Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Calloused fingers dig into the dirt. Deeper. Deeper. Dirt and dread lodge under fingernails.

Just six feet. That's all you need. Just six feet. The sun bears down on the sky and you are running out of time, when you always had all the time in the Universe.

Too much eternity, not enough moments.

Dig deeper. Chip a nail on a rock, rip the rock out with force and hurl it into the trees. It crashes into rind and splinters, one-two tree rings deep. Don't look at it. Don't turn back. 

Don't. Look.

Just six feet. Then this'll all be behind you. Hurry up. The play is starting.

It's cold.

Stick to the script.

It's what you wanted.

Back to the stage.

Chapter Text

The sun is warm, the day is bright, and the bite of cucumber sandwich on your tongue is crisp and refreshing. All around, a great day to have saved the country. Really, couldn't ask for a better setting to a sunny epilogue.

Just... that there are some unresolved mysteries, still. You, Siffrin, everyone, have a long road ahead of them. Ahhh, the start of this pilgrimage will be a vacation, you decide. A vacation, a vacation!

Bambouche is the first stop, obviously, all the way up north, and that'll be a bright and warm and sunny place as well. Maybe Poteria, for the theater Siffrin likes, probably Ka Bue, for Madame...

As the thoughts of the world before you peter off, you turn to the path back down into Dormont. Somewhere down the hill and past the trees, Siffrin is talking to Loop.

Leaving him alone so soon after... everything is a bit unsettling. But the point of all this is that you need to trust one another. And right now, you trust Siffrin. Whatever their connection to Loop is... If he wants to tell you, he will.

Even if you're super curious... Loop was just, suspicious from head to toe, okay? A, what-- A star? A star being? From... somewhere???

They did help all of you reach Siffrin, though. So you do need to respect their privacy. You wouldn't have a Siffrin without Loop. If they don't want to talk to you in person, then, fine. 

...Even if you're reaaaaaaally curious.

You take another bite of sandwich. It's great. Of course it is. Bonnie made it with the vegetables someone in town gave them, atop bread from the gigantic bread basket Isabeau got from the Boulangerie.

It's a perfect sandwich, for a perfect day. There is one empty plate waiting for the day to get more perfect than it already is.

As if on cue, Siffrin skips onto the scene.

And, very seriously skips. Like they're dancing on air, cloak swishing playfully. They pirouette and wave. "Mirabelle!!! Hi!!!"

They jump onto the picnic blanket. Odile yelps when the plates clatter, yet Siffrin just plops down and stares at the sky.

"Odile, Bonnie, Isabeau..."

You swallow. "Hi Siffrin! How'd your chat go?"

Siffrin giggles. "Wonderfully! Kindest regards from Loop, by the by."

Isabeau says, "They... don't want to talk in person, then?"

"I'm afraid not! They are awfully shy, after all."

He nods, satisfied with the answer. "Still a shame, though."

"Maybe you'll meet them again."

"Maybe."

"Ahhhh," he sighs, content. With a jolt, he sits up and nabs a sandwich from the basket. They chomp down. "Cheese! I love cheese!"

Bonnie scuttles closer, then declares, "Even icky cheese isn't a match for me!"

Odile concurs, "They made it for you, Siffrin."

"I DID!!! So enjoy it."

Siffrin devours the poor sandwich, looking every bit like they're going to cry. "That was the tastiest thing I've eaten in months."

"Months?" you say, and then remember, ah, yes, timeloop. He probably, uhh, didn't have a varied diet in that one.

"Months and months and months," Siffrin laughs. "But who cares now! The sun has set on the old stage. Never... never again."

"Ahhh," Siffrin sighs again, satisfied, stretching their hand to the sky. "You're all here. All mine."

All at once, their smile drops. As they sit opposite you, you remember a deep shadow cast over his eye, the light faded from their being. You see a bit of it, there- Just a tiny bit, that is perhaps going to stay forever.

So deeply wistful, Siffrin asks, "You're here, right, Mirabelle? My Mirabelle?"

"Of course, Siffrin. I'm here."

You expect nothing when holding your arms open. Bonnie would tackle you, hugging you around the waist. Isabeau would scoop you up like a teddy bear. Euphie would lift you up and up into their arms.

To your surprise, Siffrin accepts. He clutches at you. One arm around your waist, one over your shoulder to your back. Never ever have you two as much as brushed backs. It's a bit dizzying.

Tighter, tighter, Siffrin hugs you. Over and over, round and round, he whispers, "Mine, mine, mine."

After a minute or two of this, in which you remain as still as possible to allow them comfort, but are nonetheless growing awkward and also your foot fell asleep, they stop, and let go.

"'m sorry," they mumble, "I still can't believe it. That you're here. With me. You're not saying the same things. You're not reacting how I expect you to. You're finally mine again. Is that weird? That's weird, right?"

"A little possessively phrased, maybe! But... I think I understand the sentiment."

"I'll work on that, then."

"We can work on it together." You brush a hand against their face, wiping away the single tear that rolled down their cheek with your thumb.

Siffrin jerks back.

In the back of your mind, the echo of an admission. "I don't mind touch, I'm just not used to it." But when your hand brushes their cheek, that is not what that is.

They flinch like your touch is hot coal. They raise a hand to the wound as if checking for burns, back away as though your mere presence is smoldering, oppressive heat.

This is not 'unused' to touch. This is 'terrified'. Of touch, and of you.

"Don't... don't do that," Siffrin rasps. "Hugs are fine, hands are fine, just, please..."

"Not your face?"

They give a jerky nod. "Sorry. Sorry."

You... shuffle back, putting distance between the two of you. And you take a deep breath, because one misstep on your part isn't going to send you spiraling. Not now, not on the perfect day to have saved the country.

It'll be a long road. But you're walking it together.

And then Bonnie declared "GROUP HUG!" and everybody piled on the two of you and your foot didn't wake up for another fifteen minutes.

Chapter Text

Frin hates you. You're sure of it.

Okay well not sure sure. All of you are supposed to talk about your "fee-fees" (Za's words, not yours). So you ARE making the effort of talking about your fee-fees so you spent thirty minutes talking to Dile while you were making this cool Ka Buan noodle soup.

And she told you, "Boniface, Siffrin does not hate you." Then she threw the diced parsley into the pot and said, "Did you talk to them about why you think so?"

Which, fair, you didn't. Because Frin is avoiding you.

But now, in Bambouche, you are in home territory. Which is a tactical advantage. You've been staying in Nille's room both because you need to catch up and also because everybody else has to go somewhere. So Dile and Belle are sharing your room, Za is in the guest room slash former storage, and Frin insists on sleeping on the couch.

Weird or whatever, but it means you don't have to put up with Za to spring your trap. You've been ob-ser-ving Frin like Dile does with Sadnesses, and you figured out that Frin has Absolutely not been eating enough.

Which cannot stand. Hence. Soup. Noodle soup. It's good for the soul.

You sneak out, like the sly wolf you are, and Nille doesn't wake up cuz she sleeps like a rock. Light's still burning in the kitchen. You have Deduced that this must be Frin, cuz if it's Dile, your mission is already a bust.

Sure enough, it is Frin at the kitchen table, scribbling into a notebook with only the moonlight to guide them.

You stay out of sight in the shadows of the night. Waiting. Biding your time. Eventually, Frin stands up and stretches and their back pops.

He moves away from the table and opens a cupboard. With just the moon, you can't really tell what exactly he's doing, but--

You hear the telltale crinkle of candy wrappers. Candy... before dinner? Forbidden. Illegal. Banished. 

This is it. Your time to strike.

"You gotta eat dinner first."

"--Bonnie!" Frin puts a hand to their heart and startles.

The candy jar crashes back into the cupboad and wow that was loud hopefully no one woke up?

"Kibonnie?"

"Sorry, sorry. You startled me, Bonbon. How long have you been there?" They clamber back down to the ground, cuz they're not tall enough to reach the candy cupboard. Nille is, though, which is kinda the point of it.

You also climb up there when you want secret candy. "I dunno. How long are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you, Bonbon," Siffrin lies, like a liar.

"Yes you are! You don't eat and I haven't seen you in days!!! Even Dile's worried."

Frin just stares all stupid like. "You've seen me, though?"

You stomp very calmly. "That doesn't count! Stop being a ghost!"

And instead of yelling, you tromp on over to the refrigerator, heave out the big ol’ pot of soup, and heft it onto the kitchen counter.

"So," you gesture, ladle already in hand, "eat!!! That'll make you less weird."

Frin plays with their cloak. Then, they put the pot onto the stove.

You wait for the soup to reheat in silence.

Before it begins to truly bubble, Frin kills the flame. You fill a bowl to the brim before he can do it himself. He'd eat like a bird otherwise.

Finally, Frin is at the table with a bowl in front of them and a spoon in their hand. No, you're not making them learn chopsticks in the dead of night. You can't do those either, but you're trying.

"Eat," you repeat.

As though the spoonful of noodles and veggies personally offended them, Frin shovels it into their mouth at your command. With the first bite taken, the rest comes easier. He wolfs it down like a snake.

Once the bowl is sparkly clean and deposited into the sink to be someone else's problem, you swing into the chair opposite Frin.

"Hey. Frin," you say," Communitate with me."

"What?"

"Communitate with me."

"Communicate."

"Communicate with me."

He does that fake smile again, the one where he closes his eye and it crinkles too much. "Sure! What about?"

You don't like it. "Why you're avoiding me again."

Frin looks away.

"See!" you point at them. "You're even avoiding me with your eyes!"

They scratch at the wood of the table. "I can't tell you."

"WHY NOT?!"

"Shhh!" Frin presses a finger to your lips. They're being a big baby about it again. Once nobody wakes up at your lightly raised voice, Frin deflates and admits defeat. "I'll tell you a little bit. If you promise to stay quiet."

Without a word, you nod. You sit at attention, eager for every single word Frin will give you.

It takes him so long to talk, but you're patient.

"It's... it's forever school, right?"

You nod. You understand forever school. The timeloops.

"And... and forever school has detention, too, right?" He's putting on the kid voice. The 'Bonnie isn't smart enough for this' voice. But you're patient, and you feel a little bit like Frin can't say it in adult words at all.

"That's bad." You cross your arms.

Frin huffs, "Right? So, because the teacher is a reaaaal meanie, you got detention, too. And the next day of forever school, you got detention, again."

You whisper, full of horror, "What'd I do...?"

"Nothing! Because the teacher was just that much of a meanie. You got detention so often, that I...,"

Here, the fake smile drops. Frin is just blank, shrinking into themself.

You don't like that either.

He continues, "I... stopped, thinking about... how to prevent it. I was just that focused on getting out of school, I guess, but I wasn't the best  at that either, now was I?"

They laugh without joy.

"But, but Frin! You got out! And I'm not in forever detention! So it's fine, right?"

"When I look at you sometimes... It's like looking at a thousand different little Bonbons, all stuck in detention."

That's stupid. He said that before, back in Dormont. That apologizing to you is like saying sorry to that other Bonnie. The one still stuck in forever detention somewhere. "That's stupid."

"It really is. Stupid Frin."

"Nuh uh! I'm the only one who can call you dumb!"

They blink. "Hm?"

"I'm stopping you! Right now! No self dep-re-ca-ting!"

"Where'd you even learn that word?"

"From Za."

He scoffs. "Figures."

"So!" You disappear into the depths of the pitch dark kitchen. Frin panics when you hop the counter, even though they did the exact same thing. The candy jar awaits your grasp.

It's legal now. Frin had dinner.

Quietly and sneakily, you yell "Tadahhh!!" without waking anybody.

With a pop, the jar opens and you stick your hand aaaaaall the way to the bottom. At random, you grasp a single treat and present it to Frin.

Frin takes it, unwraps it, and rolls the bonbon around between their bare fingers.

"You're s'posed to eat it, dummy."

"What flavor is it?"

"I dunno." It was too dark to see, anyway, and you like the surprise.

"Down the hatch it goes, then."

Frin throws it into their mouth. He chews for a second, and then his face contorts.

"Did ya get extreme super mega lemon?"

"...No."

"What's it then?"

"Cantaloupe."

"Oh. I like that one." Mhm, melon. "Don't you like it?"

"It surprised me, is all. It's my favorite."

Frin crinkles the wrapper some more before throwing it into the trash. At this sign, hop off your chair. Frin's already pushing you to the door.

"Now off to bed, Bonbon! Or else you'll be grouchy tomorrow!"

"I'm not grouchy!"

"That's what all the grouchy people say."

"Hey!!!"

In defiance, you spread out your arms so you're stuck in the doorway like a giant spider. "One last question, Frin."

They stop pushing you out. "Go ahead."

"Was it just me? Or all of us? In forever detention?"

"All of us, most of the time."

Oh. "That's okay, then."

"It's not."

"But we were together."

"Goodnight, Bonnie."

Chapter Text

Usually you wonder how Sif can stuff that much food into that little body, but today you wonder how they haven't dropped like a fly in a glass of fruit juice with how little he's eating.

It was a great day for a little picnic on the roadside, especially with Bonnie's renewed cooking vigor. Bonnie improved a lot on the journey before, but they keep outdoing themself lately. This thought doesn't distract you from how much of a date this could possibly maybe be construed as, though.

And still, Sif just nibbled on one of the best grilled cheese sandwiches in existence. Don't they like cheese? You think they like cheese. Why do you feel like you know they like cheese?

Pretty cheesy of you, heh.

You huff at your own joke, which pricks Sif's attention away from staring holes into the cheese. More holes than that kind of cheese is supposed to have, anyway.

They put the sandwich, wrapped in a paper towel, next to them on the bench you're both sitting on. Then, he swipes of the crumbs sticking to their gloves.

Sif observers your surroundings for a moment. You do the same. Bonnie and Nille are inside the house. Even after a week, the siblings have a lot to catch up on. Mira went off to visit the local House with a capital H, and m'dame is... somewhere, for sure.

So, the two of you are alone, and Sif noticed.

"Fi-- Isabeau." What? "Isa," Sif corrects.

Odd, but. Well. Timeloops, so whatever. You wonder what they tried to call you first, though. F- something. And also, your full name? Since when did he do that?

Still though, you just respond, "What is it?"

Whatever it is, it's either not good or embarrassing. Sif buries themself into the collar of their cloak. A habit they developed to compensate for the missing hat, which you totally did not think is cute.

Especially not when Sif is also skipping meals, and calling you strangely.

"Isa. I... I've been thinking. About what you told me."

a.

"After we beat the King."

A?

Sif's doing the breathing thing between each sentence. You try to match it as your heart hammers out of your throat and your face probably turns the same shade as your hair.

Don't catastrophize now, Isa. The worst that could happen is he says no. Even after... well, after. A promise to. Practice.

Your breathing goes all funny when they shorten the distance between you. You see every little detail of their face, from the scar peeking out underneath the eyepatch to the even heavier bags underneath the full eye.

You are very close, and your breathing goes even funnier when Sif raises a hand slowly slowly and then flicks your nose.

"Mister Amazing Wonderful Funny Buff Isabeau!"

A high pitched, unmanly noise escapes your throat. Sif leans away from you again and laughs, extremely loudly. "I always wanted to say that!" You are going to explode.

They choke the laughter down, to be replaced with a guilty face. Oh yeah. Sif mentioned that... he sometimes did things like this, in the loops. To see your reaction. For fun.

And maybe it is manipulative of him to push your buttons like this, but you don't really care. If you're honest with yourself, you're jealous. That some other Isabeau got to see Sif like that. That some other Isabeau got to be on the receiving end of Sif flirting and you don't remember any of it! How unfair is that!

Some other Isabeau got to kiss Sif, and that Isabeau is gone. It's fine.

Though by the guilt on Sif's face, maybe there won't be another Isabeau like that either.

"I told you it's fine, right? Sure, I get all flustered and stuff... But I do like it."

"I know."

And the distance between you grows larger yet again, as they push toward the opposite end of the bench. There's been a lot of that, lately. They don't even sleep in the same room as you do anymore.

Sure, it's their choice. As the saviors of Vaugarde, you're not really pressed for places to stay at, but you just... hope it isn't a sign.

But it is. Since Siffrin says, "I... I want to love you, Isa. I want to be the Siffrin you love."

"You want to be...?"

"I had someone I loved, I think." He thinks, but you're sure, because they have that small smile and faint blush and an unmistakable aura of fondness for something very far away.

"Once," Sif continues, "a very long time ago. I didn't really realize at the time. But you're... a lot alike. He was big and acted dumb a lot of the time. He loved bad jokes and the one thing I loved more than making bad jokes was hearing him laugh at them."

And it's shitty, to listen to Sif lay their heart bare and only think, There was someone before me?

"But he never told me. And I never figured it out in time. And now, he's..."

"Gone."

"Yeah. And, and I want to love you, I do, but--"

"But I remind you of him too much, right? Sif... you're not obligated to love me like that. You're still my friend, no matter what."

Even if it still feels like some other Isabeau getting cold feet and blowing it for you before you even had a chance. That's unfair to Sif to think that, so you don't.

Sif fidgets. "Can I hold your hands?"

"Of course!"

And you're still too overeager, because this crush will fade with time as all your hopeless puppy crushes before it did, and you hold your hands out to Sif and hope they're not too sweaty.

They're totally sweaty.

Sif's hands are absolutely dwarfed by your own. Many a time you thought Sif seems the perfect size to hold. Now you force yourself to relax so you don't crush their dainty hands.

Wind cools off some of your sweat, doing little to help with the blush.

And then Sif swings your intertwined hands back and forth. Back and forth, to an invisible tune only they can hear. He stares down at your hands with a soft and fragile smile you need to engrave in your memory.

But it disappears before you can, because it wasn't meant for you, was it? It was for the one before you. The one who is like you, but not you, and the one Sif loves in the way you want them to love you.

"Thank you, Isa."

"Don't mention it."

It's fine.

Chapter Text

The time to return to Dormont came much sooner than anyone expected. At every major town, Mirabelle sent a letter to the Head Housemaiden, informing her of Mirabelle's activities and wellbeing, as well as her next expected stop. And at this next stop, in the Poterian capital, a letter from the Head Housemaiden came in return--

An invitation, to a bonding ceremony between her and Mirabelle's roommate.

This occasion now finds you and Siffrin, seated opposite one another in a carriage rented for the long road back. Isabeau and Mirabelle shared the driver's seat outside, while Boniface rode atop the horse.

The weather had been entirely too much for you. Vaugarde is already much sunnier and hotter than Ka Bue, and Poteria was hotter than Vaugarde -- and more humid, too boot. Terrible for the joints.

Evidently, Siffrin thought much the same. Without the shade of their old hat, he sits inside the dark carriage together with you. He fervently scribbles away into a light pocketbook, one that has not left their side since you first left Dormont.

"Boniface told me you've taken up journaling?"

You lean forward to catch a glimpse, but Siffrin snaps the booklet shut. All you saw a glimpse of was short rows of text. "Is that a script? Finally trying your hand at theater, are you?"

Sheepish, they fiddle with the book. "Ahah, maybe you should research dramaturgy, madame!"

"Maybe. That play you recommended was exquisite."

A porterian tragedy, it had been. You're not much one for drama yourself, yet even you could commend the stage presence and pathos put to show by those performers. The entire time, you recall, Siffrin had been enraptured, as though he'd seen it all for the first time, despite being the one to recommend it.

Siffrin says, "It was only a matter of time until I took up any sort of writing, really. With how often I forget things, why didn't I write them down sooner?"

"You... did write things down, though." You gesture at what they're doing now." Before you lost your old pocketbook."

Siffrin's mouth makes an O-shape. "I don't remember owning a pocketbook. I didn't... have it during the. Everything." They gesture a circle. "Wouldn't have helped anyway!"

Ah, sore spot. Great job. Come on, change the subject. "What is your play about, if I may ask?"

"Something I can't ever forget."

They hold the closed book to their cheek, lovingly. Even if they won't tell, at least thinking about it made them happy. They kick their legs back and forth a bit, before cracking it open and rereading what he's written.

You are terribly curious, but they'll show it to you when it's time. Apparently, in those timeloops, some other version of you had figured it all out.

And you could imagine it perfectly. If you discovered Wish Craft sooner, without that star telling you of it, if you connected it to Time Craft, if you heard of Siffrin's wish... And that you of the past might be none too pleased.

She would have confronted Siffrin on all of it. All at once, without hesitation. Not the right approach, evidently.

Yet even as Siffrin beams at his little play, you feel something curdle in the pit of your stomach. Boniface hadn't told you just of the journaling. A thousand different Bonnies...

Truly, you have no way of knowing how deeply it affected Siffrin. How long they had been stuck in that place. And you see that they struggle now. He's been distancing himself, from Mirabelle, from Boniface, even from Isabeau...

And from you, too.

And it stings. Even if they are overjoyed to be with you, there is a shadow over it all. Barely eating, barely sleeping, Siffrin is hiding something from you, yet again.

But you think about that other Odile, who figured out everything all at once. Instead of voicing any of your theories and suspicions, you settle for something smaller. Something manageable.

"Siffrin," you say. He perks up, and you continue, "How have you been, lately?"

"I'm f-"

"Please do not say you're fine."

As expected, that plastic smile drops away, and he deflates in his seat. They open their mouth and close it again, clenching that booklet.

Something smaller than that, then.

And so, you say, "Just one thing. It doesn't have to be the thing. Just-"

"Please don't say that."

All at once, Siffrin is at full attention. Their voice is small and haggard and haunted. "Anything but that."

You have no clue as to why, and you are so terribly curious, but both you and Siffrin are very private people, so you tuck all that away. Smaller. Something smaller.

"Why not?"

Between one blink and the next, that fake thing is back. That thing that is all in the mouth and not in the eyes, so wide and stretched you imagine it cracking.

Siffrin says, "Reminds me of something, is all."

You could blame this behavior on the timeloops. It would be the most sensible thing, that you have said this before, but more than that is wrong here. Siffrin promised to stay with you. Recovery isn't linear, but--

You can't believe they'd act like this now, shutting you out.

And you told yourself, you'll tuck all these suspicions and theories and speculations away, for Siffrin, and yet, something keeps curdling inside your gut. You are off kilter, and you do not know why.

"Something happened in Dormont."

His gaze narrows even further. You recognize it as their boiling point. "Can you be more specific? Everything happened in Dormont."

What changed? What changed inbetween you asking for clarification, and Siffrin answering?

You level yourself and say, "When you talked to Loop, you said it went wonderfully."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"You nearly broke down crying after. What happened?"

Even with one eye, Siffrin winks playfully. "That's a secret~"

They clasp their hands together and grin, a gesture that is utterly jarring coming from beneath their heavy cloak. Siffrin doesn't-- Siffrin smiles, obviously, but whatever this is is all in the eyes, shut tight to not let any light escape, lips pursed to a comical degree. And the more you stare at it, the more you know it.

The more you smell it.

How their behavior flipped on a dime. They had already been vulnerable with you, and decided against it. You messed up before you had the chance.

Sugar. You smell sugar.

"Siffrin."

Their eye cracks open, still joylessly grinning. "What is it, madame?"

"You looped just now."

You got it in one. They freeze, and the smell intensifies. From sugar to caramel. "Why'd you think that? Teehee~"

You sigh. By all means, you should confront them right now. They're not-- It's not supposed to work like this, anymore. But you're working yourself up, and you don't want to say things you'll regret. "I'm not angry with you."

"You are, though."

"Not at you. At myself, perhaps. At this circumstance."

"At this circumstance created by me."

"Fine. I am mad that you're shutting me out like this. But I need you to understand that it's not permanent. No matter how mad at you I am in the moment, I understand that it is irrational, and we can work this out if we just talk about this."

"I don't want to, though."

They are, though. The smell of sugar in the air is enough proof that they tried to talk to you, in that moment of honesty. And whatever happened, it went wrong, just as it did with Mirabelle and Boniface and Isabeau.

"You're trying to talk to everybody, but it's not working how you want it to, right? Why can't you talk to me, too?"

There is so much caramel in this dark carriage, you wonder if the others smell it wafting out the window.

"Because you'll figure it out," Siffrin says, "and once you do, everything's over."

"What will be over? What would happen?"

"Something terrible." Siffrin refuses to look at you, turning to that closed window. "You can't put the sun back in the sky, after all."

"It always rises again."

"In a loop, sure."

As the wagon wheels spin, Siffrin writes and writes and writes, and you collapse into your seat, head tilted up to stare holes in the wooden roof.

Chapter Text

As one play ends, another will begin.

Siffrin takes a bow. Flowers grow at their feet, light and beautiful. What a stunning show it's been! Ah, what a tragedy!

Siffrin applauds the actor with all their heart. 

As Siffrin retreats behind the curtain, Siffrin climbs into the spotlight. Ah, what a comedy!

Unbeknownst to the average theater goer, the five act structure carries a unique name for each act. Siffrin knows it by heart, of course. And thus Siffrin knows that the name of the fifth and final act is catastrophe.

This term carries negative connotation with it, which Siffrin understands. Yet the theatrical catastrophe is merely any sort of resolution. Be it tragic, comedic, or anything inbetween.

As Dormont approaches, the catastrophe grows closer for the leading actor.

After all, death is the brother of sleep.

And you?

You dream about the sun.

Chapter Text

It's weird being back in Dormont, for everybody. Now that the House is unfrozen, you all could just stay there instead-- but the people of Dormont do love their saviors. A spot of privacy is sorely needed.

That’s what draws all of you back to that abandoned clocktower. While changing who sleeps in which bed, of course. The housemaiden does plan to head back to her own room for the night, so the kid and the sister share one bed to themselves. Same as last time, the researcher gets her own bed, but the fighter does this time as well. You have a sleeping bag. It’s better this way.

After everyone settles their belongings in the early afternoon, the sister asks for someone to show her around town. Kind as ever, the housemaiden offers, but you’re out the door before she can insist. You don’t like this building. It’s a glaring reminder that you don’t belong here.

All you need is to get out for a bit, to tell yourself it’s alright. Besides, you’re confident you can ditch the sister if it comes down to it. Either by plain sneaking of, or leaving her to explore the House under some housemaiden’s supervision.

It’s… Dormont. It’s familiar, yet not. Someone fixed the draft in the clocktower. The season’s changed. All the trees have darkened and the grass is sparser. It’s colder than you remember.

Change should be a comfort.

The researcher watches you as you leave. Now, only Siffrin’s companions remain. Right now, the bonding ceremony you’re ostensibly here for is the furthest thing from the researcher’s mind.

She clears her throat, and says, "Have any of you noticed something off with Siffrin lately?"

The housemaiden crosses her legs and pouts. "We’re not doing this again, madame."

"I understand that, Mirabelle, but—"

"NO BUTS!" The kid butts in. "Frin’s gonna be sad if we talk behind their back again."

From her sigh, the researcher already thought about this for far too long. "And I understand that, I really do. But we’ve all talked to Siffrin by this point, have we not?"

At that, the housemaiden fidgets. "Not really, not since…"

"Since they flinched away from you."

She shrinks, and nods.

The kid’s anger also fades at the argument, thinking back to their own encounter with you. "Frin’s also avoiding me…"

"See? If they refuse to talk to us, we need some sort of plan. And this time, I don’t think they’re eavesdropping."

No, this time, the researcher made sure to close the door all the way. And she made sure you were well out of sight, with your route more or less accounted for. You’d need about half an hour minimum to show the sister around, even if you ditch her.

However, the housemaiden still reaches a nail to her mouth, then catches herself before she bites down. "...Isabeau? You’ve been awfully quiet."

"’m thinking about something," the fighter mumbles. He leans back in his chair, arms swaying loosely at his side.

Of course, the researcher presses with that characteristic curious smile of hers, "Care to enlighten us?"

"Siffrin told me something," he says. "We all noticed they’re kinda off, right? I dunno if it’s just me, but… did they call any of you by the wrong name? Or nearly did?"

The kid says, "They called me kibonnie once. It was weird."

"And… and they said, they want to be…," here the fighter trails off, blushing furiously. Yet he grits his teeth and continues, "Siffrin said he loved someone once. A big guy who made bad puns and loved laughing at them." Someone who acted stupid but wasn’t. "Stop me if I’m being selfish, but--"

Ever his companion, the housemaiden finishes for him, "He sounds exactly like you?"

"Yeah! I’m not imagining that, right?"

"Sounds like you, Za." The kid crosses their arms. "Only you and Frin love dumb puns that much."

"Okay, yeah," he nods, "while we were talking, I keep thinking. That, well, there was some other Isabeau they’re thinking about. And it’s the loops, I know that, but…"

"Isabeau." The researcher takes her place next to him. "What’s your thesis here?"

"They said… They ‘want to be the Siffrin I love’."

The housemaiden gasps. "You don’t mean…"

"He said they can’t tell me, because." The researcher massages her forehead. "’Something terrible’ would happen if I found out their secret. And they basically confirmed that whatever occurred did so in Dormont. Something between leaving the House and joining our picnic."

How the housemaiden remembers that first seed of doubt, disgust at herself now transformed into something else entirely. "They were talking to Loop. It had to have been then."

And the kid only stares back and forth between the adults, eyes growing ever wider.

Still, the fighter bears the burden of being the first to finally admit it, just as he is ever the last to admit anything else. "Guys, we have to go to the Favor Tree. Because…

"...That’s not our Siffrin."

The Favor Tree looms large as it ever did, the noon sun casting its long shadow across the group.

The start of everything, according to Siffrin’s words of that day.

First, the researcher steps forward, scanning the scene. "And what exactly are we supposed to see… here…"

Not any sign of the guide, nor any sign of anybody else, but…

The Favor Tree itself is the same. Underneath, cradled in its kind shade, is…

A field of bright flowers.

Spreading everywhere, choking the tree’s roots. Bright flowers cover the grass, the bark, wind roses climbing higher.

"With roots like these," the fighter tugs one off its place on the tree, "They gotta be parasitic."

What a terrible sense of déjà vu.

"Loop’s not here." The housemaiden scratches her arms as she enters the shade. Flowers seem to tug at her skirt, beckoning her to the ground below.

The kid follows in her wake, yet trips. Before they can faceplant into the ground, the fighter catches them. "Whoa there, Bonbon!"

A flower trailed them out of the ground. Clumps of dirt clung to its thin roots. "The ground’s loose," the kid declares.

"Loose?" Her back cracks as the researcher crouches down and runs a hand through the ground. Sure enough, as the kid said, the flowers come loose with ease. Like the ground had been disturbed recently, but long enough ago for these flowers to bloom.

"Something’s buried here?" the housemaiden asks.

It unsettles the fighter. Of course it does. He’s prepared himself to be the voice of doubt on this venture, because somebody has to be. Not that this means he wants to say it.

"Hey, Za. Why’d you wanna go here?"

He can’t tell the kid what he’s thinking, can he? Not that he ever tells anyone much of anything he’s thinking. Well, he tries to be better about that. "I… Maybe Loop would be here and could help us again."

And as usual, the researcher sees right through his excuses. "You don’t think that. We’ve already established that, whatever happened with Siffrin, Loop has to be the catalyst." After a second, she amends, "That means ‘cause’ in this case, Boniface."

"Isabeau." The housemaiden’s proximity is a calming balm, as he is to her. "What did you mean by ‘not our Siffrin’? You can’t be saying… that buried here is…"

He nods. "Siffrin nearly called me something starting with F. Remember what Loop called all of us?"

The housemaiden says, "The housemaiden."

The researcher says, "The researcher."

The kid says, "The kid! Is that why Frin said that? With a K?"

Last, the fighter says, "The fighter."

"No," the housemaiden gasps, "no, no no no."

"That explains it." The researcher refuses to dwell on the implication for just a moment. On what all of them refuse to say. But she takes this fact, and adds to it, "That’s why they can loop."

"They can loop?"

"just once, I caught them. He clammed up about something and I smelled burned sugar."

The kid agrees, "Like when Frin went all big. So this Frin really isn’t our Frin? Then, then, who’re they?"

Clap,

clap,

clap.

What a perfect entrance you’ve been given. Even if you didn’t hear what they all whispered about, you hardly have to guess. All of them crowd where the flowers grow thickest, closest to the root of everything.

An all too familiar smile fixes itself across your face. They’re not fooled by it, you know, you know, you know, yet it’s all you can do in this moment.

You don’t exist without it anymore.

From a hundred thousand things to say, you announce yourself with something small, something playful. "Hello! What're you talking about?"

The fighter rushes ahead, as he always does. Well not rush , really, but he straightens out his spine like his size could ever intimidate you. As if you haven't faced down people much bigger than him again and again.

He is cold as he speaks, trying so hard to be warm. "...Siffrin. What's buried here?"

You withdraw a silver coin from your pocket. You flip it, which would usually impress him. Usually, under normal circumstances. Flip, flip, flip. Heads or tails?

The housemaiden tiptoes closer to you, the kid and researcher still protectively behind the two. Ah, how nostalgic. Back then, it had also been these two to speak up first.

But not them. Not really.

And she says, oh so softly, "Whose grave is this?"

You are a very greedy person. You want so so many things. You want to laugh and cry and scream. You tamp down on that feeling building in your stomach and say, "It's my grave, of course. It's symbolic, see—"

The researcher grasps a flower tight. "Shall we prove that?"

You are not going to crack. You're better than that.

Between you, the researcher, and the soft ground, things click into place. Even for the kid, tense as a bow.

After catching the coin out of midair, you deposit it back in your pocket. It clinks against its twin. Your other hand clutches at your book under your cloak, tight enough to crease the cover. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. How much time do you need to fix this?

Finally, finally, the housemaiden breaks your cowardice. "You’re Loop, aren’t you?"

Haha. How funny. "No," you say, "I’m Siffrin. I’ve always been. Just look at me!"

You gesture to every inch of yourself. "Same cloak, same hair, same eyes, same hands, same everything!"

It’s just a little bit of lying, and you’ve done plenty worse. You’ve still got both eyeballs, even if one is dead and lazy. Less scars on your arms, too, and less dye in your hair.

All around, though, you’re still Siffrin! You’re still very nearly identical to Siffrin!

They can’t see that, right? Just a couple little imperfections. Nothing, in the grand scheme of things. It’d be stupid to get upset over minute details. Like how the researcher has her hair different, or the housemaiden’s bow is the slightly wrong shape.

But, no, the fighter just refuses to let up. "You’re a Siffrin. You’re Loop. Please, just… just tell us the truth, okay?"

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. You can never say it, you can never make it real.

The researcher says, "Boniface, please cover your ears."

Stupid. The kid protests, "NO! If Frin’s not Frin, I want to hear this! I deserve to hear this!"

Her gaze flicks to the fighter. "Isabeau—"

"Nuh uh." You wiggle your finger at both of them. The fighter squirms. He’s still closest to you. "Bonnie’s been along for the ride before, no? We can all take the kid gloves off."

Great pun, right? Not to the researcher. And yet, she takes it to heart. She says, clear and plain, "Loop. Siffrin. Did you kill them?"

All things considered, the kid’s doing a great job not bursting into tears on the spot. Even when they see you for the snake you are. As all of them do.

You have to justify yourself. "That just proves I’m the better Siffrin! It’s unfair, right? They got help, I didn’t. They got to break out, and I. Didn’t. I should get the happy ending! I should get to stay with you!"

The fighter’s hand hovers over your shoulder, torn between reassurance and reproach. It’s so funny to witness, you have to laugh. "Oh stars! You’re still the same!"

You laugh, and as it subsides, the researcher reiterates, "You admit it, then."

"Sure! Sure, sure, I did! Opened their rib cage, took their heart out of their chest! And so what?"

"So what?" The housemaiden draws a deep, furious breath. Like she’s staring down the King again. Unbroken, even then. "You-- You killed someone!"

"As did you." As did you. "In every single loop before this, you did kill the King. You’ve always been prepared to kill him."

Maybe you and Siffrin are still the same in this way, for you to speak words just to hurt her.

It’s all you can do.

After all, she’s not yours.

Not yours,

not yours,

not yours.

"I’m the original! If anything, he was the fake!"

This has to be enough, it has to be enough, otherwise…

Otherwise, the researcher asks you, "If you wished to stay with us badly enough to kill… Then why do you push us away, even now?"

You don’t answer. Nobody does. The fighter and the housemaiden still float on either side of you. Close enough to hurt, far enough to run.

Behind the researcher, the kid’s shaking.

You can’t stand it, any of it. Instead of doing the sensible thing, of shutting up, and thinking, or anything, you do the Loop thing to do.

You keep talking.

"At least Mirabelle and I both agree pacifism is stupid. One time, can you believe it, the traveler said, ‘Let’s talk to the King, it’ll be fine.’ And I said, ‘Stardust, that’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s an irredeemable monster.’ But why listen to me? Not like giving advice was my whole purpose or anything."

They’re on all sides of you, now. Except at your back. Dumb of them. You’re the fastest by a long shot. In front of you is the researcher now, pleading. "Please. Answer me."

You ignore her and keep blabbering. It’s not real if you don’t say it. "But nooo, stardust is too special to fail! So the King spouts his big sob story, ‘Boo hoo bright one, we’re the same kind of loser.’ That whole cliché."

The fighter’s looking at you. "Siffrin."

Keep talking.

"Soooo, stardust walks up to him, intent on being best pals, and BAM!" You smack your fist into your open palm, except you’re still holding your book, so it does hurt a little. The sting grounds you.

Just as you’re about to mimick squishing something in your fist, the kid yells out "STOP!"

The researcher tries to stop them, but the kid ducks under her outstretched arm and bodily flings themself at you.

You catch them.

Of course you do. There’s already snot on your cloak before you can be mad you dropped your book, before they can blubber out, "Why are you here? Why’s it make you sad to be here?"

"I…"

Your Bonnie never hugged you like this. You bend down, guiding them to the ground alongside you. They use the changed height to wrap their arms around your neck instead. You rub circles into their back.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.

You feel compassion, obviously. There’s a kid crying into your arms and you feel terrible terrible terrible about it. You made them cry. But there’s no yawning gaping pit in your chest at making this Bonnie sad. Just as you flinched when this Mirabelle touched you. Just as you felt nothing when you held this Isabeau’s hands. Just as you couldn’t bear this Odile’s words.

It should be the same. You’re Siffrin.

This is your family.

You are reminded, that

they look at you and see

a stranger.

You take a hand off the kid and rummage around the ground. Reaching for what fell without dislodging them. Eventually, you find it. What you spent so many sleepless nights over. Probably more nights than you spent with these people.

Over the kid’s shoulders, you begin to read.

THE FIGHTER
Sif, we were talking, and we couldn't help but notice, that you're acting a little weird, and, we know this is a stressful time, and we were wondering if--

THE HOUSEMAIDEN
Tell us what's wrong!!!

THE RESEARCHER
Oh boy.

You read it out with a voice for every character. Even if you don’t remember each and every word, you seared as many as you could into your mind. Repeating these moments in your head as you could not repeat them in time, until your chance to put them to paper.

THE FIGHTER
WE SAID WE WERE GONNA BUILD UP TO IT!!!

THE HOUSEMAIDEN
TELL US WHAT'S WRONG!!!!!! You're acting weird! You're forgetting things, you know too much, you're super strong, ...and you look sad and tired every time you think we're not looking!

THE FIGHTER
Hahaha, what she's saying is--

THE RESEARCHER
What she's saying is stop it.

As you talk and talk, they all draw closer around you. Just like they all huddled around Siffrin as he cried his eyes out.

THE RESEARCHER
Everyone, get ready to fight. And…

THE KID
I’ll be here for backup! Hit him hard!!!

You don’t know how long you’ve been performing for.

THE FIGHTER
Don’t worry about me, Sif!!! Just GO!!!

THE RESEARCHER
Stand up, Siffrin!!! The King is weakened… This isn’t over yet!!!

THE KID
Hey!!! Quick, take this Sour Tonic and GO!!!

THE HOUSEMAIDEN
This is our chance! Our chance to end everything once and for all!!!

You don’t know when you started to cry.

THE TRAVELER
...We won…?

You are so. Tired.

Exit, the housemaiden. The traveler lies alone in the meadow, gazes at the sky, and screams.

What a riveting performance. Are you expecting applause?

All you feel is empty.

"I thought you’d be close enough. You’re exactly like them. I tell myself, this is what I wanted. To be with you.

"But you’re not right. You’re just not right.

"Or better yet, I’m not right!"

Hoarse and hollow, barely a whimper. "I’m the only Siffrin left. For what? What did I follow here?"

Curtain call. Your nails dig into loose ground.

As you tear a flower of Siffrin’s corpse. you freeze.

Isn’t it obvious?

"I can fix this."

The housemaiden’s also crying now. How amazing of you. She wipes off her big round tears, and asks, "How?"

How else?

"I just need to go back."

Burnt sugar, right on cue. Cloying, choking, stealing breath.

And she recognizes it now, doesn’t she? The housemaiden clutches her skull. "Stop!"

"But I’m going to fix this. That’s what everyone wants, right? I can make it perfect."

The researcher struggles to breathe. "Loop, give us a moment to think--"

Truly incredible, how you never noticed the world growing fuzzy at the edges. It took the outside looking in, but at least the dread pooling in your stomach is familiar. You want to throw up.

The housemaiden rambles, to you or to herself, it makes no difference. "I do want Siffrin back. Our Siffrin. But if it includes putting you, putting all of us, back into the exact situation that--"

You tune her out. They’re all calling for you. In this moment, they’re concerned. In this moment, they’re worried, panicked, fretting over you.

"Then, then maybe--"

But why? They don’t love you.

And you don’t love them.

So, you feel a tug on your stomach.

"We can--"

Before any hand can reach you,

"Together--"

you

"Wait!"

let

"SIFFRIN!!!"

go.

Chapter Text

You attack.

No frills no tricks no nothing, you just attack with pinpoint precision and Siffrin stumbles. You dive at them, hands on their chest knocking him over into the grass.

In one movement, hands around their neck.

Their eye is wide, breathing harsh, and they draw into themself, attention moving off you and onto the heart inside their chest, a tug at his stomach.

And it snaps back, once they find nothing there.

"Oh, stardust, have you forgotten?" You drawl, squeezing tighter.  "You sure burned yourself out earlier with your little temper tantrum, haven't you...?"

This isn't a joke, stardust, you think, though it only works one way. One of you is dying today. They should've made sure it's you. The world only needs one of you. From actor, to director, to corpse.

"So... You can't loop back a-ny-more~"

Oh, what tragedy! Everybody clap! Take a bow, throw some flowers!

You laugh, tasting sugar.

"So this is it, stardust!!! I'll kill you!!! I'll kill you now!!!"

You are not a star. You are the moon. The greedy, selfish moon, swallowing the light of the sun and only doling out its scraps. It shines bright and it shines cold, just like you.

"Kill you get rid of you open up your ribcage take out my heart that beats in your chest!!!"

They are the star, the sun, the center of your Universe. Your nails dig so deep into his throat that a drop of warmth spills out as the rest of them burns as cold as you. They are the sun, and you are the moon, and you are a snake eating its own tail, greedy greedy greedy.

"And I'll finally be able to take back what's mine!!!!!!"

How dare you. How dare you. When he got this far while you didn't. But. But, but, but, say it thrice for good luck, it's just fair, right? Stardust exists for your sake.

You can't stop laughing.

They reach one shaking hand, place it atop your own atop their windpipe. Stardust opens his mouth, yet all that exits is a breathless heave.

"I'm sorry, stardust!!! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!! Why should you be the only one to get it?! I suffered, too!!! I endured, too!!! I deserve it just as much, no, even more than you do!!!"

He should've known it would end like this. After all, you gave him plenty of hints, didn't you? You hate them. You hated them, right from the start. Always dreamed of taking them apart and biting down.

"I'll take it, I'm taking it!!! This perfect ending of yours!!!!!!"

But to Siffrin... Ah, Loop, pitiful Loop! Surely Loop will be changed by the power of love, the power of trust.

But you won't. Because. it. got. you. NOWHERE!

YOU DID IT! EVERYBODY WAS CONCERNED FOR YOU! EVERYBODY STOPPED FOR YOU! EVERYBODY LOVED YOU! BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH, WAS IT? IF YOU HAD KNOWN, THAT ALL IT TOOK WAS TO BLOW IT ALL TO SPACE, YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE MADE THAT STUPID WISH AT ALL!

YOU NEVER WOULD'VE BEEN HERE AT ALL!

LOOP NEVER WOULD'VE EXISTED AT ALL.

Siffrin kicks you. But he's weak. Exhausted from his temper tantrum. And that's just the kicker, right? 

Siffrin had to win every time.

And you only had to win once.

Your fingernail digs into their cheek. Just like that poem, isn't it? Why are you thinking about poetry when stardust breathes his last before you? But it was a poem you liked, you think, at some point inbetween moments, and it's something your home shared with his.

Peel an orange open...

Blood on your hands!

The thrashing clawing at your arms, all at once, goes limp. Just a second more, and you win.

It's what you want.

Right?

> START AGAIN?