

“…Just no?”

Sif shakes their head. “It couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it.”

“Okay! See, now we’re getting somewhere! That’s how I feel about—”

There’s a blur of white, and a pillow pelts him square in the face.

Chapter Text

You can’t understand why he’s acting like this.

It’s barely his second loop. Keeping a low profile was easy, back then. Fun, even! On your second loop—your 22nd!!—your bones didn’t creak like an old house. Saying your lines didn’t make you want to throw up. You were barely even tired. So where does Isabeau get off, throwing a tantrum after two relatively successful loops? He hasn't even had to fight the King yet! This is the easy part!!!

It just isn’t fair. Isa was the last good thing. Teaching Bonnie to fight takes almost an hour; and as soon as Mira opens up about her feelings, she just goes on and on and on. Odile is even worse. Because of her, you can’t take a step out of line without fielding a full-fledged interrogation. But lying in the field with Isa was… nice, sometimes. It wasn’t real, but it was nice.

And now it’s gone.

No more play-pretend. No more second chances. He can see you now, the real you. Of course he’s horrified. You’re the stuff of horror! A monster from one of Mira’s awful voyeuristic books, pulled off the page and gifted one eye and a lying smile.

You peek at him through your lashes. At least while he’s asleep, Isa looks the same as always. When he’s asleep, he can stick to the blinding script.

You can’t sleep. But that’s in the script, too. You never sleep. You can’t remember the last time you could.

There’s no point wasting time here, not when looking at him still makes you so angry. You slip silent out of bed and pad soundlessly across the floor. You’ll talk to Loop. It’ll be easier to think without an audience.

* * *

Loop is waiting for you under the Tree, like they knew you’d come. When you catch their eye, they give you a sympathetic smile. “Trouble in paradise?”

Right. Paradise. That’s one word for it.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell,” you mutter. Isa is—was the last source of warmth in this whole miserable charade. If even he’s mad at you—and not just for this loop, but for all of them… Stars. You can’t even bear to think about it.

It's funny how, even without a mouth, you can always tell when Loop is smiling. You can even sort of tell what kind of a smile it is—if it’s mocking or sarcastic or, once in a blue moon, genuinely fond—even though you normally can't.

Right now, it is definitely not fond.

“Stardust,” Loop says firmly. “First thing’s first: I’m not going to be your relationship counselor, so don’t ask.”

“My—what? What relationship?”

Their smile gets even less fond. “Wonderful. Yes. Naturally.” They heave a sigh, looking enormously put-upon. “Alright, stardust. I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen.”

…You’re listening.

“I know you’re not very smart, so I’m going to make this simple for you, alright? Your Fighter isn’t upset about the loops.”

“Huh? Then why—”

“He’s upset that you keep hurting yourself. Obviously.”

But… why? “But it goes away when I loop back.”

“Are you a baby?” Loop demands. “Did you never learn object permanence? Things don’t just go away. Or have you already forgotten what happened when you tried to touch him, back when—”

“Stop.” You don’t remember putting your hands over your ears but you must have, because there they are. You don’t want to hear this. You made it so it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen so it doesn’t hurt, why would it hurt, it doesn’t make sense to hurt over something that never even happened.

Loop’s expression sours. “You know what, stardust? Never mind. I’m here to help with the loops, not some ridiculous schoolboy crush. You can figure this out on your own.”

You frown at them. They’ve never refused to talk about something before. Just one more casualty of Isa’s disruption, you suppose. Why does everyone insist on rewriting their roles? And why did they have to wait until now? A hundred loops ago, you might’ve been glad for some company. But it’s much too late for that. You’re already all emptied out. You don’t remember how to feel anything but tired. “But why?”

“None of your business,” Loop snaps. “You know, you could try being a little less selfish for a change. You’re not the only one who’s tired.”

“But—”

“Oh, for Stars— Do I have to spell it out for you? Go away!! It’s the middle of the night!”

“...Do you even sleep?”

“Do you?”

Ha ha! Yeah. They do have you there.

* * *

When you get back to the Clocktower, you’re surprised to find Isa sitting up in bed, pulling on his boots. He’s not supposed to do that here. He’s supposed to sleep through the night. (You would know. You haven’t slept through a night in your entire life. Or, if you have, you can’t remember.)

“What are you doing.”

“Sif!!” he whispers, eyes widening. “I—um. You were gone…”

Something in your chest seems to flutter, the flicker of an ember you thought had long gone cold. You diligently stamp it out. Unpredictability is a risk you can’t afford. Besides, you already know what he thinks of you. He wants you, but not enough to touch you. He wants you, but not enough to tell you. Which means he doesn’t really want you at all.

You saw how he looked at you today. With revulsion. With disgust. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Of course he never wanted you. He wants the stupid little puppet you’ve been waving around. Cute, silly Siffrin, with the jokes and the winks and the chipmunk cheeks, always hiding a bashful smile under the brim of their hat. A stupid little squirrel who can’t even remember their own stupid made-up name. Someone small enough to make him feel big. Useless enough to make him feel useful. But if that Siffrin ever existed, they’ve been dead for a long time. Now there’s only you.

“Went for a walk,” you tell him, slipping out of your boots without looking up.

“O-Oh. Were you… talking to Loop?”

It still throws you, hearing Loop’s name on someone else’s tongue. Loop is supposed to be yours, just like the loops are yours. Your prison, your warden. “Does it matter?”

Isabeau shrinks in on himself a little. “Um. I guess not. I was just, um, curious.”

“If you don’t sleep, you won’t fight as well,” you inform him. Even if he’s thrown away the script, the other actors need him. “You’ll be clumsy. Slow. You could get someone hurt.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, scrunching down a little more. “I guess so, yeah. What about you, though?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” You can take care of yourself and everyone else. You’ve proven it a hundred times over. And anyway, you don’t sleep.

“Oh. Um. I’m… probably still gonna, though.”

You roll your eyes. “Do what you want. Just move over. I need to lie down.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his gaze on you. Sure enough, when you glare through your lashes, you catch him staring. “What.”

When his face twists with hurt, something tugs at your— Oh. Not your stomach. Your chest. Your chest feels tight, like there’s something expanding inside. Your ribs creak. Your sternum aches.

A hundred loops ago, you might’ve thought about reaching for him. With your words, if not your hands. Isa, you look so sad… Are you okay? Is there anything I can do? If I make a joke, will it make you happy? If I pretend to be a real person, will you believe me?

You don’t say anything.

“Just… um.” Isa chews his lip, his face all scrunched with hurt. He looks tormented. Pained. But of course he does. He’s grieving someone he thought was alive.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself. Better to tear off the bandaid in one clean jerk. A blade through the throat might sting, but any idiot would agree that it’s better than dying by inches, in pieces. “Is this going to take long? I’m tired.”

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Um. Y-Yeah, you do look pretty tired. It’s… nothing, I guess. Sorry. We can talk about it tomorrow. Or, uh. Yesterday? Haha.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t smile for him, either. There’s no point playing your role anymore. All you can do is sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek until the sting in your mouth is louder than the one in your chest.

When his smile falters, you find that you can’t look at him anymore. You roll over and look at the ceiling. But you don’t sleep. You can’t remember the last time you slept.

You stare at nothing and wait for the sun to rise.

* * *

Isa doesn’t make the bread joke.

Your lines are so practiced that you almost just say yours, out-of-context. But of course you don’t. You’re not stupid. You don’t care that he’s ruining everything. At least one of you is a professional. After all, the show must go on!

You loot the pantry. You pick up the key. You keep moving.

* * *

You don’t find what you’re looking for in this loop, either. You still can’t understand why. Surely an article about the King should be in Euphrasie’s office, or the secret library. But it isn’t. It isn’t anywhere. And there’s no point charging in to fight the King if you don’t have anything new to ask him. You already tried that the last six times.

You need a fresh start.

You dart a glance at Isa. You still remember what he asked, about ending the loop with your dagger. But Tears don’t count, surely. They’re so gentle. Like plunging into a cold stream on a hot day. Sometimes you use them even when you aren't stuck: to change the scene, or just to catch your breath. Though you probably can’t get away with that anymore. (Just one more thing that’s been taken from you.)

Still, you should probably be sneaky about it, this time around. Not that that's a problem. Going unseen might be the only thing you’re really good at.

You smile at Mira. You sidestep Bonnie. You slink down the hallway—

—and then Isa scruffs you like a kitten, yanks you back, and flings himself face-first into the Tear.

You’ve seen your friends Stopped in battle a hundred times, at least. It should feel normal. Just as nothing as everything else.

It—doesn’t.

Maybe it's the shift in focus, attention undiverted by the chaos of combat. Or maybe it’s just that Isa is so much more alive than you are. When it’s you, using a Tear is a scene-change. Stage directions. It’s nothing. But to see the light draining out of Isabeau feels—different. It feels different than when it’s you.

Isa flings himself into the Tear and his smile goes utterly still. The time-stop seeps down his throat, washes over his chest. You’re still dangling from his grip as his arm turns to stone.

“No,” you gasp, scrabbling at his wrist, “No, you—”

[ f e e l   a   t u g   a t   y o ur   s t o m a c h ]

—and you wake up.

* * *

Isa gets to the field even faster this time. “Hey, Sif.”

“Why would you do that?” The anger in your voice surprises even you. You thought that sort of thing had all been burned out of you.

“Just testing a theory,” he says distractedly, pulling out a notepad and flipping through it. “I’ve been making a list of things we need to—“

“You shouldn’t have done that!” You can feel heat building in your gut. All the blood you’ve swallowed, coating your throat like bile. “You don’t know the rules! What if we didn’t loop, and Bonnie had to watch you— Or if you stayed dead?? There’s too much at stake, you can’t just go around testing stupid theories that we don’t even need!! We already know how to loop!! That isn’t the problem!!”

“Well, it’s a problem for me.”

(What.)

“And, I mean… I’m not trying to be rude, but it kinda seems like you don’t know the rules, either. Like, what if you only had a set number of loops? What if one day, you died and just stayed dead?”

Haha!! Wow. What a nice idea. But of course you could never be so lucky.

Isa holds out both hands, palms-up. “I’m just saying, we’re still figuring this out! What’s wrong with me trying, too?”

Your pulse hammers in your ears, screams in your veins. “What’s— Everything!! You’re not even supposed to be here!!”

“But I am here, though?”

“But you shouldn’t— You don’t deserve this!! You can’t just run around trying things!! I— We all need you to play your role. We can’t do this without you.” You probably could, if it came to it. But it would take a lot longer.

Isa shrugs. “Then you’re gonna have to do it with me.”

…Yes. That’s the idea.

“Oh. No. Not just the King. The loops, too. Or else I’m just gonna keep trying to figure it out on my own.”

Your lips peel back from your teeth. You can’t help it. He’s being ridiculous. Why can’t he understand that you deserve this? “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re trying to control something you couldn’t even begin to understand.”

“Well, maybe we can figure it out together?”

He sounds so reasonable. So calm. For some reason, that’s the last blinding straw. He’s still talking to you like a person, like he can see you, like you’re still—

It doesn’t matter. You put on your coldest glare. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t remember.”

That one lands. You can see it go through him like a sledgehammer. Bullseye! Finally, a clean hit!

“Um,” he mumbles, looking at his hands. “I, uh. Haha. I mean… yeah. I get that. It’s easier to hide.”

You bark a wild laugh. Well!! He’d certainly know about that!!!!

“But I really think—!!” Isa hesitates, looks away. “I know you probably think I’m, like, kinda dumb, but I’m actually pretty good at thinking through stuff like this.”

This again? “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

He startles. “You—oh? Uh? I-I mean, that’s, hehe, it’s—I appreciate you saying so, but I guess I mean, I might sorta be better than you—”

“I know you’re a huge nerd.”

“—Hwuh?”

“We talked about it.” Saying it out loud sends a strange sort of thrill down your spine. You’ve never talked about a past loop before. “A bunch. You were a huge nerd, but you wanted to be different, so now you are.”

“Y-Yeah…”

“But mostly on the outside.”

He winces. “Yeah.”

“Because you’re still a huge nerd.”

“Pffft— Sif!! You can’t just call a guy a huge nerd!!”

Your forehead furrows. “I thought you wanted people to know you were smart.”

“Oh,” he says, a little distantly. “Yeah. I guess I kinda do, huh?”

You shrug. He’s the one who said so.

“W-Well— I just mean, I think I could help! Probably! Maybe not right away, but if you tell me what you’ve figured out…”

You chew it over. He’s… not exactly wrong, is he? Isabeau is sort of unnervingly smart. He figured out a bunch of things even before he had any context. And you can’t really protect him anymore, since he’ll just keep remembering, so… maybe it would be… fine? “Um. I guess so?”

To your surprise, he bounces on his heels, beaming. “Yes!!! Okay!!! Yes!!! Let’s crabbing do this!!! Okay, okay, okay, we gotta start with the basics, right?” He whips a pen out of his pocket and uncaps it with deadly seriousness. “Tell me everything you know.”

Chapter Text

“An article about the King?” Isabeau echoes. “Like… from a newspaper?”

You nod.

“You mean like the one on the first floor?”

“The what?”

He blinks at you. “Umm… on the wall, right? I think it was in someone’s dorm room… I can’t remember exactly where, but—”

“The candle maker?”

“Huh? No, I don’t think—”

“The one with those weird drawings?”

“Oh! Yeah! I think that was it!”

“On the wall?”

“Yyyyes?”

“Like a poster?”

“I mean… yes? I guess so, yeah.”

You throw your hands up. “Who puts up wall art of their impending doom???”

“Pfft,” Isabeau snickers. “The Housemaidens of Dormont, I guess?”

Wow. Wow. That is… You don’t even know where to begin. You just spent the better part of twenty loops scraping the entire House top-to-bottom. Every bookshelf and every barrel; every secret passage and every stupid, pointless dead end. And now you’re supposed to believe that the article was on the first floor? In plain sight?

“...Sif?”

“No,” you hiss, and then snap to attention. “Sorry. I mean, yes? I mean. What?”

“That was your main goal right now, right?”

You nod.

Isa’s eyes sparkle. “So… maybe I saved you a little time?”

“...Maybe.”

“Enough to earn me a favor???”

“Depends,” you tell him, grudging. “What do you want?”

“Can I have today?”

You squint at him.

“Um!! I just mean!! At the House tomorrow, you can do everything how you’re used to, and I won’t even get in the way. Honest. But can I pick what we do today? Can I just, like… book you? For the day? So we can maybe actually talk?”

Hrmph. You can’t understand why he’d want to, but. Well. It’s not like you have other plans. Killing the King is easy now. You still try to help Mira, most loops—her shield really is very useful—but it’s a convenience, not a necessity. “…Fine.”

Isa lights up. “Really???”

Do you need me to write it down for you? You bite it back. By now, Isabeau should already know that you’re poison. There’s no need to beat a dead horse. “Sure.”

“Yeah!! Yes!! Okay!! Thanks, Sif!! I just have a few questions! So just, um, bear with me, okay?”

* * *

Isabeau gets right to the point.

“So… Loop. Any theories?”

You think about it. “I asked who they were once.”

He looks up with interest. “And?”

“They told me to guess.”

“Figures,” he sighs, going back to his notes. “What’d you guess?”

“I thought they were probably me.”

His writing hand lurches, gouging an ugly black streak across the page. “Um??? Um… what made you say that??”

“They know a lot about me,” you say, evasive. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. In all honesty, you don’t really know why you said it. It’s hard to put into words. Though, to be fair, you feel that way about most things.

“Um. Um, well… I mean… What’d they say?

“They laughed at me for like, ten minutes.”

“...Right,” he mumbles. “Um. Okay. I’m just gonna mark that down as inconclusive.” He makes a few notes, his tongue trapped between his teeth, before looking up again. “What about the King? I can’t remember what you guys talked about, what with… um. Y-You know. What happened after. But he sorta seemed like he… recognized you?”

You shrug. You haven’t figured that out yet, either.

“He had white hair, too,” Isa muses. “I’ve never seen anyone else with hair like that.”

“So, what? You think he’s my long-lost brother?”

“Wh—No!! I just meant you might be from the same region or something!!” He pauses, looking surprised. “Actually, Sif, I just realized… I don’t think I know where you’re from!”

You nod. That’s true, yes.

“So… where are you from?”

“Oh, um…” You trail off. Isabeau is looking at you, expectant. Like he’s waiting for something. Did you zone out without noticing? It wouldn’t be the first time. But you can’t remember your next line. “I— Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“...Where you’re from?”

“Right. Sorry. It’s, um. I’m—“ Your mind stalls out. What did he ask, again? Was it maybe a yes or no question? “Um… Yes?”

“What?”

“What?”

Isa looks concerned, for some reason. Not that he needs a reason. You’re concerning company. “Sif, are you— Can you hear me right now?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. I lost my eye, not my ears.” Too late, you remember that it grosses people out when you talk about your eye. But you already did it, so you might as well finish the job. “‘Eye’ can hear just fine.”

“Ri-i-ight,” he says slowly. “Um. You’re not, like, messing with me, right?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I really didn’t think so. Okay, lemme try this.” He scribbles something down in his notebook and hands it to you. It’s a question. Hi Sif :3 Where are you from?

Oh. Weird. He just asked you that, didn’t he? And you said—you said— What did you say, again?

Of course you know where you’re from. You haven’t been traveling forever. Everyone’s from somewhere. And you—you grew up with your—with your… family, right? Of course you have a family, everyone has a family, so why can’t you—

Why can’t you remember?

You can feel your breaths coming faster, the words blurring on the page but you can still read the question and he’s still waiting for an answer; you have to say something. You know where you’re from! You forget a lot of things but you couldn’t, you wouldn’t, how could you forget your own family? What kind of a monster could forget their own family? So why can’t you— Why can’t you—

“Sif! Sif! Hey! Hey, Sif, come on, can you breathe for me? Can you try to breathe with me?”

But you can’t. You can’t. Your hair is white like the King’s and your parents, your parents must have, they must have had white hair like yours, but were they— Were they short, like you are? Were they stupid and clumsy and quick? Did they— They had a boat, didn’t they? Didn’t you have a boat? Did you even have a boat or did you only dream you had a boat because you, you can’t picture it, one sail or two, its shape, its color and what was its name? You bury your hands in your hair, white like the King’s, like your—

“Sif!” Isa says, frantic, and you realize that he’s reaching for you.

“Don’t touch me!!!” You slap his hand away, flinch out of range. He’s not supposed to touch you, no one is supposed to touch you, there’s something WRONG with you and what if it’s contagious? You’re— You can’t let him get any closer, can’t let him find out that you CAN’T REMEMBER THE NAME OF YOUR HOME, YOUR PARENTS’ FACES, YOU CAN’T LET HIM KNOW THAT YOU—

[ f e e l   a   t u g   a t   y o u r   s t o m a c h ]

—and you’re lying in a field.

Isa stands over you, looking a little nauseous and more than a little frantic. “S-Sif!! Crab, Sif, are you okay?”

“I… What? Yes? What just…”

“It’s okay!!” he says quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry! You just… I think you h-had a sort of a p-panic attack and you… We looped again. It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re totally fine. We’re just talking. We were just, um, talking about the King.”

You stare at him for a few seconds. “...You found that article.”

“Right!! That’s right! Yeah, you got it! I—” When he looks at his notes, his shoulders slump a little. “Aw, crab. Looping wiped my notes.”

Well. Obviously.

He darts another nervous little glance at you, like he’s afraid of what you’ll do. Like he thinks you’re dangerous. (He’s not wrong. You are dangerous.) “So, it… seems like it happens when you get upset, huh? When you’re overwhelmed or, um. Freaked out.”

You shrug.

“Does that track with the times it’s happened before? When you looped without dying, I mean. Y-You don’t have to tell me what happened!” he adds, when he sees the look on your face. “I’m not asking for details! Just for you to think about it, and… think about if you were usually upset?”

Reluctantly, and very much under duress, you reflect on the times you looped on accident. Just now, having a—what did he call it? A panic attack. That time you scared your family, near the entrance to the House. Watching Isa freeze.

(You do not think about what you did in front of the Favor Tree.)

“...Maybe,” you concede.

“Okay!! Hey, that’s good, right? We just gotta figure out how to do that, and we can totally skip all the, you know. Um. Dying.”

You’re not convinced. Your current system works. And having to get upset every loop… Honestly, it sounds even worse than the dagger.

“Hmmm,” Isa hums, chewing on the end of his pen. “I could… try to scare you?”

You stare at him.

“H-Hey!! I could be scary!!”

You don’t bother arguing. “It wouldn’t work, anyway. I was scared the first time we fought the King.” You give it a little more thought. “I was really scared the second time.”

That makes him wince, for some reason.

“It doesn't scare me anymore,” you reassure him. “Not for ages.”

That does not appear to help.

Isa darts another glance at you. He’s fidgeting more than usual, shifting his weight and picking at his fingernails. “Um. Okay, I— I sort of have an idea, but only if it’s okay with you…”

…Interesting.

“And I— I just wanna say in advance that I'm really sorry about this, it’s just—I think watching you die kinda messed me up a little, haha, s-so if there’s, like, even the tiniest chance that we can find another way, I think we actually really have to—“

“Isa.”

“S-Sif??”

“It's fine.” Whatever he has in mind, it can’t be worse than what you’ve already done. When that doesn’t seem to reassure him, you raise an eyebrow. “We said you could have today.”

“Right. Right!! Okay!! Then I'm just gonna—um—try this. If that’s okay. (Sorry.)”

Isabeau clenches his fists and draws a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something dreadful. Then he takes two slow, sliding steps and suddenly he’s a lot closer. Closer than in bed in the Clocktower, closer than the greenhouse, (almost as close as when you—)

He’s looming over you, almost. Enough to fill your field of vision. His face is flushed and he’s staring fixedly at the ground to your left, but his eyes keep darting back toward you, like he can’t stop them. Like he can’t help himself.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away again, and reaches for you.

You wait for him to pull away but he—doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn’t thump you on the arm, like he always looked like he was going to. He just… grazes your shoulder, the barest touch with only the tips of two fingers.

Your breath snags. Your heart is in your throat because he—he isn’t supposed to do that here, or anywhere, ever. He doesn’t touch you, he doesn’t want to touch you so why is he— WHY would he—

Isa’s grip tightens on your shoulder and your mind goes utterly blank. You can feel his—his thumb, just the edge of his thumb brush your collarbone and all you can think is that you want to feel it on your skin because you know, you just know he’d feel so warm. You’re shaking. You want to pull him closer. You have to push him away. If you push him away it will kill you. Why is he touching you, how do you make him stop, how do you make him do it again. How do you make sure he never ever stops.

You could cut off his hand. You could cut off his hand and keep it with you, always, always. You could freeze him in time. You could eat him alive.

(You’re disgusting.)

He’s so beautiful. You’re a monster. He’s not even a person, he’s only an actor, he’s playing a role. But this wasn’t in the script. You can see the flush creep down his throat and you want to trap it in your hands. Catch his pulse between your fingers like a firefly. Drink the heat from his lungs and seal it in a jar where you can’t ever forget. Really take his breath away, ha ha ha.

…You’re disgusting.

He has to force himself to look at you. You can see that it takes effort (but of course it does, you’re DISGUSTING) and when he finally meets your eye you can feel his hand trembling a little, even through your cloak. Just for a second, your self-control slips. Just for a second, you lean into his hand, his touch, his warmth.

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it must be pretty appalling. Whatever he sees in your eyes seems to terrify him. He jolts back, electrified, and you—sag, like someone cut your strings. You’re exhausted.

“Sorrysorrysorry!!!” he babbles, holding both hands out like a shield. “Sorry! Wow! Sorry!! Crab!!!! I really thought you were gonna loop!!!”

Oh. Of course. That’s why he touched you. For his theories. His little experiment. You said that he could have today.

Isabeau wrings his hands. “I-I’m really sorry, Sif, I know you don’t like being touched, I just thought if it worked, you might… hate it less than being stabbed, I guess? But you were totally right, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just thought— I don’t know!!! I just really thought that would work!!!”

You reach for your shoulder, for the place where he touched. You know it's stupid, but it feels warmer than it should. His heat signature, stamped onto your skin. “Why.”

“U-Um? Just because… you know, the whole thing about getting upset, and… Aww, never mind! It was stupid! Sorry!!!” He shakes his head vigorously, jumping in place a little. “Phew! Um! That’s… probably enough for today, haha! I’m sure you need a break!”

Maybe you just didn’t touch me enough, you think. Maybe you needed to hold my hands. Hold me close. Hold me down and break me in half. Tear me apart. Swallow my heart. Hold my face in your hands and lean in so, so close. Hold my heart in your hands and squeeze.

You don’t say anything.

Isa’s gaze drops to his hands. He runs his thumb over the pads of his fingers, gently, gently. Maybe you would loop if he did that to you. But you don’t know.

“...I really am sorry,” he says softly.

Don’t be. “It’s okay.”

“If you ask, I can— I’ll never do it again, if that’s what you want.”

Your chest seizes up. “No.”

He looks up, startled.

Calm down. You’re scaring him. “I—wouldn’t mind. If we tried again.” (STOP. You’re taking advantage of him. You’re holding yourself hostage. Can’t you see how gross that is?) “It could be—um. I think it would be better than the dagger.”

“Pfft,” Isabeau snickers. “Careful. I might get an ego.”

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing.” He glances at his notebook, heaves a sigh. “I guess as long as you don’t do it with the knife…”

You frown at him. “You said I could have tomorrow.”

“I-I’m not telling you not to loop!! I am literally just asking you not to do it in the most horrible way possible!!!!”

Ughhhh. “Okay, but that means we’ll have to finish off the King…”

“Uhh,” he says. “...Uh huh?”

“It takes a really long time.”

“Pfft,” Isa snorts. “Yeah, I think I can handle it. Still sounds a lot better than watching one of my favorite people die.”

“I’m—” You bite off the rest of that question. He isn’t talking about you. He's talking about your character. “Um. I mean. If you get a request for my day, then I get to ask something too.”

“You got it!! Anything!! W-Well, maybe not anything, but… pretty much basically anything. As long as it doesn’t… um. Hurt you.”

Ha ha. What a nice idea. But that doesn’t leave a lot of options.

“Soooo, what did you wanna do?” he asks cheerfully, and then hesitates. “Oh. Unless you meant that you, um, wanted some time alone, or… you wanted to make plans with someone else…”

Look at the stars with me. You almost say it.

You choose your words carefully. “I want… rest.”

His face crumples into something painfully fond. “Aw, bud. You’ve been doing this for way too long, huh?”

Finally, an easy question. You nod vigorously.

“Poor Sif,” Isa says softly. “And all on your own.”

“We sleep in the same bed.” It’s an evasion. An obvious one, at that. You’re pretty sure you used to be better at this. (‘Bed-ter.’ Is that anything?)

“That’s not what I mean, though.”

…Yeah.

His arms twitch toward you before falling back by his sides. You watch his hands flex and unflex. You think about reaching for them. Maybe this time he would let you.

You don’t move.

Isa tilts his head, curious. “What would you normally do today? If I didn’t call dibs?”

Teach Bonnie to fight. Find Odile’s book. Help Mira with her papers. Look at the stars. Eat dinner. Go to bed. Fight. Book. Papers. Stars. Dinner. Bed. “...Run around after everyone else, mostly.”

“Aw, Sif.”

“And go fishing.”

“Oh!!” he gasps, brightening. “You fish?”

“I—used to. I think.”

His eyebrows twitch, but he doesn’t press you. “Do you really have to do all that stuff every time, though? Of course you gotta eat, but you could nap until then!”

“Mira always wakes me up.” Also, you don’t sleep.

Isa thumps a fist into his palm and squints menacingly. “Well, she’s gonna have to go through me.”

You can’t help it. You snicker. It comes as an almost violent shock. When’s the last time anything actually made you laugh? “She could do it, though.”

“Oh, yeah. She wouldn’t hesitate.”

“No mercy.”

“But I’m tough too!!” he insists. “I can take her!!!”

You huff another laugh. Two in one day. A new record. “…I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, I’ve got bad news, Sif,” he says seriously. “Today’s my day. I get to do what I want. And I wanna guard your nap! Nap guardian!! Protector of sleepyheads all across Vaugarde!!!”

Pffft. “There’s no way you want to do that.”

“I do!!”

“There’s no way I can let you do that.”

“You’re gonna have to!!”

You should stop him. Laugh and say you changed your mind. But you can’t. You’re selfish like that. "Well... I guess it does sound bed-ter than sleeping alone..."

"Pffft!! Sif!!!!"

“And I could definitely use a few winks.” You can’t resist winking cutely. It’s kind of your signature.

“Hah!!!!”

“So I guess I could pill-ow you to help.” Oof. That was bad, wasn’t it? “Um. You know. Like, ‘allow?’”

“Hey, you don’t gotta tell me!! And c’mon, Sif, you know I just wanna help! After everything you’ve done for us, it’s the sleep-st I can do!!”

Pfft!!! Oh, wow. Okay. Yeah. He got you. “Snrrrk—khhehehe! Hee hee hee!!”

When you look up, Isabeau is beaming at you with eyes so bright they hurt to look at. Your chest clenches. Your stomach swoops. You look away. “S-Sorry.”

“Please don’t be,” he says, painfully earnest. “I’m… It makes me really happy to… Aw, don’t worry about it. Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner, okay?”

“You really don’t have to…”

“My day!!” Isa says fiercely. “I do what I want!!!”

You want to argue. You know that you should. But you're so, so, so so so so tired. At the end of the day, you just don’t have it in you.

Chapter Text

Watching Siffrin sleep makes Isa’s chest clench. Sif was always a tiny little guy, but they look even smaller in sleep. Hat off, guard down. Hugging their knees to their chest like they’re trying to disappear completely. They might even look peaceful, if not for the dark circles hollowing their eyes. And for the way they keep twitching and flinching, like even their dreams aren’t safe.

Sif circled the tree six times before choosing their spot, fastidious as a housecat. If Isa wasn’t totally spineless, he might have asked if they wanted to rest their head in his lap. N-Not because he wanted them to!!! Or… well. Not exclusively. Mostly it was just because Sif looked so tired. Like it’d been a million years since they last got a sound night’s sleep. And also because it kinda made Isabeau want to cry, watching Sif look around warily before laying his head down on a tree root.

It probably wouldn’t offend them just to ask. Just a simple, Hey, Sif? You look pretty uncomfortable… and I’m just sitting here, so… it really wouldn’t get in my way if you—if you wanted—if you might be more comfortable resting your head on something a little less, um, made of wood? Like, I dunno… a chunk of moss, or a stack of leaves, or... or even j-just my…

But—nope! Haha! Nnnnope!! There’s no point, anyway. Sif would just say no, and then Isa would have to sit here, watching them, knowing that they’d rather stretch out on a bed of nails than entrust their sleep to him.

It’s probably for the best. Being Sif’s pillow would be distracting. (Like, really really really distracting.) And Isa’s got enough on his mind as it is.

If the time loops aren’t a divine blessing to help Mira beat the King, then what are they for? They must be related to Sif, or else he wouldn’t have been stuck here all alone for all this time. But then why would that change now? Why would it happen in the first place?

There’s a stifled squeak. Siffrin, whimpering in his sleep.

Isa’s palms itch. Of course he knows better than to wake Sif up. At this point, it seems pretty clear that restless sleep is still miles better than no sleep at all. Still, he can’t suppress the instinct to reach out, to pet and fuss and soothe. And… maybe Sif wouldn’t mind?

But he’s kidding himself. He already saw how Sif reacted when he tried. Siffrin is quicker and sharper than anyone, but when Isa reached out, they froze like a rabbit. Paralyzed. Afraid.

…Isa did that. He did that to them.

“Stop,” Isabeau whispers to himself, out loud. He needs to focus. Sif just gave him a lot to think about, and his notes won’t stick around for long. He has all these scattered shards, twisty little splinters of a larger picture that must exist. But it feels like all he’s got are edge pieces. Like he’s still missing something central, fundamental.

He just needs a little more data.

* * *

Sure enough, that article is right where Isabeau remembered: tacked to the wall on the first floor, surrounded by hand-drawn sketches and still-lifes.

None of the articles include anything particularly helpful (e.g., say, a list of weaknesses, or an explanation of how the King’s power actually works). Mostly it’s just about how he showed up out of nowhere, and how nobody really knows where he came from. But they do have plenty to say about his fashion sense.

Siffrin frowns at the photo. “Those patterns…”

"On his chest and gauntlets, you mean?" Isa asks, curious. They're not particularly eye-catching. Just a bunch of big diamonds.

"It's just a weird losange," Bonnie huffs. They’ve never had much interest in fashion. "What's so weird about that?

Siffrin just shakes their head. “Those are stars.”

* * *

Sif moves differently now. Isa couldn’t tell back in Dormont, but in the House, it’s unmistakable. Siffrin weaves through the halls like a shark that’s scented blood. Cold, efficient. Utterly without fear. When they sense him, the Sadnesses scatter like minnows. They cower in corners and blunder into walls, blind in their terror.

He doesn’t slow down until they get to the library, where they hesitate in front of one of the shelves, running a finger down the sparkly, rhinestone-studded spine of a book. They don’t open it. But they don’t have to. Isa remembers this part. Mira read it to them just two loops ago. It was a diary, someone’s memory of the day that everyone forgot an entire country. Just thinking about trying to remember gives Isa the beginnings of a headache. And Sif—

Sif asked him to say it anyway.

They looked so serious. Desperate. Like they were hungry for something they couldn’t even name.

The picture tilts. A new variable, sliding into place.

…Oh, Isa thinks to himself. Okay. It’s starting to come together.

* * *

The King’s shadow darkens the entire House, but nowhere more than the third floor. His hair curls around every doorway like the twisting vines of some pallid, lightless plant that only grows deep underground. The air hums with Craft. It makes Isa’s skin prickle, makes the hair on his arms stand up straight. No matter where you go, you can always hear the clamor of the King’s sobs, a wrenching, discordant wail that sounds like it’s being wrung out of him with a wine key. It’s overpowering. Inescapable. Isa doesn’t scare easily—not in a fight, at least—and even he can feel the dread seeping into his blood. Some primal, animal corner of his brain is telling him to run. Run. Run. You’re in danger. You’re not a hunter here. You’re prey.

And just a few steps in front of him, Sif is leading the charge with an impatient little scowl. He looks distracted. Bored. Like they’re waiting in a too-long line at the market.

They know the way, too. Right turn, left turn, pick up the key and track back. A quick stop in Mira’s room, then north for another key. In the corner of his eye, Isa can see Madame Odile eyeing them suspiciously. Siffrin doesn’t seem to notice.

And then they’re at the King.

Isabeau promised not to get in the way this time, and he’s not about to break a promise. He keeps his mouth shut while Siffrin steps forward.

“Where are you from?”

The King looks straight at them. When he brushes his hair aside, Isa can see his eyes burn white. Silver-white, like Siffrin’s. “.....What about you, bright one..... Where are you from?”

Siffrin flinches.

The King laughs.

* * *

* * *

* * *

It’s been a while since you actually fought the King. Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything waiting on the other side. Just a soppy little coda that doesn’t resolve anything. No closure. No catharsis. No point. It doesn’t even tie up any loose ends. Isa’s stupid confession is foreshadowed for the whole script—now that you know what to look for, it’s honestly a little heavy-handed—and by the time the curtain falls, nothing has changed. Chekhov’s gun lies cold on the mantle. At a certain point, it’s just bad writing.

But Isa insisted, about the dagger. He practically begged you. If you go back on your word now, he’ll probably get a lot less cooperative. Which would be inconvenient. And you can’t think of any other way to skip the fight without letting the King kill everyone. (You could bear it, when they wouldn’t remember. But you can’t do it anymore. Not to Isa.)

(It hurts to die.)

The King is moaning again, whining about his stupid embarrassing ambitions. Ooohh, maybe the real victim is me actually! Maybe you guys should just lay down and die! It might have a little more appeal as a musical number. Give the fight a little razzle-dazzle. But it isn’t. It’s just a huge loser, crying.

You zone out.

* * *

You beat the King, obviously. It’s easy now. Buff. Attack. Block. Attack. Bomb. Attack. You’re never even in any real danger, so does it really have to take so long?

The others cheer, after you finish him off. You remember to cheer, too. In the corner of your eye, you can feel Isa’s gaze on you. You do not look back.

* * *

How many times have you been on this rooftop? Probably the number doesn’t matter. All that matters is that nothing ever worked, and nothing ever changed.

There’s too much in your head. You can feel thoughts ticking, tickling, prickling. Where the expanse of possibility should stretch endlessly into the horizon, there’s only history. Hindsight. Nowhere to go but back.

You look at Euphrasie.

Your whole nervous system clenches in on itself. Your blood cold and turgid; your windpipe crusted shut with blackened sugar. Your lips itch. Your throat burns. You Cannot Talk To Her Again.

Your hands twitch toward your dagger.

…But you promised.

“Isa,” you mumble, shuffling toward his corner of the rooftop. “Can I… talk to you?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course! Always!”

“No, I mean. Um. Alone?”

In the background, Odile whistles. You very graciously ignore her.

“Oh!” Isa squeaks. “Y-Yeah, I— Yeah, of course!”

You wonder idly whether he knows that you know what he wanted to tell you, back when that was still something he cared about. Probably he doesn’t. You have a history of obliviousness, apparently. But Isabeau does too.

It doesn’t matter. That’s not what you need to talk to him about.

* * *

You are keenly aware of your family’s eyes on you as Isabeau trails you down the steps and around the corner. You might feel embarrassed, if you didn’t know for a fact that this entire timeline was about to be wiped from existence.

“I can’t talk to her,” you announce, once you’ve decided that you’re out of range.

Isa blinks at you. “Um? To…”

“The Head Housemaiden.”

“...Huh?”

Oh. That’s right. You never explained this part. Probably because you didn’t want to be here. “You know how, even if we beat the King, I still loop back?”

Isa nods.

You nod at Euphrasie. “This is where it happens.”

“Wait, she—” Isabeau looks over his shoulder and then back, goggle-eyed. “Don’t tell me Mira’s mom kills us????”

You can’t suppress a snort. “Um. No. Not like that. I talk to her, and then it’s over.”

“Wa-a-ait,” Isa says slowly. “You mean… Do you mean without dying???”

You shrug.

“But… But wouldn’t that mean—”

“No.”

“But if we could loop back without—”

“No.” He doesn’t understand. Nothing hurts worse than talking to Euphrasie.

Isabeau hesitates. “But… But if she can—”

“I can’t talk to her again.” Just thinking about how hopeful you felt, the first few times—

But that was a long time ago.

Isabeau studies your face. You expect him to press you, but—he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says instead. He exhales slowly, brushes off his hands. “Okay! Then, um, what would you normally do here?”

For just a second, your eye flicks toward your dagger.

“Ah,” Isa says. “Okay, well. Thanks for… not doing that.” He takes a breath, lets it out. “So… what do you wanna do instead?”

“…You could stab me?”

“Sif.”

Yeah, you didn’t really think he was going to go for it. “I could jump off?” You’ve never tried that before. It might be nice to feel something new!

“No???”

You scowl at him. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“...You really can’t talk to her?”

You nod. You really really can’t.

“Could I talk to her?” he asks hopefully.

You shake your head. You know you’re being difficult, but—no. He can’t! And it wouldn’t work, probably, anyway. That’s not how it’s ever worked.

Isabeau heaves a breath. “Okay. Then we just… find another way, right?”

You shrug.

“But we couldn’t figure that out last time,” his eyes flicking toward your shoulder. “We’d have to try something… else, I guess. Um. Do you… have any ideas? About why it didn’t work, or… what we could try instead?”

You think about it. You liked feeling his hand on your shoulder, you think. You think you liked it. But your cloak is thick and sturdy. You could barely even feel him. “Maybe because I couldn’t feel it on my skin?”

“Oh,” Isa whispers. “Um. D-Do you think so?”

Another shrug. What do you know? The only time touch made you loop was—

(—shut up shut up THAT NEVER HAPPENED.)

Isabeau swallows. He wraps one hand around his arm, clutching tight enough to bunch the fabric of his sleeve. “Um…”

You huff a breath. “Sorry. Never mind. It was stupid.”

“N-No!! It’s not that!! It’s just that you’re… kinda all covered up? Except your—um.” He looks away. “Your… f-face.”

…Oh.

You shouldn’t think about it and you are thinking about it, now, irrevocably. Isa’s hand on your cheek. His very warm, very large hand, cradling the side of your face. Fingers brushing your cheekbone, your temple. If you asked him, with your face burning under his touch, to tell you what he’d promised to confess, would he finally do it?

But you can’t risk it. Not here, not now. There are no more second chances. Isabeau’s already trapped here with you. Haven’t you hurt him enough?

“...Sif?”

Carefully, you peel off your gloves.

“Ohh,” Isa breathes. “Are you… D-Did you wanna…”

“I want to stab myself,” you snap, before reining yourself in. “Sorry. No. I just mean, I don’t mind stabbing myself.” It doesn’t take too long, and it always works. And it’s… yours. Not just something happening to you. “But if you wanted to try something else…”

Isa’s hand flits closer. But he doesn’t grab yours. He just—holds it out to you, palm-up. There’s an appealing flush darkening his ears, sweat beading on his brow. It’s silly, really. There’s no reason to be nervous about something like you; something that’s not even a person. But he is. It’s… interesting.

You know that you should feel sorry. You know it should embarrass you. But there’s something appealing about seeing him like this. Disarmed, unarmored. Over-exposed as a shucked oyster. It makes you feel sort of… powerful.

(Disgusting.)

You meet him in the middle. Reach out and trace a line from the tip of his longest finger to the soft skin of his wrist, where his pulse thrums through it. You pretend not to notice the way that he shudders.

“Soft,” you mumble. You’d expected his hands to be tougher, scarred and callused like yours. Especially since he fights with his fists. But you were right about one thing. He is very, very warm.

“I.” His voice comes out choked and strangled. “—have a good skincare routine?”

You snort. The pad of your thumb circles his palm, just to make his breath hitch. You can feel his pulse quicken and that’s interesting, too, so you do it again before uncurling your hand and laying your palm flat against his.

Isa pulls in a shuddering breath. You can see him steeling himself, gathering his courage before he slots his fingers into the spaces between yours and then you’re—holding hands. You’re holding hands. It feels almost familiar. Has someone held your hand before? When you try to remember, the thought twists away.

“Um,” Isa says hoarsely. “So. D-Do you feel—um—loop-y?”

You think about it. “I think you’re being too careful.”

His eyes widen.

“I think it won’t work if you don’t surprise me,” you explain. “Like. Catch me off guard.”

“O-Oh,” he whispers. “Really?”

You nod.

You’re aware that you’re pushing him. Pushing his boundaries; shoving through his comfort zone and out the other side. But that’s because you don’t want to be here.

There’s a reason you stopped coming here. Started asking your questions and ending the loop, instead of beating the King at all. You’re tired of this. Tired of hearing the same fumbling aborted confession. Tired of watching Isa decide that maybe he’d rather not know you, after all. That he’d rather be safe than be yours.

You want to push him. You want to scare him, a little. Make him suffer, make him squirm. It’s only fair, isn’t it? He’s been toying with you for a hundred loops.

(...You’re disgusting.)

Isa scuffs his feet, shifts his weight. “Um. Um… Do you… have any ideas?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If I tell you, it’s not really a surprise, Isa.”

“Haha, yeah!!!!!! I guess you’re right!!!” He looks down at your joined hands and swallows. “And. And you’re sure we can’t just—“

You glare at him and he actually squeaks. It’s cute. No it isn’t, it’s cruel. You’re playing with him, like a kid pulling the wings off a butterfly. Sadistic.

“Okay, okay, okay. No Housemaiden. S-So it just has to be… something you’d never expect…” He falters. “…Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. It probably depends on what he does.

“Y-Yeah, of course. Of course. And you really won’t—um—I mean—because I could do all the talking…“

“She does all the talking.”

“Okay!!” he squeaks. “S-Sorry!! Then I’ll just—um. L-Let me just try…”

Tentative, slow, he wraps his fingers around your wrist. You have maybe half a second to process what’s happening before he raises your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your palm, right where it meets your wrist. Sparks under your skin. Lightning on your tongue. You’ve never been more aware of your own nerve endings.

You blink up at him, heat-dazzled, only to find his face burning. Eyes glossy with shame, and—something else. His gaze is locked on the place where he ends and you start but when he senses you staring he catches your eye and it’s— Oh, Stars. Oh, Change or Expressions or Gems, it’s— He’s so desperate. He’s so ashamed. He wants you so much.

(—Not you. Not you. He doesn’t want you, he wants the role you were playing. But it’s hard to remember when he’s so beautiful, and so close. And so hungry. You can see it in the ember of his eyes, burning for you. But he can’t, he shouldn’t, it’s wrong; you’re disgusting and wrong and you know but he’s—he’s looking at you like he can actually see you. Like he could see you and still want you.)

There’s a shift in his stance. Isa, tilting closer, squeezing his eyes shut. He draws your wrist toward his mouth and you realize with terror that he’s going to do it again—except that he can’t, because if he does it again, you can’t be sure what kind of sound you’ll make and the pressure building in your throat feels dangerously like a whimper, and—and if you whimper, then he’ll know; he’ll know that you—he’ll know that you—

[ f e e l   a   t u g   a t   y o ur   s t o m a c h ]

And you wake up in a field.

Chapter Text

In hindsight, your first mistake was letting yourself believe that things couldn’t get any worse. You should have known the Universe would take it as a challenge.

* * *

In a field a quarter-mile further south and a few hundred feet to the east, a Traveler jolts awake. They sit up on their elbows just in time to see their Fighter hurtling into view.

The Fighter beams at him. “It worked!!!!!”

“—Buh?”

(Ve~ry articulate, stardust. Why, I can’t think of a single reason why the big guy might take that the worst way he can think of!!!)

Sure enough, the Fighter sags a little. “U-Um. I meant… looping back without dying?”

“...Oh.” They’re not looking at him, just down at their own hand. Running their fingers over their palm with a vague, faraway look in their eye. For a second, you can feel phantom fingers ghost over your wrist. “Um. Sorry.”

The Fighter looks baffled. “What? No. I mean, I’m sorry. Why are you sorry?”

The Traveler just keeps staring at their palm. When the Fighter’s eyes follow theirs, he flushes all the way down his neck.

You roll your eyes. He was always sooo~ easy. Not that your silly little stardust could ever rub two brain cells together for long enough to notice.

You can’t feel them all the way on the rooftop. Maybe it’s because you never made it that far. Or maybe it’s the King’s wish, dampening yours. But you can feel them now. The pins-and-needles prickle of your palm. Warm static fizzing up your arm. You can feel the way you— the way they’re looking at their Fighter, and trying not to look, and looking anyway. You have many faults, but you’re not stupid. You can put one and one together.

“UHHH,” the Fighter blurts out, overloud. “I’m… really sorry? I just… You said I had to do something you w-wouldn’t expect and I—I guess I really really didn’t want you to stab yourself, so…”

Your eyebrows twitch. No they don’t. You don’t have eyebrows, probably. Unless you do? How would you ever know?

“No,” your stardust mumbles. “It’s. Um. It’s… sorry, it’s… Sorry. Um. Don’t… worry about it?”

(…Are they stupid? He’s definitely going to worry about it.)

“Okay!!!!” the Fighter shouts. “Cool!!! Then I definitely won’t!!!”

(Uh huh.)

The Traveler shakes his head muzzily. “I—uh. I should go… do something? Else?”

“Huh?”

They gather just enough of their shattered composure to muster a glare. “If you’re going to make us fight the King every time, then I need everyone’s special skills. Or else it’s going to take forever.”

“Everyone’s what-now?”

“Their— When I help them with their problems, they—” He huffs impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. I just mean, I have things to do. Now. With the others.”

Their Fighter blinks at them. “Wait. You get friendship quests?”

“...Yes?”

“Secret quests!!!” the Fighter gasps, brightening. “What do you do with everyone??”

“That’s private.”

“Okay, fair. Well, then, what did you do with me?”

The Traveler looks away. “…Not telling.”

Well, of course they won’t. Wouldn’t want their precious Fighter just… saying his lines. Parroting the same stupid sentiments over and over till the words all lose their meaning, like a certain blinding moron who you are, of course, far too decorous to name.

“U-Um,” the Fighter mumbles. “Okay, well. If you’re gonna be busy with the others, then… I think I wanna talk to Loop.”

You nearly fall out of your tree. Fortunately, the only witness is a nearby nest of swallows, which you’ve already sworn to silence.

In the field, your stardust looks almost as surprised. “You’re—what? Just you?”

The Fighter nods.

“You and Loop?”

“...Is that okay?”

“...Yes?” You can feel their bafflement all the way from here. Or is that yours? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

* * *

You’re not going to talk to him, obviously. He’s not the one trapping you here. That would be his precious little Traveler. You’re under no obligation to chat up every idiot who comes your way. You’ll just stay in your tree and wish you were dead, like you always do when your stardust is off having manic episodes and/or interviewing genocidal maniacs.

But when he shuffles up to your tree, the Fighter has the gall to say, “Um… Loop? Are you home?”

(NO.)

Against your better judgment, you allow him to see you. "You don’t really believe that this little tree is my home, do you?”

“Nnnot anymore?”

“Aw, Fighter~,” you giggle. “Did you think that stars grew on trees? I’m devastated to deprive you of such a charming misconception.”

“That’s not what I—!! Aw, it doesn’t matter. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Teehee! I wouldn’t worry about that!” Only people are capable of offense, and you haven’t been a person in a long time. “What is it that you want, Fighter? Or are you just here to enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“Um… Well, I’m also here to say hi?”

Your patience thins. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Isa— The Fighter flinches. “Haha… I guess I just wanted to ask about, um…” He pulls a notebook out of his pocket. “You and Sif have been trying to figure this out for, like, ages, right? Ages and ages of loops.”

“Mhmmm~~”

“And you’ve been talking with them this whole time.”

“That’s right! I’ve come to know my sweet little stardust quite intimately, teehee.”

The Fighter chokes. “I. Uh. Right. So, then, do you… Have you guys figured anything out about why this is happening?”

“‘Why,’ hm? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? I would’ve thought you’d start with ‘how.’”

“Well, it’s all one big ouroboros, isn’t it?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “That’s an awfully big word for a guy who can’t even confess a crush.”

His face flushes violently. Bullseye.

“Oooh, did I guess right?” you giggle, like it wasn’t abundantly obvious. “How embarrassing! You have such bad taste!”

“Hey.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You wink. “You’ve seen how they’ve been acting. Now that the show is over, they’re finally ready to show their true shades.”

The Fighter’s fists clench. Good. Time to finish him off. If you play your cards right, he’ll never want to come back.

“Say, here’s a fun game!” you say brightly. “Do you want to guess how many times he let you all die, just to save a little time?”

“S-Stop,” the Fighter cuts in, holding up both hands. “That’s— That isn’t fair. And it wasn’t…” He shakes his head vigorously. “Look. I trust Sif, okay? If they want me to know something, he’ll tell me himself.”

“Re~ally? Will he, now? Of course I can’t relate, myself; my stardust tells me everything. And I mean everything.” You hold his gaze until he looks away. “You, though… Do they even tell you anything? Do you really believe that they trust you at all?”

“Th-They were in a time loop,” he says lamely.

“Oh! Is that right? I hadn’t noticed!”

He huffs impatiently. “Are you like this with Sif, too?”

“Like what? Charming? Devilishly good-looking? A scintillating conversationalist?”

“Annoying.”

That nearly startles a proper laugh out of you. “Teehee. Wouldn’t you like to know! But I’m afraid that’s confidential. I’d just hate to betray a confidence.”

The Fighter sighs. “Look, I’m just— I just wanted to run something by you. Um. Some theories.”

“By me? Why not confer with your beloved Traveler?”

“Sif is…” He looks away. “…busy.”

“Aww,” you purr. “What a shame!”

“Uh. Right.” He shuffles through his notes, frowning. “Um. Um, so… wait, I’m sorry, do you know about, like… things happening other places? Or just this time loop?”

“Teehee! Don’t worry about it, big guy. I know things you’ve never dreamed of.”

“R-Right. So, you… know about that island? The country everyone forgot?”

Wow. He actually caught you off guard. “I— Well, yes, of course. What about it?”

“I think maybe the King is from there,” he says seriously. “And… I think maybe Sif is, too.”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening, just for a second. He may be a pale imitation of your Fighter, but he’s still unsettlingly quick, isn't he? A whole lot quicker than your stardust. (Not that that’s a high bar.)

“Is that right,” you say flatly. “And what makes you think that?”

“Well, they both sort of came out of nowhere. The King’s always talking about something he can’t remember, and… there’s a lot Sif can’t remember, too. And he always seems like he recognizes them, sort of.”

“Fascinating.” A beat too late, you remember to smile. “Well, there are quite a few logical leaps there, but I suppose it could explain a few incongruities! Though I’m not sure why you’d bring this to me, and not your little paramour.”

The Fighter flinches, but he doesn’t back down. “So, what about you?”

“Hmm~? What about me?”

“Is that where you’re from, too?”

(What.) “Teehee! What a silly question! Don’t you know anything? Stars don’t live in countries.”

“Right, but… you’re not really a star, right?”

Your smile drops.

“I mean,” the Fighter says clumsily. Fumbling the finish, like always. “Stars are just dots in the—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Fighter’s eyes widen. You curse yourself. The way you turned on a dime… it’s the same as that idiot understudy.

(Control yourself. What are you, an amateur?)

“Vaugardians are soooo~ ignorant!” you giggle. “Why, none of you seem to know anything at all outside of this tiny speck of a planet!”

“Speck of a… what?”

“See, that’s just what I mean! Imagine thinking that your world is the only thing in all existence… Conceited doesn’t begin to cover it!!”

You lean forward, making sure he can see the way your face shifts and sparks. Making sure he can see that you are nothing like him. There’s nothing human about you.

“The Universe is bigger than you could ever imagine,” you tell him softly. Sweet, with just a trace of rot. “And you are so, so small.”

His face furrows, puppyish. It isn’t cute. “The… Universe?”

Crab. You forgot that your defective clone couldn’t keep their stupid mouth shut if their life depended on it. They must have mentioned that already. Curse them. You wish you’d got the chance to absorb them in the womb. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Fighter. I want to hear about you! How have you been enjoying your first few loops?”

“Uh. I guess… not a whole lot?”

“Aw, what an unexpected shame! And whyever not!”

“I guess it’s a lot more death than I’m used to?”

You nod sympathetically. “Sure, sure, of course. Well, don’t worry, big guy. You’ll get used to it.”

“Uh. I mean, hopefully I won’t have to, right?”

“Hmm~?”

“Because… hopefully we’ll break the loop?”

“Oh, I see. Aw, how sweet! You’re so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! That fighting spirit of yours is just sooo~ adorable!”

“Uh.”

“But I don’t see it lasting very long,” you tell him. Smiling, still. “That sort of thing never does.”

“...You’re talking like you’ve seen this before.”

“Teehee! Maybe! In a manner of speaking!”

The Fighter’s eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something.”

“My goodness!” you gasp, clutching your pearls. “That’s quite an allegation! Are you this hostile with all your new friends, or am I just special?”

“Especially suspicious, maybe.”

It’s annoying how much that still stings. “Well, if you have any issues with me, you’re welcome to take them up with my stardust! Or, you know… avoid me entirely? No one asked you to come here. You were never supposed to be involved.”

He frowns. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to?’”

Crab. You keep slipping up. Being confronted by a twisted funhouse-mirror image of someone you loved will do that, apparently. “It’s just simple logic, Fighter. You left them all alone for this long, didn’t you? Why would that change now? Why would it change at all?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place! I can’t do everything for you. You’ll have to do a little work yourself.”

“But—”

“I think that’s enough questions for today,” you tell him firmly. “I can’t spend all day indulging you! If you must talk someone’s ear off, go bother your adorable little Traveler. I’m sure they’d be happy to oblige. Unless, of course, you have some reason to avoid them…?”

The Fighter’s ears darken. “I, uh—no. Um. I mean. Yeah, that’s… I’ll do that.”

* * *

Isabeau catches Siffrin parting ways with Madame Odile, who’s looking unusually thoughtful.

“Psst,” he hisses. “Sif.”

They whip around, startled, and then relax. “Oh. Isa.”

“Can I, um, talk to you? Before we meet up with the others?”

“Oh, stars,” Sif groans. “I knew I shouldn’t trust them alone with you… What did they tell you?”

Isabeau frowns. Stars, huh? Just like Loop. And the King’s armor. And they always seemed to hold some inexplicable appeal for Sif. When they were still on the road, on a clear night, he used to wake up and find himself alone. He’d poke his head out of the tent to find Sif perched in a tree with their head flung back, gazing up at the sky.

Isa chews his lip. “Are you finished with your secret quests?”

Sif nods.

“Then come on,” he says, impulsive. “I have an idea.”

* * *

It’s a clear night, almost cloudless, with just the faintest sliver of a moon peeking over the horizon. The whole sky glitters with stars. Isabeau never really saw the appeal—they’re just little white specks; nothing against the glory of a good sunset, or a break in the clouds after a storm. But when he looks back to find them reflected in Sif’s eye, he thinks he kinda gets it.

As if sensing his gaze, Sif looks back. Isabeau shivers. Of course Sif is always cute, but in this silvery starlight they’re ethereal, almost unearthly. The moonlight catches in his hair, makes his eye seem to glow. There’s a small little smile playing at their mouth and suddenly Isa wants nothing more than to pull them close and kiss it. Change. They are so unfairly, distractingly beautiful.

He waits for them to tug their hat over their face—they usually do, when someone looks at them too long—but they don’t. They just study his face, thoughtful, and a little curious. Isabeau holds his breath.

“Huh,” Sif says at last.

Isabeau grins at them, helpless. “Something on your mind?”

Sif shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

(Loop’s voice echoes in his mind. Do they even tell you anything?)

Isabeau shakes himself off. That clearly isn’t helping. And besides, he came here for a reason.

Because he is completely deranged, Isa almost reaches out to take Sif’s hand. B-Because it’s dark!! And the ground is uneven!! They could trip or something!! His hand’s already moving when he finally remembers himself. But it’s too late. Sif already saw and flinched out of reach, wide-eyed and wild.

“S-Sorry!!!”

“It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t gonna—“ Oh, Change, he can’t even say it. What would he even say? Sif already spent all day avoiding him for what he did on the roof, and—oh, Change, why in the world did he do what he did on the roof???

He couldn’t let Sif stab themself again. That’s what he’s been clinging to, what he tells himself over and over when the panic seeps back into his blood. He had to do something that would freak them out as bad as a, a crabbing stab wound, and they said he was being too careful, and—!!!

(And their hand was so soft. When they reached out and touched him he thought his heart was going to burst. Butterflies in his stomach, champagne in his veins. He loves them so much, he loves them so much, he couldn’t let them hurt themself again. He just wanted to protect them. He wanted to save them. He wanted them to know, even just in this tiny, nebulous, cowardly way, how he felt. That they deserved gentleness, tenderness, not blood and blood and death. He would do it again. He would embarrass himself a hundred times in a hundred ways if it would keep them safe.)

Sif is looking at their palm again. Isabeau feels his neck heat up.

“C’mon,” he says, a little too loud. “I, uh. I wanna tell you what I’ve figured out. What I think I’ve figured it out, anyway. I guess I could be totally off-base. But I still think we should talk it through.”

Isa flops down in the grass first, so Sif can decide how far they want to sit.

Sif… doesn’t. They stay upright, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

Isabeau clears his throat. “A-hem. Um. I just wanted to check in about— I think I might’ve figured something out. About the King. And… well. You.”

Sif’s eye narrows. “Oh?”

Isa lays it all out for them. The forgotten country. The way the King seemed to come out of nowhere. And the question he asks Siffrin, first thing, every time. Bright one. Do you remember?

When he’s finished, Siffrin looks away. “Oh.”

…Huh. Sif seems pretty calm for a guy who just got potentially earth-shattering news.

“You knew,” Isa realizes.

Siffrin shrugs.

“The whole time?”

“Not… exactly? It slips away sometimes. Most times. But I think if I reread that diary—“

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?” The confusion in their voice is clearly sincere. They’re genuinely asking.

(‘Do you really believe that they trust you at all?’)

“Um??” Isabeau sputters. “Maybe because we’re trying to figure this out, and this seems extremely relevant?? All this time, I’ve been— Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry,” Sif snorts. “Just. ‘All this time.’”

Isabeau stares.

“It’s just. A little dramatic. It’s been like, three loops.”

“Wh— Are you mad at me?” Isa asks, baffled. “For… not getting stuck in a time loop?”

“Mad?” Sif asks mildly. “Why would I be mad? Just because you’re denser than a neutron star?”

“A what?”

Sif rolls his eye. “Too niche? Okay, uh… Okay, what do you call an oblivious shapeshifter?”

“A—huh? I mean? I dunno???”

“An unawarewolf,” Siffrin snickers. “Ehh?”

For the first time in his entire life, Isabeau isn’t in the mood for jokes. “Look, can we please say on topic for like, two seconds?”

Siffrin turns their face away coldly. “...No.”

“...Just ‘no?’”

“I don't want to talk about this right now.”

Of course not. “Well, are you gonna get up in the middle of the night and talk about it with Loop?”

“What?” Sif asks, startled. “No. I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Isabeau tries not to scowl. “Look, this affects me too, okay?”

“You think I don't know that?” Sif asks, bristling.

“And honestly, it kinda affects all of us!! if you’d just talk to us, instead of some random star—”

“Loop’s not random.”

“—who won’t even tell you what they are, instead of the people who actually love you—”

“Hah!!!” Siffrin almost screams. “You think they love me? They don’t know anything about me!! Loop knows everything about me and they don’t even care!!”

“They’re not even nice to you!”

“So?” Sif demands. “They help me! They've been helping me! I would've lost my mind without them! No one else was doing anything!!”

“Because you won’t let us!!!”

For just a moment, Sif seems to hesitate. Isa seizes the opportunity with both hands.

“You know I'd—I mean—I'd do pretty much anything for you, you know? F-For all of you, I mean. I really really care about you guys.”

“Not like it’s a high bar,” Siffrin mutters. “You gave up your whole life for a total stranger.”

“Wh– You mean leaving the Defenders? Sif. I gave up my life to save the whole country.”

“And ‘cause Mira asked.”

“I— Well, yeah, but—” He huffs a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine! So I'm a nice guy! Why does that mean I can't care about you?”

“I just told you! There is no me! It’s just a stupid character! All of it, everything I am, I just made it up! I just made it up so you would like me!!!”

“Everyone is doing that!!!”

Sif laughs darkly. “Not like I am.”

“Ughhh— Come on, Sif! I know you’re upset, but that’s— It isn’t true, okay? I know there’s stuff you can’t remember, but you’re still a person!”

“Like you’d know,” he scoffs. “You’ve never even seen me. You’ve been too busy l-leading me on for—stars—for a whole blinding year!!!”

Isabeau chokes. “Leading you—??? What do you even—”

“I know what you think,” Siffrin spits. “I know you think I’m disgusting. It’s not like you’re wrong, haha!!!! Hahaha!!!! But do you really have to— Can’t you see how, how confusing it is when you— And you take me these beautiful places, say all these beautiful things, and then you won’t even—!!” They’re trembling, shaking all over like a housecat left out in the rain, and Isabeau still can’t tell if it’s hurt or it’s hate. “At least Loop is honest!! They don’t try to hide it with, with all these stupid empty promises, like you’d ever actually want to know me—“

“Sif!!!” Isa cuts in, frantic. This is all too much, way way way too much too fast. “W-Woah!! Slow down!! What are you even talking about??”

Siffrin barks a laugh. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Isa? After we beat the King?” They say it like a weapon. Throw the words in his face like a fistful of sand.

Oh. Isabeau flinches. “I— I-In your other loops, did I— D-Did I already tell you I—“

“Not even once,” Siffrin snarls.

Oh. Uh. “A-And how many times did we—”

“I stopped counting after 50.”

…Oh. “But—”

“Friiiin!” a familiar voice shouts. “Za!! Is that you guys? Are you being lame???”

The mask snaps into place. Suddenly Sif is smiling, a glassy, vacant smile that makes Isa’s chest clench. “Who, me? Lame? Never. And you can quote me on that. In fact, you could… exc-lame it from the rooftops.”

“Frin!!!!!” Bonnie huffs. “You’re so dumb!!!!”

“Dumbfoundingly cool?”

“No!!!”

“Mind-dumbingly funny?”

“No!!!!!” they shout again. “Just regular dumb!!!!!”

“Hehe,” Sif giggles, leaning back so he can grin up at them. His smile is almost perfect. But there’s no light behind his eye. “I can live with that.”

* * *

When your stardust shuffles up to your tree that night, hollow-eyed and vacant, you’ve already prepared a half-dozen half-baked explanations, along with the total resolve not to explain yourself. But they barely even look at you. They just stare miserably at the ground. “I don’t want to talk.”

You roll your eyes and Siffrin trudges in, flopping down in the grass in front of your perch. He lets out his breath and leans, only very slightly, against the side of your shin. Your outsides crackle faintly where they meet his. You can feel it in two places at once.

You lean back against them.

You breathe in and out.

Chapter Text

When you get back to the Clocktower, you find Isabeau slumped against the outside of the door, fast asleep.

You blink at him. Is he… guarding the door? Keeping you out, maybe? It wouldn’t surprise you, after the awful things you said.

(‘What were you going to tell me, Isa?’)

Your stomach clenches at the memory. Stars. Stars, what were you— Why would you— And now he’s going to think that you know! What is he going to think you know? You literally don’t even know! All you have is, is, is your stupid fantasies. Some ridiculous daydream about what you might want him to tell you, if you were a real person.

And what exactly is his problem with Loop? He was all up in arms about you talking to them, even though they’re the only real person in this whole stupid play. (Or… they were. Maybe Isa is sort of real now, too. Even though he doesn’t know anything, and keeps trying to act like he does. But he’s… not in the script anymore, is he? He’s writing his own lines. Acting… unpredictably.)

Your palm tingles. You clench your fist around it.

You’re being stupid. Whether he knows it or not, Isabeau’s still messing with you. Distracting you, derailing you. You know he doesn’t want you anymore, not now that you’ve shown him what you’re really like. And really, who could blame him? It’s not just that you’re a monster. You’re… empty. Blank. Siffrin, no middle name, no last name. Even the little you have is a lie. You saw it on a poster, and you needed to call yourself something. Vaugardians are too friendly to let you go around without a name.

And now Isabeau knows. He knows that you’re the sort of blinding idiot who could forget their own blinding name. He said it to you! Right to your face! And then looked at you proudly, like he thought you’d be pleased. Like he was giving you a gift. Wrapping up your grief in shiny paper and throwing it in your face.

…It took him three loops. Three loops, without the script, to see that you were hollow. A paper mask with a painted smile. A cloak billowing over nothing at all.

Under your cloak, your fingers trace the edge of your dagger. The steel feels cold. Solid. Real. For a moment, you can almost believe that it could make you feel real, too.

Leaning over Isabeau, watching his chest rise and fall, you find yourself wondering if you’ve ever killed him. You don’t think that you have. You think you’d remember. But dreaming and waking have smeared together in the lightless slurry of your mind and you—don’t know. You don’t know.

You’re sure you didn’t make a sound, but Isa stirs anyway, rubbing his neck and letting out a creaky little groan. For a second, you almost smile. You like the sounds he makes.

(…Disgusting. He’s not a bird in a cage. He’s a person, supposedly. Apparently. Again.)

He doesn’t notice you right away. You know how to be so, so quiet. So it’s not until his lids flutter open that Isa flinches upright. “S-Sif?”

You’re glad he’s afraid of you now. It simplifies things. But the fear in his eyes makes you nauseous, so you look away.

You don’t know what to say to him. You aren’t sure you want to take it back. He’s trampling over your plans and rifling through your ugliest, deepest-buried secrets and he won’t stop looking at you. Still, the thought of him getting the wrong idea makes your skin feel too tight. But what even is the wrong idea? What would be the right one? How are you supposed to explain if you don’t even know what you’re explaining?

Either way, if he’s going to yell at you, you should probably go outside first.

* * *

Isa follows you out obediently enough, even though he’s probably exhausted from all the Time Craft and dying and getting yelled at for no reason. You might feel bad, if you could still feel anything at all.

You dart another glance at him. Isabeau’s hair is scruffed flat against his forehead and his face is still puffy with sleep. There’s an eyelash stuck to his cheekbone and you’re seized by a powerful urge to find out how he’d look if you reached out and took it.

But he already hates you.

Your eyes burn. Your windpipe squeezes shut. Maybe it really is for the best, getting it over with, but you don’t— You don’t want him to hate you.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorr—“

“I’m really sorry!!!” Isabeau blurts out.

You stare.

“It’s just— All this crazy time stuff, it’s… haha!! I mean!! It’s a lot!!” His eyes are wild, his grin tinged with hysteria. “It’s, like, really pretty scary!! Ha, well, of course I don’t have to tell you that, you’ve been stuck here for a million years already.”

You’re pretty sure it couldn’t have been longer than one year. One and a half, at most. But you don’t want to interrupt before you find out where he’s going with this.

“So of course you’re, like, beyond over it, and I just came in swinging and hit you with all these stupid little plans, like I could just fix everything overnight…” He shakes his head vigorously. “Ugh! Yeah! I mean! Of course you were gonna bite my head off! And, and I— I m-might not totally understand your, um… arrangement? With Loop? But you told me you guys had been through a lot, and then I immediately picked a fight with, like, your only anchor through this whole crazy thing!!”

“They probably picked a fight with you,” you say cautiously. “I think it’s. Um. A sort of hobby.”

“Hah! Yeah! Yyyyeah, it kinda seemed like it. But still. I know I don’t have enough context. I can’t just show up and start throwing insults at the only person you trust. Even if they are… uh… sort of a… strong personality.”

You snort. That’s putting it mildly.

“So it’s… yeah. I guess that’s what I wanted to say. And sorry for, um, ambushing you, sort of. I just… If we had to go to the House tomorrow without clearing the air, I think I was gonna kinda lose my mind.”

You nod slowly. Acting is hard work. Not everyone’s cut out for it. It makes sense that he’d need to ease into it a little.

Though that doesn’t answer all your questions. You still don’t understand why he isn’t yelling at you. You yelled at him a lot. And not just normal upset-yelling. You were specific. Attentive. Cruel.

“…Isa?”

He straightens up a little, looking hopeful. “Sif?”

“When are you going to yell at me?” You sort of want to get it over with.

“Huh?” Isa asks, baffled. “Why would I yell?”

“Because I was so mean?”

“Sif!!! You weren’t— Okay, well, maybe you were a little mean. But you were upset! And I kept pushing you, which definitely wasn’t helping.”

It really wasn’t. “But—now you know what I— that I— I can’t even remember—“ Your throat closes over the words.

“Oh, Sif,” Isa says softly, and you choke back a sob. You thought he would hate you and instead he pities you. You can’t decide which one is worse. “I’m not gonna yell at you for being sad. That’s, like, the opposite of what I wanna do.”

But—no. He doesn’t understand. It’s not like losing a loved one and feeling their absence. Even the absence is absent. You forgot everything, and then you forgot that you’d forgot. You didn’t even get to keep your grief.

You still forget everything. The people who raised you, the people you loved are all locked in the black hole of your past and even now you still sometimes forget that it’s there. You forget everything good and you always always will.

…You’ll forget him, too.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll probably forget you even faster. You have one of those forgettable personalities, haha!!! Though… maybe that’s not true anymore. That’s one advantage of yelling and crying and bleeding all over him! At least you’ll be harder to forget! Maybe if you drive your blade deep enough, you can leave a mark that never heals!! All the Body Craft in Vaugarde still can’t heal ~emotional~ scars!!!!

You have to hold back a shudder. Even Loop would judge you for that one.

When you look up, you find Isa watching you miserably. You’re hurting him. Again. What else is new?

“Aw, Change,” he mumbles. “I was all excited to help, and all I did was upset you… I’m really really sorry, Sif.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Th-There is one thing I wanted to say, though,” Isa adds, looking embarrassed. “About... um. Something you said? Earlier?”

NO. No, no, no, you absolutely cannot have this conversation, not with that last one so fresh in your mind. Not with disgust churning in your gut, burning in your throat. With Isa’s blood still warm on your hands.

“I didn’t mean—” You stop to gasp for breath. “I was just. Upset. Because it was, um, frustrating? Never getting to know what you wanted to tell me.”

“Well, of course it—” Isabeau trails off mid-word. “Wait. You—huh? What? Huh?”

“Because you kept saying you’d tell me? But then you still wouldn’t?”

“Wh— Are you saying you don’t know???”

You give him a pointed stare. “You never told me.”

“Huh.” He’s blinking a lot, you notice. “Huh.”

“…Isa?”

“Wh—Sorry!! Um!! Th-that doesn’t matter right now! That’s not what I wanted to… No, I meant the part where you thought I thought all this bad stuff about you. About being… um. Disgusting. And stuff.”

Stars. You want to dig a hole in the ground and bury yourself alive. You don’t want his pity. You never wanted to have this talk at all.

“It’s just that I, um…” Isabeau knits his fingers together, looking away. “I… know what it’s like, sort of. Thinking all this bad stuff about yourself, and… thinking everyone else thinks it, too. But—Sif. I still wanna know you.”

It’s stupid. It’s pathetically, childishly stupid. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He couldn’t really want to know you. Even you don’t want to know you. But he— But he—

To your absolute, life-ending horror, you burst into tears.

Isabeau’s eye’s widen. “Oh, Change, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I mean—I’m so sorry???”

You shake your head fast, vision blurred with tears. You don’t want him to be sorry. You just want to be better. Calmer, stronger, more controlled. More alive. You try so hard not to want it because you know, you know that it’s not in the cards, but you just—want to be a real person. You want to be a real person. You want to be someone who matters.

You sniffle wetly. You hate crying. You always have. It makes your face feel hot and your skin feel tight and it chokes all the air from your lungs, like you’ll never breathe again. It’s gross and it’s ugly and it makes you gross and ugly and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. There’s nothing you can do to stop anything. Everything you’ve ever tried was pointless and you can’t—you can’t even control your own stupid body, the one thing that’s supposed to be in your control, except that yours is defective and stupid and slow and you can’t even— You can’t even—

“Oh, man,” Isabeau says unhappily. “Sorry, I, um… C-Can you tell me how to comfort you? If that’s okay? I just… I don’t really know how to comfort someone who doesn’t like hugs.”

“I don’t—” You bite it back. You’re being selfish. Manipulative. You can’t just ask for touch, what could be more pathetic? But when you look up, Isabeau is looking at you so desperately that you can’t help yourself. “…mind hugs.”

“You—huh???” he gasps. “Huh?? What?? Huh????”

You shrug. “Case by case.”

“Hah!!! I… Hah! Yeah. Totally.” In spite of everything, he grins at you. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna… I’m just gonna… But Sif, please, please, if you’re uncomfortable, please let me know?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You can’t look at him.

“…Please?”

“Fine.”

In your peripheral vision, you can see Isa’s arms flit up, uncertain. You hold your breath and then—

And then his arms are wrapped around you.

You breathe into his chest. He smells different and utterly familiar. Sawdust, millstone, sweat. Heartache, heartbreak, sweat. He's so warm and he smells like home. (Haha! Home! What a concept! As if you'd even know!!!!)

You're using him and you can't stop it. You're hurting him and you can't help it. You’re being selfish and you don’t even care. You're poison, you're poison, you know that you're poison, you don’t want to hurt him but you still don’t want to hurt. You’re so tired of being alone.

“Hey,” Isabeau whispers, rubbing soothing circles into your back. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay, Sif. You’re okay, okay? I've got you. I'm not going anywhere.”

It only makes you cry harder. Hot helpless tears that stream from the crease of your eye, and from under your eye patch. Your tear ducts were one of the only things left unscathed after you lost your eye. It’s fitting, isn’t it? No matter how much you lose, you still never run out of grief.

“You’re okay,” Isa breathes, and you can’t stop yourself any longer. Your hands climb his back to fist in the fabric of his shirt. You cling to him like you’re drowning. You hate this. You hate feeling like this. You hate being, breathing, smiling, lying. You hate everything but this.

“Heyyy,” Isabeau whispers into the top of your head, when your sobs finally choke to a stop. “You’re doing great, okay? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You tilt your head back to stare at him stonily. “That was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Hah!!! Aw, c’mon. You’ve died twice in the past six days.”

“Yes.”

“Pfft,” he snickers. “Still, though! Crying is good! It’s how you get your feelings unstuck.”

You’d like to argue, but you don’t want him to stop holding you. You’re cold as a corpse but he’s warm. If he holds you close enough, maybe he could make you feel warm, too. “Sure.”

Isabeau pulls back just enough to give you a worried once-over. He looks unsteady, unsure. “Um. S-So. You… really don’t mind hugs, huh? I mean, when you’re, um. Upset.”

You nod. You don’t mind them other times, too, but you don’t want to sound desperate.

A giddy little giggle bubbles out of him. You can feel it vibrate through his chest. “…Guess there’s a lot I don't know about you, huh?”

“There’s a lot I don't know about me.”

“Hah!” Isa grins down at you, tired but no less fond. “Well. We’re working on it.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

Isabeau doesn’t need a feelings-talk to confirm his theory. The second Mirabelle opens the diary, it’s written all over Siffrin’s face.

The last time they came through here, Sif asked him to try to say it. Of course Isabeau tried! He really really tried! But all it won him was a splitting headache.

He tries again anyway. It gives him a headache.

* * *

They’re all standing around Mira’s dorm, checking the bottles and poking around in her closet, when Bonbon jabs a finger toward Sif and shouts, “Hey!! Frin’s playing with something dangerous!!!”

Isa whips around with his heart in his throat, but Sif doesn’t look like they’re trying to die. (Reset. ‘Loop back.’ Whatever.)

The kid isn’t wrong, though. Siffrin’s fidget-toy of choice is a wickedly-sharp shard of glass, a long triangular sliver already dripping with black. “Sif!!!!”

“Mh?”

“You can’t—!!!” Bonbon is already reaching out, but Isa couldn’t forgive himself if they cut themself on accident. He lunges in the way and flips the shard out of Sif’s hands, wrapping it in a strip of cloth from his gloves before thrusting it into his pocket. “Be more careful!! You could get hurt!!”

“Right,” Sif says, and smiles. “Wouldn’t want that.”

* * *

The King still casts a pall over the entire third floor. But it feels different than before. Less all-consuming and more… depressing? And it’s familiar, now. Not a treatise on the terror of the unknown. Just another obstacle.

Sif gives him a look before they enter the King’s chamber, as if to say, Are you going to be a problem? Isa parries with his most innocuous smile. He’s game to play nice. And, to be totally honest, he’s already tired of throwing his weight around. He just isn’t built for leadership. He’s a support class. Everyone else’s right-hand man.

So he waits in the wings, respectfully silent, while Siffrin advances the plot.

"…What have I forgotten?"

The King swallows a sob. "Forgotten? Oh, bright one, bright one... Why would you... Can't you feel it? Its absence?"

Isabeau flinches. "You don't have to answer that,” he starts to say. “He's just trying to—"

"ALL OF IT!!!" The King screams. "YOU'VE FORGOTTEN IT ALL, BRIGHT ONE!!!!!! WE ALL HAVE!!!! No one can say it!!! No one can remember!!! So why don't you just... Please, please, please, Bright one! Please try to remember!!!"

No. No!! Even if the King is from the forgotten country, that doesn’t mean that Sif has to placate him. The King is ruining everything! He’s declared war on Change itself! That’s not someone you want on your team!

Siffrin squeezes their eye shut. He opens his mouth and—

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

—Isabeau’s head burns. It’s an aching wound, the fundamental wrongness of a phantom limb. Absence where there should be substance. Static where there should be sound.

“Please,” the King pleads. “Please, Bright one, please!!!!!! I almost heard it, I— Please, please, again!! Together!!!!"

“Stop!” Isabeau gasps, but Sif isn’t listening. “D-Don’t…”

But he’s too late. Sif is already gritting their teeth, bracing for another round. When they dart a glance at Isa, their eye is dark with remorse, but not a hint of hesitation.

“Sorry,” Siffrin mumbles, and tries to say it.

(“             . . . !!!”)

The sound that shatters out of them feels like diving too deep underwater. A crush of pressure that threatens to fracture your eardrums and flood your brain. It sounds like an intrusive thought. Like a sleep paralysis demon looks. It hurts.

Clearly, it hurts a lot worse in the first person. The effort sends Sif staggering. They curl forward and retch like they’re choking on the word, but what comes sputtering out of their mouth isn’t a slurry of syllables, it’s blood. A spray of coppery black spatters the floor. It soaks down the front of his cloak.

“Sif!!” Isa gasps, lunging between them. “Change, Sif, why are you— You don’t have to do this!! Please!!”

The others are already moving into formation. Mira flings an arm out, protective, without loosening her grip on her sword.

"Don't listen to him!" she tells Sif fiercely. "We'll protect you!"

"Don't even look at him," M’dame Odile snarls at the King. "Your fight is with us."

"Stop it!!!" Bonnie is sobbing. "Go away! Go away! You're hurting them!!"

“PLEASE!!!!” the King bellows. His voice is a screaming cacophony. A clamor of brass and blood. “IF WE SAY IT TOGETHER, TWO PEOPLE OF THE SAME COUNTRY, I'M SURE WE CAN REMEMBER!! PLEASE, BRIGHT ONE!! SAY IT!!!!!”

Siffrin opens his eye and looks up.

“Stop!!!” Isa clamps a hand over their mouth, but that just means he can feel the slippery heat when Sif coughs up another mouthful of blood and phlegm. “Change, Sif, you don’t have to do this right now! We can go back and try again!!”

“SAY IT!!!”

“You’re hurting yourself!!” Isa pleads. “Please, you have to stop or this is gonna kill you!!!”

But they don’t care. That’s the part that Isabeau can’t seem to get. The thing he can’t think about for long enough to account for, because every time he tries, it feels like he’s going to shake himself apart. Sif doesn’t care if they die. Death is nothing to them now. It’s just a shortcut. A way to save a little time.

Isabeau’s chest clenches. No. Not this time. Over his dead body. (Possibly literally.)

They just have to loop back. They have to loop back before Sif can burn himself up from the inside, again, just because he thinks it doesn’t matter.

Isa adopts a fighting stance and then realizes that he has no idea how to go about this. He knows that he’s being stupid. Sif does this all the time; they’ve been doing it for dozens and dozens of loops. Sif has a knife, though. You can’t just punch yourself in the face until you die.

Something clinks in his pocket. The glass. A shard as long as his longest finger, jagged-edged and wickedly sharp.

…Ah. Okay. Yeah. That’ll do it.

Isa palms the glass and then hesitates. He really really doesn’t want to do this. Sif made it look so easy but it’s—it’s not the dying that scares him. Isa isn’t particularly afraid of death. And if the medical course of his Defender training taught him anything, it’s that the human body is disturbingly fragile. There are a million different ways to make it stop.

Unfortunately (or possibly Very Fortunately), that doesn’t actually make this easy. Every neuron in his brain is screaming at him to throw the glass away. Not for the first time, Isa finds himself baffled by Sif’s logic. In what world is this better than talking to Mira’s mom???

He’ll just have to be quick. One swift stroke to sever every major artery. If he hesitates halfway, he’ll lose his nerve for good.

"SAY IT, BRIGHT ONE!!!"

Siffrin opens their mouth—

—and Isabeau flings himself in front of them, positions the sharpest edge against his external carotid, and pulls.

[ y o u   f e e l

       a    t u g

             a t    y o u r

                     s t o m a c h ]

Chapter Text

Wow. Ow. That was way worse than Sif made it sound, and it already sounded pretty crabbing bad. How long have they been doing this, to feel like it doesn’t matter? Or is that how they felt from the start?

Isabeau rubs the side of his throat and decides not to think about it.

* * *

You jerk awake with blood and bile bitter on your tongue. Isa, Isa, he— Why would he do that? You were about to say it!! It was right on the tip of your tongue and you were, you were going to say it and instead Isabeau—died. He died. He was alive and alive and then dead. Steadfast then bleeding and dead. It wasn’t nothing to him. He wasn’t unafraid. You could see the terror in his eyes right before he made the cut.

He probably thought that it would happen instantly. The looping back. Instead you watched him gasp and squirm for whole minutes before the Universe wiped it away.

You swipe a wrist roughly across your eyes. Why would he do that? You’d almost said it! You could almost— And then Isa was in front of you and on the ground and bleeding and it was, real. It was real. He was real and he really died.

Because of you.

It’s your fault. But of course it’s your fault; when is it ever not? Isabeau died so you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t let him save you so he died.

“Hey, Sif.”

You jerk around to find Isa standing over you, hiding behind a wincing little grin.

“Haha, wow,” he says wryly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was way worse than you said!”

Before you know what’s happening, you’ve already flung yourself at him. Literally. Your feet leave the ground from at least a meter off. You collide with his chest like something launched from a trebuchet, tackling him clear off his feet.

“W-Woah!” he yelps, belly-up against the grass. Even with you crouched over him like a wolf guarding its kill, you can still feel him trying not to touch you. “Sif?? Are you okay??”

Ugh. You hate him. You want to blinding kill him. You want to squeeze him into a diamond and wear him over your heart, where nothing will hurt him again. You want to keep him in a fishbowl and feed him the finest, most vitamin-rich flakes. You want to tuck him behind your ear where nobody will ever ever find him.

In the background, you’re vaguely aware of Mirabelle coming down the path. When she spots you, she lets out a little squeak and bolts. You don't react. It doesn’t matter. You can fix it later.

“S-Sif????” Isabeau squeaks. Still trying not to look at you.

“Don’t do that,” you growl, glaring down at him. Loop already told you it was bad, ending a loop like that. People aren’t supposed to carve themselves open just to save a little time. That’s what monsters do.

“I didn’t want to!! I just— You were hurting yourself!!!”

“So you hurt yourself worse?”

“Yeah!! Yeah!! Yes, actually!!”

You lean down to examine his throat, running your fingers up and down over a wound that isn’t there. There’s no scar, not even the faintest hairline seam. (But of course there isn’t. You knew that already. That’s not how it’s ever worked. Why are you being so weird about this?)

Isabeau even has freckles on his neck, where you’d think the sun would never reach. Half in a daze, you find yourself tracing a line from one to the next. Throat to chin, chin to jaw, jaw to the soft skin just behind his ear. It's not until you feel a tremor shudder through him that you realize what you're doing.

Oh. “Sorry.”

You sit back on your haunches, pulling your hands away from his neck, and then realize that you’re still sitting on him.

“Sorry,” you say again, twisting off of him and reaching down to pull him to his feet.

“D-Don’t worry about it???”

Before he can get too comfortable, you yank him down by the collar and slam your forehead against his. It’s more of a headbutt than a friendly bump.

“Don’t do that again,” you growl, digging your fingers into the back of his neck. “There’s no point if I can’t protect you.”

Not even an eyelash away, Isa’s eyes startle wide. Somehow you can feel him holding his breath.

(You could kiss him. You think he might let you this time, what with the adrenaline, and all the dying. You flick a glance at his mouth and listen to his breath hitch.)

…You let him go.

Isabeau lets out a breath like someone stepping on an accordion. More wheeze than air.

You tilt your head, innocent. “Isa?”

“Fine!!!” he shouts. "T-Totally super fine!! I just—um—w-will you just, um, give me a second?”

You shrug agreeably. You’ve got nothing but time.

Isa turns away and covers his face with his hands. He takes a deep breath, in and out, and then shakes himself off. “Um. I’m… sorry?”

“Okay.” He should be. He died in front of you. Weeping, gasping, choking on his own blood. You had a plan. He promised to cooperate.

“A-And it’s—I mean, it’s not like I don’t get it, it’s just that it’s… literally the same thing you’ve been doing this whole time, so I don’t see why…”

You narrow your eyes. “Do you want me to start doing it again?”

“No!!” he gasps. “Change, no, obviously not! It was just… You were hurting yourself!!!”

You’re aware of that, yes.

Isabeau heaves a sigh. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Sif, I swear I’m not trying to tell you what to do here, it’s just… You’ve already had to hurt so much. Doesn’t it make sense to share it around a little?”

“No.”

“But you—”

“No!!” He doesn’t understand. You’re here because this is where the Universe wants you. But Isa… There’s no reason for him to be here. He should never have got wrapped up in this in the first place. “I won’t— I just. Don’t… want you to do that.”

“Aw, Sif,” he says unhappily. Insult to injury. He died for you and now he’s sorry for you. “I’m sorry, okay? I honestly really get it. But I’m not just… I can’t just stand there and let you hurt yourself.”

“I can’t stand there and let you kill yourself!!”

“Yeah, totally. I mean, same.”

But that’s a false equivalence. Dying isn’t dying, for you. You’re not even sure that you can die anymore. But Isa…

You shake yourself off. “I need to talk to Loop.”

“O-Oh? Can I come, or—”

“No.”

“Aw, what!! Really??”

“Really.”

“Okayyyy,” Isabeau sighs. “I, um. I trust you.”

Does he, though? After everything he’s seen? Well. That’s his mistake. Pretty soon he’ll know better.

“See you later,” you mutter, and disappear into the trees.

* * *

You don’t want to talk to Mirabelle. You don’t know what your face looks like right now, but you know it’s not pretty. So you take the long way around, wending through the trees and scattered bramble till you reach the Favor Tree.

Loop doesn’t look surprised to find you slouching up from the wrong side of their tree. Maybe they heard you coming. Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“Remembered that I exist, did you?” they ask lightly, swinging down from the canopy to land neatly in the grass. “Or did you get bored of bullying your Fighter? You know, it’s bad manners to play with your food.”

You frown. Loop is erratic at the best of times, but they’ve been in an especially foul mood lately. Maybe they’re mad at you for dragging an innocent bystander into your mess? But you don’t even know how you did it. (If you did it.)

…Could they be jealous? You haven’t come calling in at least two loops, even though you took the time to come back to Dormont. So… maybe they’re feeling neglected?

“Don’t get carried away, now,” Loop says sourly. “I can see what you’re thinking. You’re embarrassingly obvious. And I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly fine on my own! It’s not like I spend all day waiting around for you to pepper me with silly little questions.”

You’re pretty sure that that’s exactly what it’s like. But they probably don’t want to hear it.

“Um,” you say instead. “I have a silly little question.”

That earns you a giggle, brief but unusually honest. “Well! By all means, then! I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“You’re not.”

Loop lounges back onto their usual perch and then shuffles forward a few inches, obliging.

Now it’s your turn to snicker. “It’s just—um. Look. What did you tell him?”

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

You don’t grace that with an answer. You just glare at them and wait.

“Teehee! Oh, alright. If you must know, I… didn’t tell him anything, really. Not that I didn’t try,” they mutter. “He wouldn’t listen. Covered his ears like a toddler and insisted that he’d leave it up to you.”

You feel very, very warm.

Loop glances at your face and then looks away coldly. “Ugh. Did you need to talk about something that actually matters? Or did you just want to dish about your ridiculous little crush?”

The warmth fades. You frown at them. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“Hah!!!!” Loop squawks, and then claps both hands over their not-a-mouth. Disbelief flashes across their face, blink-quick, before clearing the way for their usual sideways smile. “Ahem. What I meant to say is: Whatever do you mean? I don’t hate anyone! My virtuous spirit simply couldn't bear it!”

You snort.

“Besides,” Loop yawns. “Who cares about some great oaf of a Fighter? My heart beats only for you! The sweetest, cutest, specialest little stardust in the whole wide world!! And you’ve been neglecting me, stardust!” They fling their wrist across their brow, a picture of theatrical melancholy. “Leaving me all on my lonesome while you prance around playing house with your new toys!”

“He’s not—” But that’s pointless. “You really didn’t tell him anything?”

“Really really. I super duper promise.”

“Huh,” you mumble. “Well. Um. Good.”

* * *

When Isabeau stumbles back up the path into town, he walks straight into an ambush. Mira is lying in wait just around the corner.

“Isabeau!!!” she hisses, flinging herself into his path. “What!! Was that!!!?”

“What was what?”

“Isabeau!!!!”

In spite of everything, he can’t help grinning. “Hehe. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Isabeau!!!!!!”

“Pfff—ahaha! Aw, sorry, Mira. You’re just so cute when you’re on the case.”

“Not as cute as you’re about to be,” she threatens.

“Hah!!”

“So? You and Siffrin. Are you… What exactly are you…”

Oh. Isabeau blanches. “I— Nooooonono, I—I dunno what you saw, but it’s not like that! Sif and I were just— We’re just… going through some stuff?”

“Like… fighting the King to save the entire country?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Exactly!”

Mirabelle stands on her toes so she can pat him on the shoulder. “Isabeau. We’re all going through that.”

Oh, yeah. 

“And none of the rest of us are—cradling Siffrin lovingly in our arms!! Or spinning him around in meadows!!!”

“I wouldn’t call it cradling,” Isabeau says dolefully. Like he could ever get that lucky.

“It’s not about the cradling!!! It’s—” She huffs a breath, stamps one foot. “Look! I can tell that there’s something you’re not telling me!! A-And I know we both don’t like it, so just… tell me, and then we can talk about it! ...Or if it’s something you really can’t talk about, I guess just tell me that?”

Isabeau hesitates. Mira is probably his best friend in the world. She’s the one who grabbed him by the shoulders—both metaphorically and literally speaking—and forced him to see that he wasn’t living in accordance with his values. And, perhaps more fundamentally, Mira is like him. Chosen One or no, she never would have chosen this. She just rose to the occasion.

…Aw, man. Isabeau really wants to tell her everything. But he only just made up with Sif, and he’s not sure he can survive upsetting them again. There’s only so much his heart can take.

“Okayyyy,” he sighs, hiding his face in his hands. “Okay, okay, I—yeah. You got me. I…” Ah, crab it. He goes for broke. “…I confessed to Sif.”

“Confessed what?” Mira asks, puzzled. Then her eyes go wide. “Confessed your— Your romantic feelings???”

Uhh. What? What did she think they were talking about? “I? Um? Yyyyyyes?”

Mirabelle screams.

“Oh Change!” Isa chortles, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Mira!! What!!!!!”

“You and Siffrin???” She flings her arms around his neck and kicks her feet up off the ground. “Oh, Change, now that you say it, I can see it!! I can definitely see it!! A noble Defender goes on a quest and meets a mysterious stranger… They bond over their shared love of terrible jokes…”

Isa has never been able to resist getting in on a bit. “And at the journey’s end, he finally puts it all on the line…”

“He declares his love!!!” Mira gasps.

“He knows that his feelings might not be returned, but he can’t bear to stay silent any longer!”

“But the stranger has come to know him! To admire him! To cherish the strength of his heart!”

Isabeau giggles. “Well, I dunno about that…”

“Well, I do!!” she says fiercely. “Ohh, Isabeau, I’m so glad for you! But why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Aw, I mean… It wasn’t really important…”

“It’s important to you! Which makes it important to me!! Ohh, how wonderful to have something else to think about… Oh, Isabeau, Isabeau! We should celebrate!!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no, please! I’ll prepare everything! You just leave everything to me!”

“I—I don’t wanna, um, take up too much of your time on the last day before—”

“Isabeau!!” Mira says firmly.

“…Mira?”

“I love you very much! Both of you! I’m so happy for you I could burst! And I could use an excuse to look away from my problems! So!! Please let me plan this party!!!”

He can’t help grinning at her. “Hehe. Well, I mean… If you really insist…”

“And I do!!!”

Yeah, he was never gonna say no to Mira. “Well. I guess I’ve never turned down an excuse to party.”

“Yes!!!” she says giddily, beaming. “Yes!! Then let’s… let’s have a picnic! And a sleepover! And pillow-talk until we fall asleep! How does that sound?”

Isa catches hold of both her hands and squeezes. “It sounds perfect.”

* * *

“Siffrin,” Isabeau hisses, when he spots them outside of the general store.

Sif whips around, one hand flitting to the fold in their cloak where they keep their dagger.

“Don’tstabme I’m just here to talk!!”

“I wasn’t going to stab you,” Sif says mildly, which is actually a lot more concerning. “Do you think I just stab people?”

“Nnnno?”

Sif rolls his eye. “What’s up, Isa.”

“Um!!!” Isabeau squeaks. “H-Haha, I, uh… Look, I bumped into Mira on my way into town and she could tell that something was off, but she—got the wrong idea, I guess; and I know you don’t want the others knowing about the loops, so I—I couldn’t just correct her, so she… I guess she…” He squeezes his eyes shut, blushing furiously. “I guess she… th-thinks I confessed.”

Siffrin’s forehead furrows. “Confessed what?”

What, them too? Is the whole party just totally romantically oblivious? “My. My, uhhh… She thinks we’re dating, is what I’m saying.”

Sif goes very quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. Isa sort of wishes that he could knock the hat off their head and get a look at what kind of a face they’re making. But that’s probably not a very good idea.

After a brief eternity, Sif says, “Oh.”

Isabeau flushes even darker. “She—um. I figure she maybe saw us, this morning.” After you body-tackled me. Pressed me back against the grass and ran your hands over my neck. “Um. In the field.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sif mumbles. “Huh.”

“B-But we can fix it, right?” Isa asks hopefully. “We can just loop back to before she saw us, and—“

“No.”

“…No?”

Sif shakes their head. “This is good. Or, I mean. Useful. If they catch us whispering about the loops, we can just say we were…” He trails off, frowning. “What’s the Vaugardian word?”

Kissing. Holding hands. Holding each other so, so close. Nudging the hat back from their face and brushing the hair out of their eyes and leaning in to—

“Flirting,” Sif says decisively. “We can say we were flirting.”

Isabeau sputters a laugh. “No offense, Sif, but I can’t really picture it.”

“I could flirt,” Sif says, defensive.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I-I’m cute.”

“Unquestionably, yeah.”

“And I’m. I… tell jokes?”

“Pffft!! Aw, Sif. I’m not sure it counts as flirting if you’re just acting how you always do.”

“Good point,” Sif says, frowning. “I’ll have to change how I act, or it won’t be believable.”

Oh, Change. If Sif starts to get all cuddly, Isabeau isn’t sure his heart can take it. “Um!! Would you— Or, I mean… Wh-What did you have in mind?”

Sif takes a second to chew that over. They’re still chewing it over when Madame Odile saunters out of the general store and quirks an eyebrow at Isabeau. “So you finally did it, did you?”

“M’dame!!! H-How did you know???”

“I heard the screams,” she says coolly. “As did half of Dormont, I expect. I take it congratulations are in order?”

Sif only hesitates for a moment before they reach out and grab Isa’s hand. “Yes.”

“Goodness,” Odile says drily, with just a glimmer of amusement. “You two are certainly moving fast. Hand-holding already! What’s next? Maybe some light eye contact?”

“M’dame!!!!” Isa wails. “This is bullying!!!”

“It is absolutely not.”

“You’re bullying me!!!”

“I am absolutely not.”

“You are!!!”

“Well,” M'dame Odile snorts. “Regardless, I’m—”

But that’s when Mira whips around the corner like a living, beaming cannonball.

“Oh!! Oh, oh, good!! I was looking for you all; I wanted to invite you to—” When she notices that Sif is (still!!!) holding Isa’s hand, her eyes go round with wonder. “Ohh! Ohh, you’re— Ohhh, I’m just so happy!” She whips around to wallop Madame Odile with a starry-eyed stare. “Madame!!! Did you know that Isabeau had romantic feelings for Siffrin???”

(“Can we please just call it a crush?” Isa asks pitifully, and is unanimously ignored.)

“That sounds like something of an understatement,” Odile snickers. “And yes, of course I knew. Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

“W-Well! Not until this morning! When I caught them cuddling in the field!!”

“Hardly cuddling!!!” Isabeau protests.

“Canoodling!!”

“That’s worse???“

“Carousing!!!“

“Maybe a light carouse,” Sif puts in.

Isa turns to them with betrayal in his eyes. “Et tu, Sif???”

Siffrin shrugs. “I call it as I see it.”

* * *

At dinner, Bonbon eyes them both with undisguised disgust. “So you guys are… what. Boyfriends or something?”

“Something like that,” Sif tells them, while Isa hides his face.

“Ewww!” Bonnie giggles. “So you’re gonna like, kiss and stuff?”

Isabeau chokes. “B-Bonbon!! I literally just asked them out, like! An hour ago!”

“So are you?”

“Maybe,” Sif says coolly.

“S-Sif???” Isa squeaks.

Sif reconsiders. “…Probably.”

“Gross!!!” they cackle. “You’re gonna kiss Za??”

(“Hey,” Isabeau says feebly.)

“Yeah,” Sif decides, nodding.

“Why???”

Sif turns to give Isa a searing once-over. “Well. He’s very strong. And fun to talk to. And I like how big he is. And—um. Warm.”

“Siiif,” Isa wails, hiding his face in his hands. “Stop teasing me!!!”

“Why? It’s true.”

“Ohhh,” Mira sighs mistily. “It’s just like in my stories!!!”

Isa doesn’t have the heart to correct her.

* * *

Even after everything, they still go to sleep in the same bed.

Isabeau looks at Sif’s hand, half-curled on the pillow between them, and remembers pressing his lips to their palm. He looks at the blood pulsing through their neck and remembers Sif choking, gasping, bleeding. He looks at their face and remembers them pinning him down in the grass. Leaning over him. Running their hands over his throat.

Change. They’re so beautiful and so close and everyone snoring in every other bed believes in a world where Sif could love him, too. Of course Isa knows that it’s only a strategy. A strategy, a story, a lie. He just—he wants it to be real so much.

Yeesh. That’s… kinda gross of him, isn’t it? Textbook ulterior motive.

“Sif,” he whispers, before he can lose his nerve.

Siffrin twitches.

“Sif. Siffarooni. Siffrin.”

Grudgingly, Sif cracks one eyelid.

“I’m really sorry,” Isabeau whispers.

“...Why?”

“I know it’s… I mean… I’m sure it’s… uncomfortable, having to—to pretend to…” Oh, Change, he still can’t say it. “Just… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sif whispers. Then he hesitates, frowning. “Or, I mean. I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be,” Isa says helplessly. He reaches for Sif’s hand on instinct and only barely stops himself. “I don’t mind.”

“I—um.” Isabeau nearly falls off the bed when Sif’s hand twitches toward his, just the barest brush of skin. Sif’s fingertips are roughly calloused, strangely cool to the touch. Isa can smell silver and something sweet, like caramel on his tongue. “I… don’t mind either. It’s—um. I think it’ll be. Useful.”

Oh, Change. It’s so unfair. It hurts so much more than dying. “Hehe. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now go to—”

Before he can get another word out, a pillow comes whipping toward them. This time, it’s Isa’s turn to catch it.

“Stop. Flirting,” M’dame Odile hisses. “Or I swear on all the Expressions, I will stop you.”

(“We’re-going-to-bed-goodnight!!!!!”)

Chapter Text

Isabeau wakes up to find Sif’s much smaller, much cuter little raccoon paw resting in his palm.

Siffrin is still asleep. His face is half-hidden by his hair, a fluffy little squirrel’s-nest of silver-white. They’re so small and so soft and their hand is nestled into his.

(Isabeau tries not to cry. He wants this so bad it hurts.)

He’s not no one to Sif. He saw that yesterday. After the way he ended the last loop, Sif was furious. So, at the very least, they don’t want to watch him die.

…That’s a pretty low bar, isn’t it.

Just for a second, Isabeau lets himself pretend that it’s real. That Sif might want to close the space even half as desperately as he does. That Sif could ever love him like he loves them.

If Sif loved him like he loved them, Isabeau could wake them slowly, gently, by pulling them even closer. By pressing his lips to Sif’s forehead and breathing into the crown of their head. He could card his fingers through their hair and run his nails down the nape of their neck. He could hook a knee around them and—

Still half-asleep, Siffrin lets out a creaky little groan.

Isabeau jerks his hand back. “M-Morning, Sif!”

“Mmh?” Sif mumbles.

“It’s, um. It’s… time to go, I think.”

Sif rubs his eyes, blinking blearily. “Oh. Sorry. Be up in a sec.”

Isabeau’s heart aches. “No hurry!!”

“There is some hurry, actually,” Madame Odile says coolly. Isa nearly falls off the bed. “Nothing very important. Just the fate of an entire country.”

“But M’dame!! Look how cute he looks!!!”

“That’s hardly relevant,” she sniffs. “We still have a King to defeat.”

* * *

You’ve scaled the House a million times before, but it never felt quite like this.

You’re having fun, you think. It’s been a while, so you don’t really have any point of reference. But you think you’re probably having fun.

You know it’s wrong. You should be focused on breaking the loop. And it’s… manipulative. Cruel. But even so. No one has touched you for years and years and no one ever will, unless you force their hand.

(…Disgusting.)

So it’s… exciting, a little, to grab Isa’s hand and watch him flush all the way down his neck. Watching him steal glances and blush even darker when he catches you already looking. It’s cute. He’s cute. You knew that already. But it’s… relaxing, sort of, not having to pretend like you didn’t.

On impulse, you squeeze Isa’s hand. He jumps.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” you whisper, while your eyes scream, touch me, touch me, touch me. Hold my hands. Pet my head. Wrap your arms around me. I’m so cold inside, cold and dead and rotting, so please, won’t you please warm me up? “I’m not going to loop on accident.”

“I-I know! I just… I don’t want to take advantage…”

That sobers you up right quick. You were all too eager to take advantage of the situation. Because you’re the sort of narcissist who only ever thinks about yourself.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and drop his hand.

Still, you have a role to play. The next time your family stops for a snack break, you slide in next to Isabeau, yawning, before flopping sideways to rest your head on his shoulder.

“S-Sif?” You can feel his muscles tense under your touch.

You shove your cheek against his arm. “Sleepy.”

“Hehe… There’s, um… If you wanted to take a little catnap, I could find you something to lay down on?”

Without opening your eyes, you wrinkle your nose at him. “Comfy.”

Across the saferoom, Mirabelle clasps her hands under her chin and sighs dreamily. “Just like a real kitty!!”

Slowly, tentative, Isabeau shifts his weight so he can wrap his arm around you and oh, that’s even better. He’s so warm. If he always held you like this, you think you might never feel cold again.

Isabeau is probably never going to touch you again after this, so you might as well make the most of it. You nestle into the crook of his arm and go to sleep.

* * *

As you make your way up the steps to the second floor, you nudge Isa with your elbow.

“You have to at least pretend to like me,” you whisper. “Or else they’ll get suspicious.”

A complicated series of emotions flickers across Isabeau’s face, too fast to parse. “H…Haha, um… Was I not…?”

No, he decidedly was not.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to touch me,” you tell him. If you were lucky enough to be someone else, you wouldn’t touch you for a million silver.

“No!!” he gasps. “I-It’s not like that!!! I’m just, um. I’m… not used to it.”

Of course not. You’re well aware that you’re not something that anyone wants to touch. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

Isn’t it obvious? You’re forcing his hand. Making him pretend like he still wants you. You saw that he didn’t want to touch you and you took it as a challenge. Yanked on his strings to puppeteer him into giving you what you want.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” you mutter. “Just… don’t not-do something because you think I’d mind. Because I don’t.”

“But—”

“Siffrin!” Madame Odile calls. “There’s a locked door! Can you do your job, please?”

“Of course!” you tell her cheerfully, and wink. “I’ll key what I can do.”

* * *

One of the books in the secret library seems to catch Siffrin’s eye. Actually, Isabeau’s read this one before. It’s a pretty basic overview on fringe applications of Craftology. But a few of the chapters near the end get a little more… theoretical.

Isabeau watches Siffrin listen, frowning, as Mirabelle flips through it. The indices list Protector Craft, Creator Craft, Piercing Craft, even Time Craft. And at the very end of the glossary, something called… Wish Craft?

“There’s supposed to be a lot of different rituals,” Mira explains. “Like, here, there’s a whole section on rhythm and number sequences… Oh, this bit is about, um, ‘focal points’? Wishing wells, falling stars… oh!! Favor Trees??”

Bonnie springs to their feet. “The Favor Tree can grant wishes???”

“That’s what it says here!” Mirabelle looks suddenly concerned. “Oh, now I’m worried that my wish wasn’t good enough…”

Isa hooks an arm around her shoulders. “Same here! Kinda wish I’d clapped my hands and wished for something a little more useful!”

“Clapped?” Sif echoes.

The whole party turns to stare. Siffrin is fidgeting with their gloves, frowning a little.

“Um... yes?” Isa asks, more than says. “Is that not how you do it? You clap your hands and say what you want to happen, right?”

Bonnie nods vigorously.

Mira nods, too. “That’s what I was taught!”

“It’s the same in Ka Bue,” M’dame Odile agrees. She frowns at Sif. “Is it different where you’re from?”

"Um. Well… yes? Of course? If you just clap and say stuff, how would the wish know where to go?”

Madame Odile’s stare sharpens into a glare. “How would you go about it?”

“Oh,” Siffrin mumbles. “Um. For a Favor Tree? It’s… just what makes sense, right? You make your wish, and breathe it into the leaf you like best, and fold the leaf over to keep your wish safe.”

Bonnie gawks at him. “Huh???”

“It’s—” Sif takes a breath. “You choose a leaf, to represent yourself. You breathe your wish into it, to… make a link between you and whatever you're wishing to. You repeat your wish three times…”

“Three?” Mira asks, surprised.

“It could be six,” Sif shrugs. “Or seven, or thirteen.”

Now everyone is staring. Sif looks panicked by the scrutiny. He never liked being the center of attention.

(If Sif loved him back, Isabeau could reach for them. He’d plant a grounding palm on their shoulder, or the small of their back. But he can’t make them feel cornered. He won’t.)

Sif chews their lip, hesitant. “…How else would the wish know where to go?”

How, indeed? Isabeau frowns at his feet. He’ll have to think about this.

“Sif,” Isa whispers, when the rest of the party is too busy looking for useful books to notice. “Psst. Hey, Sif.”

His heart almost stops when Sif stretches onto their toes and presses him back against a shelf, twisting both hands into the collar of his shirt.

“S-Sif???”

“Odile was watching,” Sif whispers. “This way we can both hide behind my hat and she’ll just think we’re, I don’t know. Kissing.”

Isabeau chokes. “Um??? Doesn’t that seem??? A little fast?????”

“They’ll think it’s the mortal peril,” Sif says boredly. “The King killed us a lot, in the beginning. And the others don’t know any better. They probably think we’re still scared of dying.”

Okay, for the record, Isabeau is definitely still scared of dying. But he’s even more afraid to look Sif in the eye when they’re this close. He can’t be sure that he’s not about to ruin everything by doing something insane, like—for instance—just as a totally random example—actually kissing them.

It takes him a second to realize that Sif just said something. “S-Sorry, say that again?”

“I said, what do you want?”

Haha... He wouldn't even know where to start. “I, uh… Oh, yeah! That whole wish ritual thing!! What was that about??”

Sif shrugs.

“Aw, come on, Sif! I’m done being all pushy, but that only works if you talk to me! Ideally before everything’s already on fire!!”

“I don’t know a ritual for fire,” Siffrin mumbles. Then he hesitates. “No. Sorry, no, I definitely do. But I didn’t know that I knew.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as kinda suspicious???”

Sif gives him a dark look. “If everything I forgot was suspicious, we’d be totally blinded.”

“Isabeau!” Mirabelle calls, startling them both. “Siffrin! Are you ready to move on?”

“S-Sorry!!” Isabeau squeaks.

“Sorry,” Sif agrees. “We were. Um. Flirting. Can you blame me?” they add, winking. “He's... a-cute-ly charming.”

Isa covers his face with his hands.

“No good? Okay, okay, uh.. Say, Mira. You’re a Housemaiden of Change, right? Well, how’s-may-I change your mind on this?”

Isabeau chokes on a laugh.

Mira sputters, too. “Oh, Siffrin. Siffrin. I’m so sorry, but that was awful. Really really terrible. But I’m willing to give you another chance. To redeem yourself.”

“Okay, hold on, I’ve got this. Um… We may be the saviors of Vaugarde, but I forgot to Vau-guard my heart against—”

“Sif!!!!” Isa wails. “You’re embarrassing me!!!!!”

Siffrin smiles like a fox. “Don’t worry, Mira. We’ll be right there.”

With one last, uncertain glance over her shoulder, Mira hurries off to help Bonnie pack up.

“Aw, crab,” Isabeau sighs. “She totally knows something’s up.”

“Huh? How do you mean?”

“…Are you serious?”

“Almost never. But—yes.”

Isa flaps his arms a little. “She totally gave us a look!!”

“You think she’s onto us because she looked at us?” Sif asks doubtfully.

Wow, is Sif actually really bad at reading people? “A look! A look! It’s different!!”

Siffrin squints at him. “Is this one of those Vaugardian things? Where different words sound the same as—”

“N-No, no! It’s a subset! A more specific class of look!!!”

“Vaugarde is so weird,” Sif mumbles.

“Uh huh, sure. You know you love us.”

He’s surprised to see Sif’s ears darken. “H-Haha, I…”

“Oh, for Gems’ sake!!” Odile snaps. “You two! Lovebirds! Are you coming or not?”

Isabeau blanches. “C-Coming!!!!”

* * *

You’re hiding in the bathroom, waiting until you’re certain you won’t cry, when you hear a familiar voice. Two familiar voices.

“I don’t buy it,” Bonnie says flatly.

“Aw, Bonbon,” Isa snorts. “Buy what?”

“That you asked out Frin.”

(OH, CRAB.)

Outside, Isa isn’t faring much better. “I—uh—huh????”

“You’re being weird,” Bonnie accuses. “Not stupid-gooey-feelings weird. Weird-weird. And you keep looking at him all mopey, same as always.”

“Wh-What about Sif? Are they not being weird?”

You shake your head at the bathroom door. Betrayal always comes from the ones you’d least suspect.

“Frin’s always weird,” Bonnie says dismissively. “That’s nothing. Anyway, with Frin there’s no point asking.”

Haha… ouch.

“Aw, hey, c’mon!” Isa laughs. “That’s not fair! They’re just, um, mysterious!”

“No, Boniface is right,” another voice cuts in. Madame Odile. Blunt as a bone-club and no more forgiving. “I wasn’t certain yesterday, but now… frankly, I don’t believe for a second that you confessed to Siffrin.”

“M-M’dame!!!”

Odile doesn’t give an inch. “Look at yourself. Two days ago, you’d’ve been doing cartwheels if Siffrin so much as looked your way. So why do you still look like someone just poured a bucket of water over you?”

“We’re fighting for our lives!!!”

“Yes,” she agrees. “So why lie about something like this?”

Isabeau is floundering. He’s clearly in over his head. It’s time to tag him out.

When you swing open the bathroom door, the hallway goes dead quiet. You look from one face to the next and grin. “What, were you talking about me?”

…More silence.

You put on a mask of self-conscious concern. “Wait, were you actually talking about me?”

Madame Odile looks down the hallway and sighs. “Let’s resume this conversation somewhere a little more secure.”

* * *

You’d hoped that, by the time the party made it to the next saferoom, Madame Odile would’ve forgotten about this particular line of questioning. But you’re out of luck. The moment you step through the door to the third-story saferoom, she rounds on you and Isa. “So? What are you hiding?”

Isabeau looks away. “...I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.” Odile snorts, rolling her eyes. “But fine. I’ll play along. The premise is that Siffrin’s returned your feelings, is it not?”

“M-M’dame!! Doesn’t that seem a little personal??”

“No, no,” Mira puts in. “H-Hear her out!!!”

“Ohh, I— Fine!! Yeah!! Yes!! Is that so hard to believe???”

Odile laughs darkly. “Then I suppose the two of you will have no qualms with, mmh… for example… direct declarations of sentiment?”

“Huh?”

“Siffrin!” Odile says sharply, and you jolt to attention. “Let’s hear it from you, shall we? How do you feel about our dear Isabeau? Do you love him?”

Isabeau flinches. “M’dame!!! Please!!! That’s—” He darts a glance at you. “Sif, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“N-No, it’s okay. I can do it.” You take a long, slow breath. “I… love him. I love him.” You’ve told a lot of lies these past hundred-some loops, but this isn’t one of them. It’s one of the last true things you know. “Of course I love him.”

A strangled breath hisses through Isa’s teeth. When you dart a glance at him, you find his hands clenched, his face pale and blotchy. He looks like he’s been stabbed. Guilt squirms in your stomach. He must be mortified. Revolted.

(Was it fun, toying with him? Playing house? Dragging him into your little blood-hungry game of pretend? Did you get what you wanted?)

It takes you a second to notice the look on Odile’s face. She’s frowning at Isabeau, looking no less suspicious.

Stay in character. “Madame?”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Now say it to Isabeau.”

Ah. Well. That’s… Um. That feels a little different.

Isabeau steps protectively between you. “They don’t have to do that. Come on, Sif, you know you don’t have to do that.”

“N-No, it’s…” You peer at him through your lashes. Even in a defensive stance, leveling a murderous glare at Odile, Isabeau is unfairly beautiful. His cheeks are flushed, ruddy with humiliation. But he isn’t trying to hide. Even after everything, he still wants to protect you. That kind of loyalty… It's ridiculous. Masochistic. Just looking at him hurts.

But you’re an actor. Aren’t you? A professional. Someone has to hold this script together. The show must go on!!!!

“Isa,” you whisper. You really are a professional. Your voice barely even shakes. “I… um. Isa. I-Isa, I… I—”

Odile holds out one hand. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“Huh?????” Isabeau gasps. “But that— That doesn’t prove anything!!!!!!!”

“Of course it does,” she says coolly. “You couldn’t pry that sort of vulnerability out of Siffrin with a crowbar. If it was true, they wouldn’t put on a display like that for a million silver.”

…Oh.

“That’s cheating, Madame,” Mirabelle says loyally.

“Yes. And they’re lying. Which begs the question… Why?”

Isabeau’s eyes widen. “We— W-We, um—!!!!”

The words die on his tongue when you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Thank you. Sorry.” Then you turn to Odile. “Um. I know you won’t, um— You might not like it, but. The things I’m not saying… It’s for you, too. So just… If you can just wait till we’ve done what we came here to do…”

“That’s right!!” Isabeau says desperately. “You just have to trust us for a little while longer, and then we’ll tell you everything! Just as soon as we’ve beat the King!”

You barely stop yourself rolling your eyes. The old ‘after we beat the King’ gambit, eh? Gets them every time.

—With the apparent exception of Odile, who crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Don’t be absurd. Why in the world would we accept that?”

...Wow. What a great question.

“M’dame!!! I’m asking you to trust me!!!”

“Immediately after getting caught in a lie.”

Isa shoots you a pleading look that probably doesn’t translate to ‘quick, Siffrin, loop back with your dagger so we can all escape this terrible conversation.’ But he hasn’t actually said anything yet, so you do still have plausible deniability.

Your hand twitches toward your dagger—

—and Isabeau knocks it out of your hands.

“Hey!!”

“Case in point,” Odile says, gesturing toward your knife. “Why would you do that? In what world is this not directly relevant to a high-stakes fight for our lives?”

“Siiiif,” Isa whines. “Help me out a little?”

Ugh. Fiiiine. “Okay, um.” You’re in uncharted waters. None of this is in the script. You have no choice but to improvise. “Um… okay. If you must know... Isa and I broke up.”

(“Noooo,” Mirabelle whispers.)

Odile’s eyebrows shoot up. “Between last night and now?”

“Um. Yes. On the… the second floor. Mira caught us talking about it,” you add, in a flash of inspiration. “But we didn’t want to upset anyone before fighting the King, so. We kept it secret.” Hah! Who needs a script? You’re great at this improv thing.

“Very funny. But the truth, please, Siffrin.” 


Ah, crab. That was pretty much all you had. “Um. Um… After everything we learned in the library, we had to ‘close the book’ on—“

“Siffrin.”

Wow. Tough crowd.

“Sif,” Isa says pitifully. “Please? Just this once? Just for this one time, can we at least try talking about it?”

You glare at him. “Give me back my dagger.”

“Come on, Sif!! Just once!!”

“Fine,” you hiss. You don’t need it. This way is faster anyway.

Quicker than anyone can react, you twist out of reach, hurtle through the doorway, and fling yourself into the nearest Tear.

* * *

You open your eyes fifteen feet and ten minutes ago.

This time, when Odile starts her interrogation, you stick out your tongue and accuse her of being a sadist. “Look at poor Isa. Are you trying to kill him?”

“Well,” she snorts. “I suppose it would be a bit inconvenient, trying to fight the King as a party of three.”

“‘Scuse me!!” Bonnie shouts.

“Ah. Forgive me, Boniface. I suppose you’d take up Isabeau’s mantle.”

“Hey!!! I’m not carrying Za’s stuff!!!”

You can feel Isa’s eyes on you. You look away.

* * *

You keep moving.

* * *

When the party finally reaches the King’s sanctum, Siffrin surprises everyone by sheathing his blade.

“Let’s stop fighting.”

The whole scene feels like Time Craft. Like it’s sped up the whole time Sif is questioning the King—too fast to step in; too fast to keep up—and then slows to a crawl.

One massive hand reaches out. Like a living fortress, a force of nature. Something… inevitable.

It closes around Bonbon.

They’re just a kid. They’re a kid and already the best chef in Vaugarde. They’re noisy and they’re messy and they’re so much kinder than they want you to think. They’re brash and they’re thoughtless and sometimes they say something so true, so terrifyingly insightful that it knocks you clear off your feet and it’s Bonbon, it’s Bonnie. They're funny and brave and whip-sharp and they’re sobbing and they're screaming and Isabeau can’t move, why can’t he MOVE—

[  s o m e t h i n g   t u g s   a t   h i s   s t o m a c h  ]

—and he wakes up in a field.

Chapter Text

Isa gets to Bonnie just a few minutes after you do.

You’d expected him to be noisier than you. Messier. It’s Isa, after all. He’s not an actor or a liar. But he watches you stammer excuses at (a very disoriented) Bonnie without saying a word. His face is pale, his eyes bloodshot. He must have cried the whole way here. But now that he’s here, he’s gone utterly silent.

“Sif,” he says hoarsely, when you’re finally strong enough to walk away.

You look at him.

“We can’t keep this a secret anymore.”

“But—”

“Sif,” he says again. He’s pale as a corpse, but there's no hesitation in his voice. “If we couldn’t stop that, then we—we can’t be responsible for this. Not alone. Not if there’s any chance we could do better by telling the others.”

“But they’ll—”

Isa shakes his head. “I-I’m sorry, Sif, but I’m not asking.”

Huh. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen Isa put his foot down like this. It’s… disconcerting.

“Okay,” you mumble. Okay, okay, okay, this is—yeah. Yeah. Yes. You can definitely see where he’s coming from. If you can’t even protect Bonnie, then what are you good for? “Okay, I—”

You hesitate. You know it’s what you deserve, but… you don’t want them to hate you. “You really want to tell them everything?”

“I mean, yeah? Yes.”

Like it’s that simple.

For Isabeau, it probably is. He just got here. He’s not the one who’s been lying to his famil— to his allies for months and months and months of the same miserable day. Taking their trust and forging it into a blade to swing at them.

You clear your throat. “How?”

“We don’t really need a game-plan, do we? Surely we can just… talk? To our friends? Like normal people?”

Ha ha. Of course. Like normal people.

Isabeau’s head tilts. “How would you go about it?”

Well. You already know how you’d go about it, because it literally just happened, like, three loops ago. You’d just foist it off on Loop.

“Ohhh,” Isa realizes. “You’d make Loop do it.”

“...Maybe I wouldn’t.”

“You’re right, though,” he says seriously. “They’re part of this too.”

Ah. Well. The only problem with that is, if you show up at Loop’s tree with your entire party in tow, you’re pretty sure that they might actually kill you. To get out of the conversation, if not just to be petty. “Um. I think I maybe have to warn them first.”

“Okay! Yeah, that makes sense! So you’ll go warn Loop, and I’ll talk to the others.”

Hm. That doesn’t sound so bad. It gets you out of talking to the others. And there’s no one easier to talk to than Loop. “…Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod.

“Okay!!!” Isa musters the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then I’ll— Or, I guess, we’ll see you at the Favor Tree.”

* * *

When you get to their Tree, Loop is nowhere to be found. But you traveled alone for years before you fell in with the best chef cooker in Vaugarde. You know how to track prey.

They didn’t have time to go far. Just a short stretch down the hillside, across a stream and behind a thicket of… blackberries, you think, though it’s hard to tell out of season.

You find Loop sitting on a tree stump, drumming their heels against the trunk.

“There you are.”

You’d expected a reaction. A flicker of surprise, at least. But when Loop looks up, their face is utterly resigned. They hold their stare for just long enough to spike your anxiety before turning away. “Haha. Yes, well. Here I am.”

“Um. We were… Or, I mean.” You scuff your feet in the dirt. “I… wanted to introduce you to my friends?”

“Oh, did you???” Loop asks brightly. “Fascinating!!! Because—and do forgive my ignorance—from where I’m sitting, it looks like you wanted to keep me to yourself until you had an ugly job you didn’t want to deal with.”

Ah. Well. Yes. That is technically also true. “But—”

“No!!!” Their face flares so bright that you can’t even see their glare. Then they let out their breath and the brilliance recedes, leaving you blinking the spots out of your eyes. “No. I don’t care. I’m not here to clean up your messes! I’m not interested and I’m not going, so don’t bother asking.”

You don’t bother asking. You’ll carry them the whole way if you have to. If you’re really going to tell your family about how you’ve been manipulating them this entire time, you are absolutely not going to do it alone.

“No,” they breathe, eyes widening, as you drop into a fighting stance. “No, come on, be reasonable—”

A half-second later, you collide with their chest like something launched out of a trebuchet.

“Excuse me!!!!” Loop sputters, clawing at your arms. “Are you a wild animal?? Did no one ever teach you how to argue like a normal blinding person??”

“You said not to ask.”

They try to twist free but you’ve got them backed against a tree, so there’s nowhere to go.

“We don’t have to fight about this,” you inform them. “Just come with me.” In your honest opinion, they’re being a little ridiculous. It’s not like it’s Loop that everyone’s going to hate. The only villain in this story is you.

You dig your elbow a little deeper into their throat, just to drive the point home.

Loop gives you a saccharine smile. “Aww. Did you really think I had to breathe?”

They hoist themself off the ground with both hands and slam their heels into your chest, knocking you back into the leaf litter. Before you can scramble out of reach, they’re already on you.

“You’re being sooooo~ stupid about this,” they purr. “You think dragging me into your mess will help you? No. No. You’re a joke to me. Your logic is a joke. And, stardust~~? If you bring those puppets here, I swear on all the Stars, I will kill them. Oh, they’ll come back!” they add, with a tinkling little giggle. “But you’ll remember. You’ll know what you did.”

“Why???”

“None of your business!!!”

When they shift their weight to get a better angle, you slip a foot around their ankle and hook your knee around their hip and flip them on their back. Loop takes the time to wink at you before spitting sparks in your eyes, taking advantage of your momentary blindness to slam their elbow into your nose. You hear something crr-rnch. The impact rings in your ears, floods your mouth with copper. When they twist around to gain the advantage, you're too dizzy to stop them.

You’re still tussling blind when you hear your name.

“Sif?” It’s Isa’s voice, muffled by the trees. “Loop? Are you guys there?”

You open your mouth to answer but before you can get a word out, Loop stuffs their whole hand in your mouth. You bite down, hard. Viscous fluid spills down your chin, fizzes on your tongue.

“Ow!!! Are you a rabid dog???”

You bare your teeth at them. “I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult!!”

“Aaaahhhahahahhhha! Of course you don’t!! How could you!?”

“You could tell me!!”

They lean in even closer, slamming their forehead against yours. “Learn to read between the lines!!!”

You try to flip them over but it’s like they know all the same tricks, only better. You’re still scrabbling for purchase when they slide your knife out of its sheath and press the blade to the side of your throat, right where you always make the cut. You take care of your tools. It barely takes any force at all to slice through cartilage and bone.

“Do it,” you taunt. “I'll be back in five minutes.” You could do this for days. Weeks. It’s a nice change of pace. And it’s exhilarating.

“You think I won't?” Tracing your jugular with the point of your blade.

“Then do it.”

Loop presses down harder, till you feel the characteristic sting of breaking skin. Warmth trickles down your neck. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“Would you?”

Loop digs the knife in deeper. “I can think of nothing I’d like more.”

Maybe you shouldn’t understand that, but you do. You don’t like getting killed by the King. You don’t like getting crushed by the rock-trap or carved open by a Sadness, but you don’t think you’d mind getting killed by Loop. Loop knows you. They’d know what it meant. It wouldn’t feel any different than dying by your own hand.

“Loop,” you breathe, as they lean in closer.

“Stardust~~?”

“Are we gonna kiss?”

Loop jerks back like they’ve been burned.

“What is wrong with you???” They give you a revolted glare before flitting to their feet and brushing themself off, still shuddering. “Stars above, you are such a little narcissist!!”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you snort, reaching up to pluck the last few leaves still lodged in the miasma of their surface.

Loop huffs a bitter laugh. “What do you need me for, anyway? They’re not going to trust a—” Their face tightens. “A total stranger. Not everyone’s as stupid as you, teehee!”

“But you’re better at explaining.”

“That’s why?” Loop tries and fails to hold back a startled little giggle. “There’s not even anything to explain!! ‘We’re stuck in a time loop.’ There, I wrote the whole script for you.”

“But you’re…” You don’t know how to say it. What did Isa say, again? “You’re… part of this? You’re here, too.”

Loop turns away. “Haha. Well. I guess I am.”

* * *

When you stagger back to your Tree, you’re both worse for the wear. Your surface is cracked and pockmarked, void-fluid and starlight seeping through the seams. Your stardust, of course, is leaking much more conventional blood. It’s drying in the corners of his mouth, in the creases of his eyes. You can see it dripping from a deep gash in their forehead. (You don’t feel sorry. You don’t.)

The Fighter takes one look and does a ridiculous, cartoonish double-take. “W-Woah!!! What the crab happened to you guys??”

“Just a friendly conversation,” you say sunnily.

To your surprise, your stardust nods. “That’s right.”

You blink at them. You’d half-expected him to turn on you the moment they reached their real family.

Speaking of which…

In the clearing around the Favor Tree, the Housemaiden flits to her feet. “Oh, Siffrin, you’re hurt!!”

Your stardust wipes the blood trickling from their nose and nods at you. “Heal them first.”

“Wowww, stardust,” you drawl. When he glares, you hold up both hands, a picture of innocence. “Oh, no, it was a very moving performance. Ve~ry method. I’m sure they all think you’re suuuuch a good person.”

“Um… Siffrin?” the Housemaiden asks, hesitant. “Who’s your friend?”

“We’ll explain everything,” they say wearily. “Just heal them first, please. They’re giving me a headache. And I’m worried we’re going to get… sunburned? Or something?”

You look down. Sure enough, the light leaking out of the fissures in your surface shines far brighter than the glow of your face. Neat! You didn’t know you could hurt someone just by bleeding at them!

“Aww,” you purr, draping yourself over them so your shredded forearms fill his field of vision. “Are my grievous battle-scars an inconvenience? Are they hurting your widdle eye?”

“Yes.”

“Teehee! Maybe you shouldn’t have made them, then!”

The Fighter’s eyes widen. “Wait, did you guys just—”

“Mira,” your stardust interjects. “Please?”

“O-Oh! Yes! Of course!”

* * *

Isabeau doesn’t know why Sif and Loop look so banged up, and he doesn’t ask. He’s already figured out that Loop is… a sort of a sore spot, for Sif. Saying anything would just rub salt in the wound.

He waits until Mira’s finished healing before clearing his throat. “Okay, so. We, uh. We… have something to tell you.”

Sif turns to him, aghast. “You didn’t already tell them?”

“W-Well!! I’m new to this!! So it didn’t really feel like my place? And, and—and isn’t that what Loop is for?”

“Oh, is that what you thought?” Loop lets out a tinkling little laugh. “Oh, Fighter. That’s adorable. But I’m afraid you were mistaken. I’m here for my stardust. Exclusively. Angry mobs are way above my paygrade.”

“I wouldn’t say that I'm angry,” Mira says uncertainly. “More… confused?”

“I’m vexed, at worst,” M’dame Odile weighs in. “Though I wouldn’t take ‘angry’ off the table.”

“I’m sleepy!!!”

Odile nods soberly. “Thank you, Boniface, that’s good to know.”

“Stars,” Sif mumbles. “Okay. Okay, then, I…” He falters. “…I don’t know how to say it.”

“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Loop asks sweetly.

“...Sort of?”

Loop’s expression sours. “You really are useless on your own, aren’t you?” Then, to the others: “Your precious little trap-finder is caught in a time loop. And they’ve got the rest of you stuck here, too. See?” they say snidely, sneering at Sif. “It’s that easy.”

M’dame Odile blinks. “Caught in a what?"

“A time loop,” Loop says again. “Just the same two days on repeat, over and over and over and over again. Ohh, what is it now?”

Odile lowers her hand. “Is this some sort of… practical joke? It’s elaborate, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, for— No, it’s not a joke!! Do I look amused to you?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure how I would tell.”

Loop huffs impatiently. “Stardust!! Tell her!!”

“They really don’t,” Sif confirms. “When they think something’s funny, they—“

“Are you an idiot?” Loop demands. “The time loop! Tell her about the time loop!! Something you’ve learned tonight, or tomorrow, that you shouldn’t already know!”

“Oh. Um. Well. Madame, you’re looking for a familytale.”

M’dame Odile’s eyes widen.

“And Bonb— Bonnie. Petronille doesn’t let you cook anymore after that time you made a bomb.”

“Huh?? How did you—“

“And Mira. Those papers in your bag are—“

“I!!” Mirabelle squeaks. “I… think that’s enough evidence, now, please!!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Odile shoots her a curious glance before nodding at Loop. “And who’s this, then?”

“Oh. That’s Loop.”

“I’m Loop!”

“I… see,” she says slowly. “And what is Loop’s role in all this?”

“Oh, I’m not part of this!”

“They’re not part of this."

“I’m only here because my darling stardust can’t even tie their own bootlace without me holding their hand, apparently!”

“They’re better at talking,” Sif explains.

“I see,” Odile says again. “The glowing stranger who— I’m sorry, did you say your name was Loop?”

Loop winks. “That’s what they call me!”

“The glowing stranger whose name is Loop is unrelated to the time loop.”

“Just pretend I’m not even here!” Loop says cheerfully. “That’s what my stardust usually does!”

“…I’m afraid I’m going to find that somewhat difficult.”

Sif nods sympathetically. “They are pretty noisy.”

“Are you actually stupid?” Loop demands. “That is obviously not what she meant! Honestly, is this really the best you can do? I think they might actually know less than when they arrived.”

Sif glowers at them. “Well, how would you do it?”

* * *

Loop walks them through it.

* * *

“See?” Loop tells Sif, while the rest of the party stares numbly into space. “Easy.”

Sif wrinkles his nose at them. Loop jabs them in the ribs with one elbow. Then they do it again, harder, until Sif snickers and shoves them away.

Isabeau tries not to stare. Loop gets to touch Sif? Why does Loop get to touch Sif? Sif didn’t even flinch!! Does that mean this happens a lot??

(Cool it, Isabeau. Deep breaths.)

“I think I've covered all the basics,” Loop yawns. “But does anyone have any questions?"

Bonnie raises their hand.

“Yes? Kid?”

“How come you don’t have a mouth?”

That’s clearly not what Loop was expecting. “Oh. Um. I just don’t. Any other questions?”

Bonnie raises their hand.

“Yyyyes?”

“But how do you eat with no mouth?”

“I… don’t?”

Bonnie looks appalled. “You don’t eat???”

“I—well. Well, I—no, I… How would I eat without a mouth?”

“Well, I dunno!!! I thought you could just mush it through your face!!! Or you had a secret mouth, only we can’t see it ‘cause of all the glowing!!!”

Loop reaches up and feels around their face before shrugging regretfully. “Sorry. No secret mouth.”

“But how can you talk with no mouth????”

“Oh. Um. I’m… honestly not sure?”

Madame Odile gives them a sharp look.

Bonnie batters their fists against the grass. “But what about—!!!”

“These are all excellent questions,” Loop cuts in, smooth as imported silk. “I admire your spirit of inquiry, truly. But, ah, perhaps I should have been more specific. Does anyone have any questions about the time loop?”

“Hold on,” M’dame Odile says, holding out one hand. “I’m nearly finished.”

Everyone waits quietly while Odile scrawls a few more notes and then closes her notebook with a snap. “Alright. Let’s look at this logically, shall we? If, for the purpose of argument, we accept the premise that we’re actually traveling through time—“

“And we really super are,” Isa puts in.

“—then, as I see it, we’re left with two key questions. First: how could we possibly acquire energy enough for an act of Craft potent enough to annihilate every one of us?”

Mira lets out a nervous squeak.

“And second: why are Siffrin, Isabeau, and this mysterious glowing stranger who is literally named Loop—who is, apparently, wholly unaffiliated with our predicament—the only ones looping lucidly?”

(“Time loops-ology,” Isabeau whispers. Siffrin snickers.)

Odile massages her forehead. “Mirabelle? You’ve been awfully quiet. Do you have anything to add?”

“Oh! Um! Yes! I-I did have a question, actually!” She looks at Sif, fidgeting with her fingernails. “I just wanted to ask… How long has this been going on? How many, um, ‘loops?’”

Sif’s eye widens. “Um? I, um— I haven’t really been counting, b-but maybe, um—”

“Twenty-something?” Loop cuts in. They give her a very wide smile. “It might be nearly thirty.”

“Oh.” Mira sags a little, her smile fading. “Gosh. But it… it sort of seems like this is your first time telling us about it?”

“That’s ri~ight!”

“S-So, I guess my question is… Why didn’t you tell us?”

Loop lets out a strangled little giggle. “Ehe!!! A-hem, hem. Ah… stardust? Perhaps you’d like to take this one?”

Siffrin very visibly would not. “Um. I, um... Can we do Odile’s questions first?”

“I have a thought,” Isa interjects—partly because Sif looks so panicked, but mostly because it’s true. “Or, I mean. Something to think about. In the last loop, we read about something called… Wish Craft? We didn’t learn a ton of details, but it seems like, maybe, a way to make impossible stuff… possible? Mmmmaybe even enough to power Time Craft?”

Odile frowns, considering. “That strikes me as rather optimistic. If anyone could gain access to infinite power simply by wanting it, we’d live in a far more chaotic world.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Sif mumbles. “Not everyone knows how to wish right.” When Odile turns to him, surprised, they shrug one shoulder. “It’s a Craft, right? Not everyone who’s Scissors Type can cast Piercing Craft. You have to learn how first.”

Odile’s frown deepens. “Hm. That’s a good point, actually. If we just had a little more data…”

To Isabeau’s surprise, Siffrin turns to Loop, who heaves a sigh. “Another question for me, hmm? Don’t you think you’re getting a little too dependent?”

“Will you just give me a hint already?”

“Ohh, I can’t say no to you. You’re just too cute!” Loop places one finger on their chin, theatrically thoughtful. “You saw some interesting papers in the Head Housemaiden’s office, didn’t you? Maybe you should take another look!”

“Wh— How do you know that?” Isa asks, baffled. “How do they know that?”

“Teehee! Why, haven’t you heard? My stardust and I share a ve~ry special bond. I suppose you just wouldn’t understand.”

“Stop baiting him,” Sif says grumpily. “But… yeah. I forgot about that. We can try her office again.”

“And of course, I’ll be at your beck and call!” Loop sweeps into an elegant bow. “I’ve taught my stardust a clever little hand-sign, so they can reach me from almost anywhere in the House!”

Mirabelle’s forehead furrows. “You aren’t coming with us?”

Loop and Sif both whip around to stare.

“They can fight,” Sif says slowly. Isa politely doesn’t ask how they know. “And the others already know about you, now.” They tilt their head at Loop. “What about it? Do you want to come?”

“Just… come with you?” Loop repeats.

Sif nods.

“To the House.”

Another nod.

“To fight the King.”

“And do some reading, yeah.”

“Um.” They blink their eyes a little too fast, their smile faltering. Isabeau has never seen Loop looking so totally off-guard. “Going to the House. To fight the King. With you.”

“And my f— my allies, yeah.”

“Um. I, um… I wouldn’t want to, ah, intrude on your—”

“We could use all the help we can get,” Odile tells them. “It’s not as though any of us were trained for this.”

Mira nods her agreement. “I went and recruited Isabeau, but running into Madame Odile was just good luck. We found Siffrin in the woods, eating squirrels!”

“They’re easy to catch,” Sif says defensively. “And there’s lots. I like it better than rabbit.”

“You don’t have to fight if you’re too scared!!” Bonnie reassures them. “I could fight if I wanted ‘cause I’m very tough, but Dile says if I stopped being snack leader, everyone would faint and die. You could be my assistant! My zoo chef!”

“Sous chef,” Odile corrects absently.

“My soo chef.”

“Um,” Loop mumbles. The glow of their face is flickering strangely, flashing sun-bright and dusk-dark. “I, um. Um. I’m—I’m not sure my stardust would want—”

“It’s fine,” Sif tells them. “We haven’t tried that yet.”

“...No,” Loop agrees. “We certainly haven’t.”

Isabeau sighs. He might find Loop sort of uniquely frustrating, but he’s aware that it’s his turn. “We really could use the help.”

“Come on,” Sif presses, prodding one star-studded shin with the toe of their boot. “I know you get bored here.”

Loop huffs a laugh that sounds nothing like their usual breaking-glass giggle. It’s short and wry and, for what may be the first time in history, sounds actually honest. “I… suppose it might make for a… nice change of pace?”

“Yeah!!!!!” Bonnie cheers.

Mira smiles shyly. “You’re welcome to join us at the Clocktower tonight, if—”

“No,” Loop hisses, flaring suddenly, blindingly bright. Then Isa blinks and they’re smiling again, inscrutable as a mirror. “I—prefer it here. Thank you. No, I’ll just… ah… meet you there?”

“You better,” Sif mutters.

“Aw, stardust,” Loop giggles. “Have a little faith! Would I lie to you~~?”

Siffrin doesn’t grace that with an answer.

Chapter Text

Whaa~aat are you doing here? Haha… What are you doing here. Literally why would you ever, ever, ever come back here? You did this already. You played this game and lost. It’s someone else’s turn.

Oh, you were bored? Re~eally? You were bored and lonely and so blinding pathetic that you’d agree to play pretend with a lot of vacant husks of the people you failed? The family you abandoned? A lot of stupid ugly strangers who don’t even recognize you? And that seemed like a good idea?

Stars. It’s the worst joke you ever told. And as usual, you’re the punchline.

A colossal hand rears up from the shadows. Absently, you just attack it. There’s no satisfaction in watching it shudder and fall. No pleasure in hearing your stupid stardust’s stupid Kid marvel at your strength. The whole performance is almost as empty as you are.

That idiot understudy even tried to give you your— their dagger. “I don’t really need it,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I’m pretty strong now.”

Of course you laughed in their face. You weren’t even trying to make them feel small. It was just so blinding funny.

There’s someone saying something. More sepulchral whispers from the ghosts you left to die. Talking to them at the Tree was bad enough, but seeing them in the House is—well, it’s just hilarious. It’s so funny you could cry.

“You’re pretty strong,” the Fighter tells you, grudging, after you one-hit another Rancoeur. You nearly fling yourself into the nearest Tear. But what would be the point? You’re already living your worst nightmare.

The ghost of your Fighter is the one who hates you the most, now. Isn’t that funny? Isn’t it hilarious? He took to you so quickly once. He thought you were sooooo~ cute. (In all fairness, you definitely were. And you used to wear a lot more… clothes. But your surface isn’t exactly solid, nowadays. If you tried to put a hat on, you’re not sure if you’d set it on fire or if it would just fall straight through you. Not that you want to wear a hat. You have no one left to hide from.)

(Slapstick is a little low-brow for you, anyway.)

But these actors are a bunch of hacks. They don’t even remember their lines! You have half a mind to fill in for them. A call and response between you and you. Practically a one-man show! So high-concept!! So avante-garde!!

The only problem is, audiences never like a one-man show. Normal people find them inaccessible. Masturbatory. Pathetic.

But you knew that already, didn’t you.

When you reach the kitchen, your stardust balks in the doorway, eyeing that stupid blinding countertop.

You sigh. “I’ll get it.”

“...Would you?”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell them, patting their head with all the condescension you can muster. Which is a lot. “Not everyone can be as graceful as yours truly.”

Then you saunter up the aisle and—

—hit your hip on the kitchen counter.

Oh, okay. Haha! Okay! You’re going to kill yourself!!!!

* * *

Running the House goes a lot more smoothly with Loop around. They’re remarkably efficient. Sort of alarmingly efficient, actually. Not for the first time, you find yourself wondering what their deal is. And not for the first time, you find yourself strangely reluctant to think too hard about it.

When you get to Euphrasie’s office, Madame Odile spends about ten minutes enraptured by a lot of boring paperwork before you gather the courage to mumble, “Um. Madame? Are you almost finished?”

“Absolutely not,” she says briskly. “Honestly, this organizational system is in shambles. Who in their right mind would put expense reports in the same file as enrollment rates? What’s the common thread there? ‘The letter E?’”

Mirabelle giggles. “My roommate says the same thing.”

You don’t want to interrupt, but… “Is this, um. Do you think you might want to help her organize after we beat the King, though?”

Odile barks a laugh. “I’m no one’s secretary. This isn’t altruism, Siffrin, it’s research. I’m looking for any more information that she might have tucked away on Wish Craft. You know. The thing that might actually free you from an eternity of torment?”

“Check under ‘water bills,’” Loop suggests. “Or ‘waste management.’”

Madame Odile actually snickers.

“Okay, but…” You huff a breath. “It’s just. The rock trap will go off if anyone leaves, but I’ve still got some keys to collect… and if we take too long, we’ll be pretty hungry by the time we reach the King…”

“Understood,” she sighs. Then she rolls up her sleeves. “Isabeau!”

He salutes smartly. “M’dame!!”

“Pull out this drawer,” she tells him, nodding at it. “And this one, too. We’ll bring them with us to the library. That is where we’re headed next, no?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then that’s our first move,” she says firmly. “We can discuss next steps once we’ve resituated.”

But when you get to the library, she gets right back to work.

“Madame,” you sigh. “Weren’t we going to—”

“Oh, absolutely not. This is only because of that trap.” She quirks an eyebrow at you. “If we have other business to attend to, I’m quite sure we can accomplish it in teams, now that we’ve picked up an extra pair of hands.”

Oh. Weird. From your perspective, Loop’s been with you the whole time.

You frown at her. “You think we should split up?”

“Well, there’s no risk anymore, is there? Apparently, failure isn’t permanent. If anything goes wrong, we can simply… start again.”

Loop flinches.

You flinch, too. Technically, temporally, she isn’t wrong. But having the same excruciating conversation over and over and over again… Honestly, it sounds even worse than dying. “Um…”

She flaps a hand at you, her interest already drifting. “You and Loop can go retrieve whatever-it-is you’re so eager to find, and—”

“No,” you blurt out, alarmed. It takes you a second to notice the echo. Loop spoke at the exact same time. You give them a startled glance before pressing on. “Um. You can’t… You need one of us with you. It’s dangerous. And they’ve been with me the whole time, so… they know how to be careful.”

“Teehee!” Loop winks. “I assure you, I’m nothing if not careful.”

“Fascinating,” Odile mutters. “You know what Siffrin’s referring to, then?”

They count on their fingers as they rattle off the answers. “The Crying Key in your Housemaiden’s old classroom; the Scissors Key in the trap room, and—”

“That’s plenty. We’ll keep Siffrin; I have a few questions for him. Loop, what’s your Craft Type?”

“Who’s asking?” they ask automatically.

Odile’s mouth twitches. “Cagy little thing, aren’t you? It’s like meeting Siffrin all over again.”

“No it isn’t,” you both say, in perfect, unnerving unison.

Loop glares at you before rolling their eyes. “I’m Scissors Type. If you must know.”

“Then we’ll send you with a Rock type, to be safe. Isabeau!”

He snaps to attention. “M’dame!”

“Go with Loop. Watch their back. Siffrin,” she adds, making you jump. “Can Isabeau trust them to take the lead?”

You give them a deeply distrustful look, then sigh. “...Yes.”

“Then we’ll see you two shortly. With any luck, we’ll have something to report by then.”

* * *

It’s the worst thing you can imagine. Your own personal void, tailor-made for you. As if your pathetic existence wasn’t torturous enough~!

You do your level best to ignore him. Unfortunately, the ghost of your Fighter makes himself uniquely difficult to ignore. Every time you look his way, you find him already staring. A lot of quick, nervous little glances, like you’re some unspeakable horror that, should he take his eyes off you for ten seconds, would promptly unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole.

The next time it happens, you lose your patience. “Craft a picture, why don’t you? It’ll last longer.”

“S-Sorry!! I was just—just wondering, um. Are you… okay?”

(What.) “Peachy keen, big guy. I just lo~ve wasting time on a lot of low-level losers that’ll reset the second we finish the job.”

“…You’re talking about the Sadnesses, right?”

“Teehee!” you giggle, and wink. “Who can say~!”

* * *

It’s not that Isabeau doesn’t like Loop. He doesn’t even know them! It’s just that… well. To be honest, he’s pretty sure Loop hates him.

Is he jealous of how close they are with Sif? Yeah. Sure. Obviously. But he wants Sif to be happy! He wants them to feel warm and safe and loved! Sure, he’d love to be the kind of person who could make them feel that way himself, but that’s got nothing to do with Loop. So he’s pretty sure it’s not jealousy. It’s just that—

“If you’re quite finished?” Loop sniffs. “We’re not here to sightsee. Or did you forget? We still have a job to do.”

—Oh. Yeah. It’s that.

Even when Sif is halfway across the House, Loop is still just—rude!! They’re rude!!! To someone they don’t even really know!!! So is it really that stupid for Isa to take it a little personally???

The next time Loop casts a scathing look in his direction, Isabeau can’t resist. “Look. Do you have a problem with me or something?”

“Whyever would you think that?” Loop asks innocently.

Isa gives them a look.

“Pfft… Teehee!! But don’t forget, Fighter. You don’t know the first thing about me. For all you know, this is what I think flirting looks like. I do have a weakness for Rock types, if you catch my meaning.”

Isabeau lets out a surprised laugh. “I— Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

“Who, me? Never. Look at me. I’m stonefaced.”

“Hah!!!!” He looks sideways at them, grinning. “Okay, yeah. I can see it.”

“…See what.”

“Why Sif likes you so much.”

“What? No. They don’t.”

“He really does, though. You should’ve seen them when I tried to tell them that I thought you were—” Oops. “Uhh…”

“Suspicious?” Loop suggests helpfully. “Malicious? Generally duplicitous?”

“What? No! Just… a little mean, maybe. And maybe kinda concerningly mysterious. But I barely got two words out before they totally bit my head off.”

Loop flaps a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s just because they know I’m useful. And because they wanted to yell.”

“Heh. You really are like Sif, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You know, a month after he joined the party, he asked if I thought Mira hated him? Because they… oh, what was it… they ‘had the wrong opinion’ about a book she’d loaned them?”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Loop snaps. “They didn’t even read it. When she asked what they thought, they had to make something up! So of course it was wrong!!!”

“Oh, huh. They told you about that?”

“I—” They turn away coldly. “I’ve been stuck with them for. A while.”

“This is your first time in the House, though, right?”

“...Why do you ask.”

“Oh, I was just thinking that you, uh, really know your way around.” It’s the truth. Loop cuts through the House with the same ruthless efficiency as Siffrin.

“Ahaha!!!! Ahem. I—ah—yes. I suppose you could say that.” When Isa takes a little too long to look away, Loop gives him a glittering smile. “I’ve certainly seen my stardust make the attempt enough times by now.”

Huh. They’ve said something on those lines before. “When you say that… You don’t just mean talking with them, do you?”

“Ve~ry perceptive, Fighter! Why, it’s almost like you heard what I stated in crystal-clear terms on countless occasions!”

“Okay, but like. What does that actually mean? ‘Cause you’ve mostly been pretty vague.”

“I’m my stardust’s little helper, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be much help if I couldn’t see through their eyes.”

Isabeau chokes. “You don’t mean— Do you mean literally? Like? You can actually, literally see through his eyes?”

“Mhm, yup! Like, right now, they’re catching up on some reading! Hmm, let’s see…” Their eyes unfocus a little. “‘...while adaptable, must be bounded by language and rhythm. However, such rites are more intuitive, individual, and, indeed, emotional than most forms of— Haha, whoops! Guess they’ve already lost interest!” Loop winks at him, conspiratorial. “Not the brightest star in the sky, are they? But I suppose we knew that already.”

“You can literally see what they’re reading right now?”

“That’s ri~ight!”

“S-So, you—” Isa’s face flushes. “When, um… If Sif was, say, talking to someone, you could hear what he was hearing, too?”

Loop gives him a sympathetic smile. “‘Psst,’” they quote, pitching their voice low and gruff. “‘Sif. Siffarooni. Siffrin. Are you awake? I had something to—’”

“Got it!!!” Isabeau yelps. Wow. So Loop isn’t just a rival for Sif’s attention. They’re also a living monument to his every embarrassment over the past hundred-some loops. Cool! Very cool! Really super cool and definitely not-at-all life-ending! “So you saw everything, huh.”

“Teehee! Aw, don’t worry, big guy. All that stammering was just sooo~ cute.”

Haha… ouch. “Then, in the field where they wake up… When we were trying to see if he could loop on command…”

“Mm~hmm!”

“And that night I pissed them off so bad they actually yelled at me…”

“An invigorating break in routine!”

Yikes. “Then, um. Do you know if… In the loops I can’t remember, after we beat the King… Did I ever manage to—”

Loop’s expression shutters. “I can’t see that far.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Nowhere past the third floor.” They hold their stare for a moment, abyssal-cold, before flashing a smile. “Didn’t you know? All power has limits! Or so you should hope, teehee! Otherwise, you’d be trapped here for all eternity!”

Annnd they’re back. Isabeau heaves a sigh. As usual, it’s one step forward, two steps back.

He’s still stewing about it when he turns the corner and trips into an entire squirming thicket of Sadnesses. He tries to shout a warning but he’s too slow. “L—”

But Loop is already crouched over him, one arm protectively outstretched. They flick a Scissors-attack over their shoulder almost casually, scattering Sadnesses like motes of living ash. When the dust clears, Loop is the only one standing.

Isabeau stares up at them.

“Your eyes are two different shades,” he says dumbly. “I never noticed.”

Loop flinches back. “Yes, well. Despite my hideous imperfections, I still soldier on somehow.”

“It’s not hideous. I think it’s pretty.”

For once in their life, Loop doesn’t argue. They just stare at him, unblinking. Their expression is utterly unreadable.

“Hey,” Isa hears himself say. Seizing on the momentary ceasefire to press his advantage. “Can I ask you something?”

That jolts them out of their stupor. Loop turns away coldly, stalking ahead without checking to see if he’ll follow. “You can ask.”

“Why does Sif let you touch them?”

Loop huffs a surprised laugh. “Why does he let you?”

“Huh? They don’t.”

“Oh, no? Then what do you call all those silly little looping experiments?”

“But—no. That doesn’t count.” (Does it?) “He’s just, um, humoring me.”

“Right,” Loop says drily. “Because my stardust has always been sooo~ accommodating.”

“…Why do you call them that, anyway?”

“‘Stardust?’”

“‘My.’”

“Oh, that? I suppose it’s just because we’re soooo~ in love. He’s my cutie patootie! My silly little bunny!”

“Hah. Yeah, right.” For the second time today, Isabeau’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Look, I gotta ask… How do you really feel about him? Honestly.”

That stops Loop in their tracks. They turn on their heel, glaring suspiciously. “Is this a team-up or an interrogation?”

Isa doesn’t answer, just waits.

Eventually, Loop rolls their eyes. “Well, what about you, then? How do you feel about them? Honestly.”

“I—love them.” Woah. Is that the first time he’s said it out loud? He’s pretty sure that’s the first time he’s said it out loud. It’s weird how easy it was to say. Maybe it’s because of the way Loop already seems to know everything about him. Or maybe he’s just tired of not saying it. “I love him. I… Of course I love him.”

When he looks up, Loop's smile has gone cold.

“How I really feel about him,” they muse, sugary-sweet. “You re~ally want to know? Well, if you must know: I hate them more than anything.”

…Huh. “So why help them?”

“Have you seen them?” Loop asks, scathing. “He’s useless on his own. He’d be nowhere without me. Just saying their lines over and over till his fragile little pea-brain broke for good.”

“Come on. That's not true.”

Loop laughs darkly. “I wish you were right.”

Isabeau frowns. He can feel the tingle of anticipation. The sense of something still unseen, slowly taking shape. “Sif, um. He said he guessed who you were once.”

“My stardust says a lot of things.”

“No they don’t.”

“Snrrk,” Loop snorts. “No, they really don’t. They think a lot of things, though. For all the good it does them.”

“When I asked what they guessed, d’you know what he said?”

“I’m quite certain you’re going to tell me!”

“He said he thought you were probably him.”

Loop laughs like breaking glass. “Oh, is that what they said? That’s just because they’re a self-absorbed little freak. They think everyone’s them. They spent twenty loops certain the King was them. Half the time he’s convinced that he wrote all of your lines, too, but you don’t see me going around throwing accusations at you.”

Isabeau snickers. “Wow. You guys really are a lot alike.”

“How so.”

“You both avoid a question in the exact same way.”

“Teehee! Yes, well, I’m afraid one can’t copyright the concept of telling a joke. Much to my stardust’s chagrin, I’m sure.”

“You both talk about stars a lot…”

“One can’t copyright the sky, either.” Loop smiles wide. “The King has stars on his armor… Maybe he’s Siffrin, too!”

“I thought you couldn’t see that far.”

“Like I said,” they say coldly. “We’ve been here a while.”

(One step forward, two steps back.)

“Look,” Isabeau sighs; and without thinking, he reaches for them.

“D-Don’t touch me!!”

Loop lands four feet back in a perfect fighting crouch. A spatter of static skitters from the place he would have touched, washing up their arm and down their chest like a wave crashing and receding. Their pupils are pinpricks, eyes wide and wild.

—It is utterly familiar.

Isa’s eyes widen. Loop’s do, too. Their hand darts, unthinking, to their hip. Reaching for a dagger that isn’t there.

Isabeau can feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He doesn’t understand, it doesn’t make any sense, but— “S-Sif???”

…

……

………

Loop breaks and runs.

* * *

You don’t slow down until you’ve flung yourself into the storage room and locked the door behind you.

The Fighter won’t find you here. You shook him off two hallways back. And anyway, he doesn’t know the passphrase. Maybe he’ll die out there! Would it matter? He’ll reset with everything else!!! Nothing that happens ever blinding matters.

You wish you had any teeth left to grind. This whole charade would be a lot easier if he didn’t have to be so blinding clever.

He isn’t your Fighter. You know that. He’s only an echo. A ghost. A living insult with the audacity to wear a dead man’s face and look at you with too-familiar eyes, like he can actually see you. Not that you’re stupid enough to fall for it. If he could really see you, his eyes wouldn’t be warm and wide and wet. He’d be horrified. Revolted. So of course he’s not your Fighter.

…He does look like him, though.

Broad shoulders, broader smile. The spray of freckles dusting his cheeks, his shoulders, the bridge of his nose. That silly little poof of hair, like a rooster's crest. Big hands that are always always sweating. The way he hesitates for just a second before widening his stance, like he has to talk himself into taking up space. Their Fighter, your Fighter. But there’s no version of you that isn’t a coward, so really he isn’t theirs or yours.

Halfway across the House, you feel your own startlement, once removed, as your— their Fighter bursts into the Library.

The Housemaiden looks up, smiling. “Oh, Isabeau, you’re back! Look, we think we’ve got it figured out! Euphrasie’s notes, they were—“

“SifcanItalktoyou???” the Fighter blurts out.

Someone blinks at him with stolen eyes. An actor, a liar. The stranger that used to be you. “…What?”

“Can I… Is it okay if I… It’s just that Loop is, um…”

The Fighter falters. You falter, too.

You don’t want to see this.

You wish you were dead. You wish you were ashes scattered from the highest peak, where you’d never have to see any stupid blinding insulting blinding actors who think they love someone who wears your face. You wish you’d never come here. You wish you’d never been born in the first place.

“Are they okay?” your stardust demands. He looks panicked. Stricken. You hate him so, so much.

They look to their Researcher. “Um… Is it okay if I…”

“It’s fine,” she sighs, waving him away. “Just come back in one piece.”

Outside the Library, the Fighter scuffs his feet. The Traveler wants to reach for him and doesn’t. You can feel how badly they long to close the space. Blood burning, palms tingling. Skin itching for human warmth.

…You hate them.

You hate them. You hate them. You could kill them. He has no idea what he’s taking for granted. A body—your body! Your family!! Your face!!!!

If it were you out there, standing in front of your Fighter, knowing that it was you he wanted—knowing that he could reach out and touch something solid, alive… You wouldn’t just stand there, saying nothing. You’d consume him. You’d erase him. You’d burn him alive.

You can see it seared into the insides of your eyelids. Pale skin cracking and curling like catching kindling. Freckles puckering, devouring themselves like dying stars. Flesh peeling away from his bones. You’d chase the blood through his veins like pine-sap. Watch the sparks fly from his ashes and name each one a star. A human constellation. Even the Universe couldn’t take him from you then.

(…Stupid. Of course it could. Taking is all it knows.)

If you let this Fighter touch you, would you set him ablaze? Or would his hand pass cleanly through? Are you a ghost, or a funeral pyre?

You absolutely Will Not cry. You refuse to. You can’t think of anything more pathetic than a sore loser sniveling alone over their own stupid forfeit. After all, you chose this. Dug your own grave and climbed inside. You don’t have the right to mourn. And besides. The last time you opened up that can of worms, you thought it might never close again.

—But of course you’re already crying.

You don’t even notice till you see the tears glittering on your knees. Glittering, gleaming, glowing like moonlight on snow. A jagged laugh scrapes out of you. Of course you cry light now. Isn’t that just perfect.

* * *

[Loop?] your stardust calls. You can hear their voice in two places at once. [Come on, I can tell you’re nearby. Just answer, okay? I’m not going to stop until you do.]

Ugh. They really are the Universe’s favorite, aren’t they? He always, always gets his way.

“Will you cut that out?” you snap at last. “You’re giving me a headache.”

There’s a beat, and then the cupboard door creaks open.

You wait for them to ask what happened—the Fighter didn’t tell them what he’d realized, like you expected; just that you’d run off on your own—but they don’t. They just climb in after you.

He has to fold themself into a painful little pretzel to fit, but your stardust likes cramped spaces. You always did. You can feel his knees pressed against yours, one elbow scrunched awkwardly above him and the other digging into your shoulder. It doesn’t pass through you. You’re—solid. If not quite real.

“Just go without me,” you mutter. “We both know you don’t need me for this.”

He shakes his head. “I think I needed the break. It’s—um. I… don’t like it when they see me.”

Adorable. Hilarious. Even after everything, they still think they can deceive you. “Stardust. You know—”

“I know, I know. There’s no point trying to lie to you.”

“See?” You give them your coldest, shiniest smile. “You don’t even need me to say my lines. You can play us both just fine.”

The Traveler stays silent for a minute. Then a few minutes. But you know how to play this game, too. You bide your time and wait.

“The last loop,” he says at last. Overloud, abrupt. “Bonnie—the King—”

“I know.” You really can’t sense them past the King’s chamber, but you could feel it from the moment they woke up. His panic, his terror. Denial, despair. Just one more thing you can’t bear to have seen and saw anyway.

“I'm—scared again.”

You smile thinly. “Nostalgic!”

“They'll wait outside,” your stardust goes on, still staring at nothing. “We talked about it, me and Isa. But—it could be any of them. Isa, or, or Mira, or— So we just. Can’t even let him get close. And I’m, I’m strong now, I am, but the King is— He’s…”

“Inevitable.” When you close your eyes, you can still see it. A living mountain of unfeeling violence, swinging your Housemaiden’s broken body against the wall like knocking dust out of a rug. A dull thud that melted to a wet slap. The cruelty of his absolute disinterest, like you were boring him. You were never people to him, not even for a second.

Now you aren’t a person at all.

Your stardust shakes his head. “So I’m— I’m sorry, but I… do need you, I think. I don't think I can do it without you.”

Hate flares in your throat like a dying star. It isn’t fair. This isn’t your mess to clean up. You gave up everything, every good thing that you might ever touch, and now there’s nothing left to gain. Winning is losing. Losing is losing. What does any of it matter?

But you can see your own exhaustion in the hunch of his back, the hollows of his eyes. Graying skin stretched tight over their bones. They were always soooo~ high-maintenance. Or was that you?

“Loop,” Siffrin says softly, nudging your knee with just the barest, faintest touch. The pads of his fingers feel deathly cold. “Please?”

Ugh. He’s so unfair.

“Ohh, stardust,” you sigh, and you smile. “You know I can't say no to you.”

* * *

To your shame, outside of the King’s chambers, your legs just—stop moving.

The King is everywhere, up here. A crush of pressure like a bootheel on your throat. Voices seem to stretch and warp. Every footfall, every whisper as brittle as breaking bone. You can practically taste him in the air, and you don’t even have any blinding tastebuds.

Panic used to be the crush of the breakers. Seafoam and salt-brine searing your eardrums, your tear ducts, your chest. Pressure pounding your skull like a drum. But you’re not Siffrin anymore.

Now fear is the crackle of flame. Smoke in your throat, fire in your eyes. White soot filling your lungs like burning mold. (No. You don't have any lungs anymore. You cut inside once to find out. Under your skin there’s only light.)

Your stardust looks sidelong at you. They only hesitate a moment before slipping their hand into yours.

“I’m fine,” you hiss, but you don’t shake them off. “Did you want something?”

“N-No.”

Right. Of course. Because that’s soooo~ believable.

But in the corner of your eye, you can see his Fighter eyeing your other hand, and that’s even scarier than the King, so!!! There’s no helping it!!!

You stalk forward, dragging your stardust after.

* * *

The Traveler is supposed to take the lead in combat. It’s their job. Their only job. Now that they’ve forgotten how to be cute or pretty or funny or charming, it’s probably the only thing they’re good for.

And they’re totally freezing up.

It’s not their fault, you remind yourself. They’re new to this. After all, they only just got here. How many times have they died by the King’s hands? 40? Or is it even less?

It’s laughable. Nearly nonexistent. Like asking an untested ingenue to fill in for a prima ballerina. What’s a few dozen deaths in the face of a thousand? What’s a few hundred loops in the face of eternity?

Never send an amateur to do a professional’s job, you sigh to yourself, and you force your feet to walk.

* * *

Isabeau has never seen Loop glow this shade before, low and vivid and strangely disturbing. The way they’re flickering is less like the twinkle of a star than it is like a candle about to go out. Their face looks—taut. Like their eyes are screwed in too tight.

They’re afraid, he realizes. But they’re still moving.

As the party closes in, the King swipes at his face with the back of one enormous hand and sniffles. “Ohh… A fallen star. Do you speak for the Universe, Shining One?”

“Mhm, yup!” Loop says brightly. Still flickering, still trembling, but they still manage a wink. “S-Speaking of which, the Universe told me to tell you to go blind yourself.”

“...Ah. Merely a false idol.”

“No, really! I can call my manager, if you like! She’s just the dearest old spider nebula; a touch scattered but an absolute gem, if you don’t mind a little gas.”

For the first time since they reached the third floor, Siffrin snorts. “It just might take a few million years to connect your call.”

Isabeau looks from one to the other, mystified, as Loop jabs Sif with their elbow and sputters an actual laugh.

“Have you come to fight?” For once, there’s a touch of hesitance in the King’s booming voice. “I have no need of jesters in my perfect court.”

“Doesn’t sound perfect to me,” Siffrin mutters. Loop damn near squawks.

“We’re here to defeat you, yes,” M’dame Odile says coldly. “We just had a few questions first.”

The King’s colossal head tilts.

“If you’d just give me a moment,” flipping through her notes, “I… ah. First and foremost: your wish, King. What did you wish for?”

“Not only a traveler, but a supplicant of the Universe? I am glad for one last chance to discuss my country’s arts. I wish for infinity, little heroes. For a perfect, deathless world, free from all—”

“No,” M’dame Odile cuts in. “Ah. Word for word, if you please.”

For the first time that Isa can remember, the King shoves the hair back from his face. Each enormous eye is the size of a five-horse wagon-wheel. “You seek to destroy me.”

“That’s right.”

“You know that you will fail.”

Odile bristles. “I know nothing of the—”

“Of course,” Loop cuts in, charmingly. “So humor us, why don’t you! In our final hours! If you do, I promise to put in a good word with the being upstairs.”

When the King’s glare swivels toward them, Loop staggers. But they don’t back down.

“Word for word…” the King muses. “I wished for eternity.”

Siffrin flinches.

“For my perfect world to be protected. Unchanging. Safe.”

“Fascinating,” Madame Odile mutters, scrawling something down. Then she slaps the book shut. “Well, then! I suppose there’s nothing else to discuss, save your doom.”

“Do your worst,” the King rumbles. “And we shall see who the Universe favors.”

* * *

It’s not until after they beat the King that Loop breaks.

The rest of the party is giddy with disbelief. They’re bouncing, bleeding, beaming. But Loop doesn’t stop. They just keep attacking. Clawing with two radiant hands, burning with killing force. They don’t slow down until the stone-frozen statue is dust.

And then they just.

Keep.

Going.

“Uhh,” Isabeau mumbles. “I think you—” got him, he was going to say. But before he gets the chance, Loop whips around and grabs hold of both of his hands, squeezing with bone-breaking force.

“Don’t le—”

—then they see Siffrin.

Loop’s eyes flinch wide. For an endless, airless moment, they stare at Sif with the kind of sickening dread usually reserved for sinking ships and hostage situations.

Then their eyes curve into a smile.

(It is a ghastly smile. Genuinely chilling. Isa feels about 10 degrees colder.)

“Ahaha! Aha, ha… excuse me! How embarrassing! It takes a lot more than that to kill a star, you know! So I suppose I must have, aha, forgotten how little it takes! Haha! For people!” They kick vaguely at the dust that was the King. “So fragile, you people! So terribly breakable!! It’s almost too easy!!!”

“Thank you,” Sif tells them, reaching out to brush Loop’s hand with his own. Loop flinches, but they don’t pull away. “And—um. Sorry.”

* * *

“Alright,” M’dame Odile says briskly, flipping open her notebook. Sif suggested that she might find the rooftop a little distracting, so the party’s set up a temporary basecamp in what was, until recently, the King’s sanctum. “Let’s discuss our findings.”

When he looks over her shoulder, Isabeau has to stifle a snort. Her notes are well-organized, but her handwriting is atrocious.

He skims over Mechanics—he's pretty sure he's got the basics—and skips down to Functionality and Constraints.

...fulfills the request’s underlying desire, not the request as stated. The Craft is gestural, not contractual.

(“Really, M’dame?” Isa snorts. “You couldn’t just call it a wish?”

“Unnecessarily abstract. This is more precise.”)

—>The Head Housemaiden had reason to believe that large-scale, collective intent could be harnessed to amplify Wish Craft, even by those not privy to the correct rituals.

“Maybe that’s what went wrong,” Siffrin mutters. “Everyone was wishing wrong.”

Madame Odile’s glare locks onto Sif. “Except for you.”

“N-No, I… um. I don’t think I know how?”

“But you know what’s incorrect.”

Sif hesitates. “Maybe I’d know it if I saw it?”

Eyes narrowed, Odile flips to another section of her notebook. Isa peeks curiously over her shoulder. Her handwriting is still horrendous, but he can make out at least a dozen instances of the name ‘Siffrin’ before she scrawls ‘recognition, not recall’ and snaps the book shut.

He nudges her with his elbow. “You know those aren’t gonna carry over to the next loop, right?”

The devastation on her face is genuinely heartbreaking. (And also a little bit hilarious.)

“Be that as it may,” Odile sighs. “Siffrin. Since you were the first to become aware of the loop; and since you’re the only one among us who may or may not know the correct rituals—”

Isa darts a glance at Loop, who glares him into silence.

“—we’d be remiss not to ask about your wish.”

“Who, me?”

“Do you see any other Siffrins around?”

This time, Loop studiously avoids Isa’s gaze.

“Um.” Sif swallows. “I don’t think it could be mine, though. Mine was pretty boring.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Really boring.”

“Even so.”

“And, um. Small.”

Odile’s eyes narrow. “Is there a reason you don’t want to divulge your wish, Siffrin?”

“…I wouldn’t want to ruin my aura of mystique?”

“Siffrin.”

Sif tugs their hat over their face. “Oh, fine. I… wished to abolish croissants.”

“No!!!!!” Bonnie gasps. “Why???”

“Felt like it.”

“Siffrin,” Mira says, crestfallen. “Are you telling the truth?”

Sif shrinks back a little. “I. Um. I mean… It’s not like I knew it would actually matter…”

“Fascinating,” M’dame Odile says flatly. “Well. It’s not as though we’re going to torture it out of you, so I suppose we’ll have to take you at your word. I have questions for this Head Housemaiden, besides. I can only hope that she’ll be more forthright.”

“She definitely won’t,” Sif mutters.

“Mh. Yes, well. I’m afraid I’m finding it rather difficult to put my faith in your appraisal. For some reason.”

Siffrin tugs on the brim of his hat and doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Before they reach the Head Housemaiden, Mira clears her throat. “Um! Siffrin!”

They look at her.

“I just wanted to ask…” She sets her jaw, squares her stance. “If we loop back again… are you going to tell us the truth?”

Sif hesitates.

“—because!! W-When you do!! I wanted to tell you that, if you want to save some time, you can just tell me that it’s exactly like the plot of The Tilted Thorn, Book 3: The Time-Stuck Thief!!”

M’dame Odile looks back, intrigued. “Hm. An interesting exercise. I suppose you could tell me that it’s… hmm… it’s what you’d get if you applied Iori’s theory of cyclic thermodynamics to time, using collective will as the fuel source, and applied ritual as the focal catalyst?”

Sif looks slightly panicked. “I’m not sure I—“

“I got it,” Isa assures them.

“And you can tell me I’m cool and smart!!! And doing a good job!!!!!!”

“Thanks, Bonnie,” Sif tells them seriously. “I definitely will.”

* * *

But of course the Head Housemaiden doesn’t go off-script. She never has. She never will. Out of all the empty, lifeless puppets haunting this time loop, she’s easily the worst. Like a cardboard cutout in a roomful of felt dolls.

You don’t care. You don’t care. You don’t remember how to care.

Mira does, though. You can see it in her face. The way it lights up and then crumples when Euphrasie’s lines come out all upside-down and sideways, like she isn’t listening at all. Like she’s just a wind-up toy.

…You don’t like it when Mira hurts.

You shouldn’t have told her. It isn’t fair to her, or to any of them. There are other ways to be careful, other ways to keep Bonnie safe. You shouldn’t have let Isa talk you into this. You shouldn’t have done it at all.

You won’t do it again.

Chapter Text

Isabeau has, like, at least a million questions.

If Loop—(Sif??? No, they chose the name Loop; that has to matter)—is really some alternate version of Siffrin, then… what? What? What??? What would that even mean??? And why would they keep it a secret from Sif? What’s the point in keeping secrets from yourself?

Of course Isa isn’t going to rat them out. It’s not his place. And he’s definitely not gonna confront them about their past. What kind of a crab could look at someone who's Changed that much and try to talk to the person they used to be? Loop is Loop now. Isabeau is totally cool with that.

…He’s just a little confused about why there are two of them.

Isabeau knows how it feels to Change. But it’s not like he walked out of the House holding hands with the kid he used to be. One person can’t become two people. That’s not how it works. (That’s not how anything works.)

He needs to talk to Loop. Luckily, he’s in the right place. There should be at least a few minutes before Siffrin catches up. Longer, if Sif stops to talk to Mira. It’s not ideal, but it should be enough to get at least a few answers.

“Loop!” he gasps, when he spots them.

“What do you want,” Loop asks sourly.

“N-Nothing!! I’m just a little confused, is all!”

“Okay.”

“And… I guess I was hoping you could help with that?”

Loop gives him a close-eyed smile. “Optimistic!”

“I’m just, um. I… guess I’m having a hard time getting my head around it?”

Loop’s eyes snap open. “Why? Because I don’t hang on your every word? Because I’m not some cute little puppy, like your Siffrin?”

“What? No! Because why are there two of you???”

He watches Loop draw themself up to snap at him and then just—settle back into their seat. “Oh.”

Yeah, oh. “So. You know. Why are there two of you?”

“Does it matter?”

“And how do you look so different? Body Craft is, I mean, it’s pretty advanced, but I don’t think it’s possible to—I mean—I’m pretty sure you’re made of light?”

Loop examines their hands, the white shining from under their nails. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“And—” This one is embarrassing, but he can’t help it. “W-Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“…Why would I?”

Yeah, Isabeau probably could’ve seen that coming. “Are you seriously not going to answer any of my questions?”

“I’d have thought that would be obvious.” Loop narrows their eyes at him. “Don’t you have any manners? This is Vaugarde. It’s rude to ask someone about who they used to be.”

Wow, they are really not making this easy! “I’m not— I don’t care that you Changed. Or, I mean, it’s great! If you’re happy, I’m happy! I just… I mean… It kinda seems like you aren’t, though?”

Loop’s face hardens. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Well, who do you wanna talk to?”

“No one! Ever!!! Till the end of time!!!!”

Isabeau groans. “Look, I didn’t wanna play this card, but you just really don’t seem like you’re doing very well…”

“What impressive powers of perception!”

“…and I guess it seems like you’re cool with that, but I’m not, so I think you probably have to talk to someone, so… i-if you really won’t talk to me, then—” He grimaces, bracing for the worst. “I… think I might have to tell Sif.”

To his surprise, Loop just rolls their eyes. “Knock yourself out. I’m sure he’ll be soooo~ surprised.”

“Wh— Huh???”

“Why are you acting like that?” Loop asks grumpily. “You said it just last loop. That they guessed who I was, and he thought I was probably him.”

“B-But that’s just a theory!”

“Oh, grow up. How long did it take you to clock me? Three loops? Maybe four? He’s been here for hundreds.”

(“Hund—????”)

“They have all the pieces. He’s just deluding himself because he doesn’t like the implication.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but… “What implication?”

Loop smiles nastily. “That—”

“Oh, good,” Siffrin says, from immediately behind him. “You’re already here.”

Isabeau nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-Woah!!! Sif!!!”

“Yes?”

“You’re—wow, you’re like, really quiet!!”

“Yes.” Sif flops down in the grass, patting around vaguely till they find a thick-ish branch. They snap it in half with a startling crack, eye it thoughtfully, and then halve it again before unsheathing their dagger.

Huh. They’re whittling again, even though they know their work won’t outlast the loop. Which means they want to talk about something. “What’s up, Sif?”

“The canopy.”

“Annnd…?”

Sif’s blade digs into the wood, scraping off a long, curling shaving. “And I thought we should talk about Wish Craft.”

“It sounds like you should talk about Wish Craft,” Loop sniffs. “You are the only one who knows the rituals.”

Isabeau gives them a look, but doesn’t argue.

“I don’t think that’s right, though,” Sif mutters. “My wish wasn’t even related. And, I mean… do I know the rituals?”

“You knew the right numbers,” Isa points out. “And the chanting and stuff.”

“Right, but it can’t be that simple. If repeating was all it took, then I’d still have that toilet paper.”

Isabeau stares.

Unexpectedly, Loop stares, too. “Come again?”

“The toilet paper,” Sif says again. “Didn’t you see? In the bathroom, on the third floor.”

“I don’t watch you pee, stardust. Gross.”

“Wait,” Isabeau interjects, “I’m sorry, I just… You can do Wish Craft by peeing?”

“Piss Craft,” Sif says, apparently on reflex, and then glares. “I mean, no. Obviously not. Will you just listen?”

Isabeau shuts his mouth obligingly. He’s listening.

* * *

You don’t like that Isabeau is talking to Loop now. You can feel that something’s shifted between them, and you don’t like that, either. But at least Isa still mostly does what you tell him.

“I’m saying I didn’t do Wish Craft,” you explain. “I did the wanting, and the repeating, and it didn’t do anything. I didn’t get what I…”

. . . Wait.

What did you repeat, exactly? It definitely wasn’t “toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper.” What were your exact words? You asked it to come with you. No. To loop back with you. And you said—

You said you didn’t want to be alone.

(“S-Sif?” Isa says nervously. “You’re, um. You should probably be careful?”

You follow his gaze toward your hands. You’ve reduced the whole branch to sawdust. You flip your knife shut and brush off your knees in disgust.)

You said you didn’t want to be alone. And you’re not alone anymore, are you? Someone’s looping back with you, but it’s not the blinding toilet paper.

“Oh, Stars,” you mumble. “I did it.”

Loop wheezes. “What, really? Piss Craft?”

“No!! Shut up!! Will you both just shut up and listen? I’m saying that I—” Stars, but it hurts to admit. “It’s— Isa, he’s… It was my fault. I’m the reason he remembers.”

Isabeau’s eyes widen. “Wait, but… are you saying, um. D-Does that mean you wished for me?”

Right. Of course he’d ask that. You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing. “Not… exactly?”

“Toilet paper??????”

“I just wanted something I could hold!!” you say defensively. “I was losing my mind!! I was tired and alone and tired of being alone and I couldn’t make anyone touch me and I was just—so blinding tired of dying that I… yes. Yes. Toilet paper.”

For some reason, Isabeau looks even more confused. “W-Wait, what?”

“I said I wanted something I could hold.”

Loop stops laughing for just long enough to choke out, “Wrong sentence, stardust.”

You frown at them, running over your lines in your mind. It all seems pretty self-explanatory. “What?”

“You—” Isabeau’s face is quickly changing color. “You, um. You… wanted us to touch you?”

Oh. Oh, no.

You backpedal hastily. “N-No, I didn’t mean—I just meant!! You all, hug? And hold hands and things? Except, not with me? And so I, I guess I thought if I had something I could touch, then I wouldn’t feel so…” Stars, you sound so blinding pathetic. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!”

Oh, stars. He sounds angry. But of course he’s angry. All this time he’s been making himself touch you to upset you, to make you loop back, and now he knows that you were lying and lying and tricking him into touching you by holding yourself ransom (like you weren’t already disgusting enough), you—

(“Sif. Sif!! Can you breathe for me, buddy? Can you try to breathe?”)

—had to go and hold your own knife to your throat to force him to touch you and now he knows, he knows that you’re the sort of freak who would hold yourself hostage just to steal someone’s touch, the sort of simple human contact that everyone else gets for free but not you, never you, never sickening subhuman Siffrin who doesn’t even have a real name even though everyone else gets a hundred, and you—

(“Sif, please, I’m here, okay? I’m here, you’re not alone anymore, j-just please try to breathe!”)

—want to loop back but you can’t loop back and even if you could it wouldn’t help because you screwed that up too!! Haha!! Didn’t you!!!! Bent reality just to trap him alongside you, sucked him into the sinkhole of your want and now you can’t even give him the mercy of forgetting because you—

(“Sif!!”)

—feel. Something touching. Your chest.

Your vision is blurred and smeared but you can see him still, kneeling beside you, pale and stricken. He’s… touching you. Why is he touching you? Is he trying to make you loop back? But you would if you could, and anyway, he’s smart enough to know that it—won’t save him. He’ll still have to remember. So then why is he touching you?

(You know why. He feels sorry for you. You’re doing it again. Holding yourself hostage; hurting yourself just to make him come close.

Why can’t you be better than this?)

“Please, Sif, please just—just for a second, just—stop thinking and p-please just, just try to breathe? F-For me?”

For him. It’s for him. Haven’t you hurt him enough?

You suck in a gasping breath.

“Hey, that’s it,” he whispers, sliding his other hand down your back to rest between your shoulder blades. It’s… warm. “That’s it, Sif, you’re doing so good. You’re so good, look at you, you’re so so good. Here, do it with me, okay?”

You… try. You try to do what he wants. It’s the literal least you can do.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his hand still running up and down your back; and then inexplicably, impossibly, he leans in even closer, till his forehead comes to rest against your temple. You must have lost your hat when you were sobbing like an idiot infant. But it means you can feel his breath on your ear, and the side of your face. “Just like that. You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

When you can finally bring yourself to raise your head, you find yourself staring straight into Loop’s coldest, most revolted glare.

It’s like pouring a bucket of icewater over your head. Suddenly instead of crying you’re laughing in helpless little gasps, like coming up for air only to find yourself nose-to-nose with the world’s most judgmental seal. “Ahaha! Haha!!! Are you, ahah, a-ha-ha-ha-are you serious?”

Loop rolls their eyes. “Running the full gamut of human emotions today, I see.”

“Pffft!!! What? Are you going to… snrrk… ‘tear’ me a new one?”

“Oh, for Stars’ sake.”

“Are you crying for mercy?”

“Stardust.”

“Did you want me to s-weep this under the rug?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Loop informs you. “It’s not as though you’ve ever done anything for me. I don’t owe you a thing.”

“You mean you haven’t got your—” You nearly choke on a laugh. “—last month’s wail-ges?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Phwoof!” Isabeau sighs, shaking his head. He pulls his hand away from your chest, but his other arm lingers at your back. “Man! You guys are, uh… well… it’s definitely never boring!”

“You’re too kind,” Loop says drily.

“S-Sorry,” you mumble, sobering. You still can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to touch me. Sorry. I promise not to cry again.”

“Sif,” he says unhappily. “I think you might’ve misunderstood me.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. Your eyes itch but you said you wouldn’t cry, so you won’t.

“I don’t want you to be sorry! I’m the one who should be sorry!”

That’s so confusing that you actually manage to look at him. Isa’s eyes look raw. Has he been crying too? “What? Why?”

“Because I!! I really thought you didn’t wanna be touched! Because you— No, wait, I’m sorry, I’m not over that. Are you seriously saying you don’t mind being touched?”

You shake your head.

“No, you don’t mind, or—”

“I don’t mind.”

“Huh. Huh!! That is… wow. That’s…” He trails off for a second, rapid-blinking at the middle distance. “Haha, wow. Well!! Uh!! Anyway!!! I—” For a second time, he cuts himself off. “Nope! Haha, sorry! Still not done! B-Because if—if that’s true, then why do you always—”

“I wasn’t used to it.” You still aren’t, really. But you think you might like to be.

“B-But when you looped; when touch made you loop… Why would touch make you loop if—”

You clear your throat. “I think it’s more to do with being. Overwhelmed.”

His hand is still pressed to your back, so you can physically feel him shiver. “H-Haha!! Wow, I, uh… right. Um… yeah. Makes sense.”

“A-hem,” Loop says coolly, and Isa jerks his hand back. You feel a little colder.

“Um!! Anyway!! I was never mad at you, Sif, I swear. I was just confused. But you were, um… you were saying your wish got granted?”

“Oh.” You were saying that, yes. You’re still a little confused about why Isa isn’t mad at you, but you’re not quite brave enough to push your luck. “Yes. I think so.”

“Okay! Yeah! Great!”

“...Is it?”

“N-No, I don’t mean great, I just mean… It’s more information! New information! When we bring this to the others, we can—”

Oh. “No.”

“N-No?”

“We won’t tell them again.”

Isa’s forehead furrows. “Wait, what?”

“Didn’t you see Mira, on the roof? She was— She wants the Head Housemaiden to be a person, still. It hurts her so much to find out that she isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Isa asks nervously. “Or, I mean, sure, but… it’s temporary, right? It’s just weird side effects from Wish Craft or something. As soon as we end the loop, she’ll—”

Tch. “You can’t just end the loop.”

“W-What? Isn’t that what we…”

“Oh, you can try. I’ve been trying. It’s been awful. But there’s no use dragging anyone else into it.”

“No… use? B-But Sif, it’s… You’re lonely, aren’t you? You were lonely. That’s why you Wished me into it.”

“That was an accident!”

Isabeau shrinks back a little. He looks… wounded. You’re hurting him. Again.

Your fists clench at your sides. Isa just doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s only been here four loops. When you were on your fourth loop, you were—huh. You can’t even really remember what you were like. Whoever you were might as well be a stranger.

Of course Isabeau is too soft to do what he has to do. He’s not even strong enough to do what he wants to do. He doesn’t deserve this; none of them do. If you’re going to suffer, the least you can do is to make sure that you suffer alone.

You never meant to drag him into your mess. For ages, you didn’t even know how you did it. But you know, now.

…Maybe you can undo it the same way.

* * *

“Isa?” Siffrin says sweetly. “Can I see your orb for a sec?”

“Huh?”

“Your. Orb.”

To his embarrassment, Isabeau blushes before he remembers to feel stung. He is learning all sorts of interesting things about himself now that Sif is… sort of a little bit scary. “Um… Y-Yeah, Sif! Of course! Just, uh. What for?”

“Does it matter?”

“Um… yes?”

Sif rolls his eye. “Can’t you just trust me?”

“Of course I trust you!”

“Then give it here.”

Isabeau hesitates. He doesn’t wanna piss them off, but… “Aw, I dunno, Sif. I guess I’m just a little worried that you might do something you’ll regret?”

Sif’s eye goes cold as they lean in closer, pressing into his space. Their face is inches from his. Isabeau tries to remember how to breathe. “And what makes you think I won’t just take it.”

Hahaaa… well! That’s! Not super reassuring! “C-Can’t I just come with you? If you just tell me what you wanna do, then maybe I could help!”

“No.”

“N-No, I can’t come, or—”

“No, you can’t help.”

Isa sags. “Aw, come on, Sif, please don’t shut me out. I’m in this with you, okay?”

“For now,” Sif mutters.

“A-And if you just let me in a little—”

“You’d hate me,” Siffrin snarls. Suddenly they’re on their feet, face taut, fists clenched. “If I let you in—ha!! Haha!!! If you knew what I was really like, you’d never talk to me again!!!”

“Sif!! I wouldn’t—I couldn’t hate you! You’re, like, one of my favorite people!”

Siffrin barks a laugh.

“I’m serious!! I’ve had so much fun since you started traveling with us! Like… more fun than I’ve ever had, I think! You’re so funny and you’re so sharp, a-and you’re always paying attention to, to everyone, and listening to everyone, and making sure no one gets left out, and I just! Like being around you! I really do! I like talking to you, and joking with you, and I…” He hesitates, heart swelling in his throat. He knows this isn't the right time, but maybe… maybe if he could just say it, Sif would finally understand. “I—!!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sif hisses. Isabeau flinches. The fury in their eyes is, it’s… He’s never been scared of Sif, not even for a second, but he’s never seen Sif look like this. “You don’t— You’re talking about my role!!!!”

“W-What??”

“I’m not what you think,” Siffrin spits. “Everything you think about me, it’s all just… I made it up!! I made it all up!! Everything!!! I forgot everything!!! My name, my family, my home…” His pupils contract to hateful little pinpricks. “I’ll forget you, too.”

“Y-You wouldn’t—”

“I already did. Haha, ha ha ha, you didn’t know that, did you?? I forgot your name!!! All of you!!! All of your names!!! Loop had to remind me!!!”

Isa wants to look to Loop for confirmation, but he can’t make himself look away.

“I’ve been—lying and lying and, and, tricking you into thinking you like me when I don’t even—I’m not even— You’re not even real anymore! You or anyone else!!! None of you, not one of you is real to me!!!”

“Y-You don’t mean that,” Isabeau tries, but Siffrin screams a laugh.

“Hah!!! It’s the only thing I mean! I’m not— Everything I do, everything I say, it’s all just to make you like me! J-Just so I can pretend that you’d…” Sif’s face hardens. “I. I… I’ve hurt you. I hurt all of you, but especially you.”

“Come on, Sif, I know you wouldn’t—”

“No!!!!!! No!!!!! You don’t know!!!!! I—used you to make me feel like, like I wasn’t just… and when I finally tried to do something, anything, off the script, you hated me!!!”

“Aw, come on, Sif. How bad could it have—”

“I kissed you,” Siffrin spits. It goes through him like a sledgehammer; leaves a trail of blood and shattered bone in its wake. “I d-didn’t ask, I didn’t wait for it to be okay, I j-just—took what I wanted. And you hated me. Don’t lie, I saw it!! I saw you!!! You thought I was disgusting!!!!!”

“S-Sif!! Come on, I couldn’t—”

“No!!!” They’re gasping for breath now, chest heaving. “No, I know what I saw. You weren’t even there!!!! You didn’t—I didn’t—j-just don’t even try it. Just leave me alone!!”

“But—”

“I just!!!! Need!!! A minute!!!!”

“O-Okay,” Isa mumbles, shrinking back a little. “I… Okay. I’m sorry. But can we talk about this lat—”

—But it’s no use. Siffrin’s already storming off.

It takes a minute for Isabeau to realize that his pockets feel a little too light. Sif must have palmed the orb while they were arguing.

And now they’re gone.

* * *

“Hey, Mira!”

“Oh, Siffrin!” Mira exclaims, brightening. When she sees your face, her smile fades. “Oh, Siffrin, are you alright?”

“What? Why?”

“You just… look a little down?”

You relax. “Down for a sleepover, maybe.”

“What?”

Oh. Did you not talk about that this loop? “Forget it. I just wanted to, um. Can I see your orb for a sec?”

“Hm?” Mira straightens up a little, frowning. “My orb? What for?”

“I just wanna see something.”

“That’s… not much of an answer, Siffrin.”

No, it really isn’t, is it? You probably should have thought this through beforehand. Think, Siffrin. Why would you need an orb?

> ‘I lost mine in a game of marbles! I just need a marble big enough to win it back!’

> ‘I’m looking for a high-stakes fishing lure.’

> ‘I’m in the market for a fashionable glass eye.’

Ah, blind it. It doesn’t really matter what you do this loop. Pretty soon, no one will remember what you did or didn’t say. You’re doing this for her sake, after all. To spare her undue suffering. On average, anyway.

In the meantime, all you need to do is get her to give up.

“Well,” you mumble. “It’s… not really me who’s asking.”

“Oh? Um? Who is it, then?”

No point turning back now. You throw caution to the winds. “When I went to pray to the statue of the Change God, they… spoke to me.” The Change God has talked to you, so that part isn’t even really a lie. (Though it’s about to be.)

“They— Huh??? The Change God?”

“Yeah, it’s… It was weird, but they… asked me to be their champion? Of course I told them you already got Chosen, but they said they actually never talked to you.”

Mira’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, they said they never Chose you at all. They were pretty upset about it, actually.”

“They—” Mira hesitates. “Siffrin. Are you teasing me? B-Because this really isn't very funny!!”

Of course a shielder like her would be well-defended. She’s not going to drop her guard until you’ve got her on the back foot.

Welp! No choice but to double down! “They gave me a bunch of new powers, just like that. A divine blessing, they called it. I can do Paper and Rock Craft now, and healing Craft. Look,” and you draw your blade and carve a bloody seam through the back of your forearm.

“Siffrin!!” Mira shrills, her hands flitting up to Craft you back together. “That isn’t funny!! It’s okay, I’ll—”

But you’ve already raised your other arm. You let Craft flow down from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers, and the wound seals shut. “See?”

“You really can heal,” she whispers. “Y-You couldn’t do this all along, right?”

“‘Eye’ don’t know,” you say drily, flipping back your eyepatch to reveal the gaping hollow of your socket. “You tell me.”

She squeaks. “B-But did you really—???”

Well. If she still won’t take your word for it, you have no choice but to double down.

“I don’t understand it myself,” you tell her, shrugging. “Most of what they said didn’t make much sense. All this stuff about how they’d never choose you, because you rejected the most essential… no, the most personal forms of Change. But that isn’t true, is it?”

The blood drains from Mira’s face. “I didn’t… I n-never meant to, or—I wanted to, I just…” She breaks off, eyes swelling with tears. “But of course. Of course. Of course, I should have known that I was— N-No, I did know!! I just never…” She thrusts an arm into her bag and shoves her orb toward you. “Just take it. I never deserved it anyway.”

“Aw, Mira,” you say kindly, nausea curdling in your throat, “of course you deserved it! Who cares about some stupid god? They don’t know anything!”

“Haha! Well, I—I’m afraid that I just don’t agree. A-And now, if you don’t mind, I… just realized that I… forgot that I made plans with s-some old friends, so I’ll just… If you’ll just excuse me…”

Mira sidesteps past you, hiding her face behind one hand. You let her go. You wait until she’s out of sight before you bend over the bench and throw up.

It doesn’t matter. It’s still the lesser evil. After all, you’re doing this for her.

* * *

By the time you reach Bonnie, you’ve learned your lesson. You all fought hard to earn these orbs. No one’s going to give theirs up without a very good reason.

“Heya, Bonnie.”

They look sullenly over their shoulder. “Heyfrin.”

“I’m doing an errand for Odile,” you tell them. “She asked me to pick up your orb.”

“Huh? But I’m keeping it safe. She said it was a big job but she could trust me ‘cause I’m so smart an’ re-spone-sibble.”

You shrug at them. “I guess not anymore.”

“B-But—”

“Hey, I think it’s dumb too. It’s not like you did anything really bad, like… I dunno… try to feed me pineapple.”

Bonnie draws themself up, indignant. “What!! Frin!!! What’s wrong with pineapple!!!!”

“I’m allergic,” you tell them seriously. “Really allergic. It could kill me in less than a minute. Just one bite and my throat swells shut and I choke to death on my own esophagus. Oh. That’s the food tube.”

“I-I know,” Bonnie mumbles.

“Even if I ate something that was stored next to pineapple, I'd be—” You snap your fingers. “—dead. I guess we all would, haha! Since the others would definitely die in the House without me.”

“…You’d really die?”

“Really really. Oh, but don’t worry,” you reassure them. “We’d make sure you got away safe.”

“Ugh!!” Bonnie shouts, their hands curling to fists. “Shut up!! I hate you!! I don’t wanna—I never wanted—and everyone keeps getting hurt ‘cause of me, getting frozen ‘cause of me and, and I—I don’t wanna leave you guys behind!! I don’t wanna leave anyone behind!!!”

“You don’t have to get so upset,” you say, putting on a confused frown. “It’s not like you were going to feed me pineapple.”

“Just take the stupid orb!!” They practically throw it at you. “I don’t even care!! Just stop saying stupid stuff about how I’m gonna live and you’re all gonna die!! Just leave me alone!!!”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later, Bon.”

* * *

You saved Odile for last, because she’s the most… well. Terrifying. Mira and Isa are clever, but they’re also distractable. They can smell emotions from a mile off, but they’re sensitive, too. It’s easy to make them second-guess themselves. Not like with Odile. No matter how much she’s feeling, her thoughts are always louder. She’s sharp. Controlled. Relentlessly analytical. If you’re going to get her orb, you’re going to have to be careful.

Luckily, you’ve got about two years of data.

“Afternoon, Madame.”

“Oh, Siffrin,” she greets you, nodding. “Enjoying your last day before the end of the world?”

You wish. “Not a whole lot?”

“Hah! Well, I appreciate your honesty.”

You wink at her. “You could say that I’m…”

“Siffrin, please.”

“…hones-teetering on the brink of despair.”

“Siffrin,” she sighs, massaging her temples.

“What? Are you an hones-teensy bit mad at me?”

“Gems alive, Siffrin. Did you want something? Or are you only here to needle me?”

“Oh, right! Mira sent me to get your orb.”

“Mirabelle did?” Madame Odile’s eyes narrow. “Why.”

“I guess the locals were feeling uneasy, leaving something so important in the hands of a pair of foreigners. I had to give her mine, too.”

“I— Excuse me?”

“They are pretty important,” you shrug. “For saving the country and all. I guess they weren’t comfortable entrusting something so important to people with no real ties to Vaugarde.”

Odile blinks at you. “But they’re comfortable leaving one in the hands of a child?”

“A Vaugardian child.”

“...Is that how it is?”

You give her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t take it too hard, Madame. No one trusts an outsider. At least you still have somewhere you belong! At least in Ka Bue, you get to be normal.”

“Ah. Well. Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

She’s better-armored than Mira or Isa. Her hurt doesn’t show on her face. But you can smell it in the tilt of her shoulders, the slant of her spine.

I’m doing this for you, you tell her silently, through lying eyes and outstretched palms. Being trapped here with me would break you. It already broke me!!! Haha!!! You’ll be so much happier facing a problem you can actually solve. There’s no reason to suffer. Just let me help you.

* * *

Outside of the House, you’re surprised and then immediately, retroactively unsurprised to find Loop waiting for you.

“You don’t want to do this,” they say frankly. Getting right to the point. “We both know you don’t want to do this.”

You smile at them. “Well, I think we both know you’re projecting.”

“Oh, do we?” Loop’s light fizzles a little, their surface fuzzing out. “Do we? Because I think you’re blowing up your life!”

You just stare.

After a moment, Loop looks away. “You’re well within your rights to blow yourself up,” they mutter. “That’s your business. But don’t drag your party into it. That’s just common courtesy.”

“I guess you’d know.”

When Loop bristles, it lights up the whole courtyard. Ribbons of white wash over the walls like ripples expanding. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?”

“Why don’t you tell me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We’ve never been very good at talking.”

Loop flinches.

“Did you want me to tell you about how much your help was worth?” you ask innocently. “Or how we were born to fail?”

“Stardust, please—”

“Or maybe you want me to tell you about how you~ failed!”

Loop’s eyes narrow. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?"

Loop doesn't answer.

“You just want me to be as miserable as you are,” you giggle. “Well, I’m not interested! You think you can save me? You couldn’t even save yourself!!”

“Stardust— Siffrin, I—”

“You don’t get to call me that.” You bare your teeth in a blood-hungry grin. “I don’t want to be you!! I know how my story ends and I don’t want it!!! So just get out of my blinding life!!!!!”

Loop leans forward and then stops themself. “...Fine. Blow yourself up. What do I care? If that’s what you want, it’s what you deserve.”

“You would know,” you snarl, and you open the gate.

* * *

The House is broken. Wrong. The rooms twist in on themselves, circling around and around in an endless, haha, loop. Vaugaurde's wishes and the King’s and yours (and yours again, and yours), fighting for dominance with all spacetime as their sundered battleground. It’s… unnerving. Even more so than usual.

But that’s alright. It’s not as though you need to fight the King, this time around.

You just need to reach the third floor.

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.