Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Yesterday smelled like hope; fresh air and leaves and sunlight. Today…

Today smells like burnt sugar.

It starts when you wake up next to Isabeau, looking at the clocktower ceiling. You really shouldn’t have slept here, but your family was too tired to leave Dormont yesterday, and the tower's easy, and everyone’s non-castle-crawling items are still strewn about the dusty floor. You reassured them that it’d be fine — anyway, the loops began in the southern field, so you really did think you wouldn’t panic. You were wrong. You slept fitfully. When you wake up, there are tears crusting your eyelashes. Not wanting to have a meltdown in company, you sneak out while everyone else is still asleep to do some predawn fishing. You don't manage to take a deep breath until you finally catch something.

By the time your family finds you, you're… fine. And you’ve caught breakfast, to boot. After a peaceful (or just quiet) meal of fish and rice, everyone sets off, heading north and out of town. You trail behind the group, preferring not to lead. Mirabelle can see well enough — better than you, surely. Yesterday, you'd been too exhausted to really keep track of her travel plans. Now, in your wish-tired mind, you barely have enough brain power to keep the emotional impact of the last year from hitting you. You'll cry later, maybe. Until then, you can only walk. Every once in a while, when you stub your toe on a rock or have to sneeze, the memories clouding your vision clear and let you see the scene in front of you. It's a bright day. The darkless fields outside of Dormont are full of fat little birds, hunting bugs in the windswept grass. The path itself is gravelly, occasionally cobbled, and always uneven. It's nice to be forced to pay attention sometimes.

Ahead of you, the other adults talk while Bonnie dutifully supplies them with a steady flow of gorp. Something about Bambouche, and inns… does it matter?

Yes. You only get one chance to listen, now. You focus on what Odile is saying. "Mistralville is farther from Dormont than our first choice. It's going to be hard on my poor old woman joints if we go there today."

"I know." Mirabelle pats Odile's back apologetically. "But it's only a few kilometers longer! And there's that big market, right?"

The older woman grumbles. "…We do need more food..."

Bonnie pipes up, loud as ever. "I HAVE FOOD! I have a million foods! 'Dile can rest her old lady joins—"

"Joints," corrects Odile,

"—joints at the closer one! See, I'm so smart." The kid bounces along in their clunky boots, teeth glinting through their smile. You avert your gaze from them, fixing your eye on the ground instead.

"Mhm, mhm!" Isabeau's voice is as warm as it's ever been. "But we don't want your culinary genius to be wasted on such a limited supply. Think of all the totally epic ingredients you might get to use!"

"And CONDIMENTS!" Bonnie roars.

You could say it'd be…

"That'd be awesome sauce, Bonbon." His bubbling laugh and the chorus of groans that follow is enough to break your frown, for a moment. You glance up to find that he's looking straight at you, his eyebrows raised hopefully.

You blush and look back down. You miss your hat.

Your family spends a few more minutes talking about routing before the conversation breaks down into games and gossip. As soon as things derail, Isabeau falls back, taking his place at your right side. You thought he had been loud in the House, but walking next to him on the gravel, you could mistake his footsteps for a bull's. It feels good to be reminded that you're not in the loops.

Isabeau breaks the window of your mind palace and climbs inside. "Heyyyy, Sif! Enjoying the scenery? You look so, uh, peaceful back here."

You look around. When did it get so flowery? "Yes, the scenery. It's nice. I'm so zen," you say flatly.

He chuckles, earrings swinging with the bob of his head. "Haha, yeah, yeah. I'll be more direct. Are you okay? You've been staring into space and making faces this whole time."

"Um- what?" You blink, taking an inventory of how you feel. Are you okay? "I'm… good? I'm good. I can't wait to sleep later."

The man smiles fondly at you. The sun must be making your skin extra warm right now. "Good ol' Sif, always looking forward to the next nap. I'm glad you're doing well."

You nod, and the two of you fall in step for a while. A smile plays at the corner of your mouth. You got your wish. For now, at least until… well, for now, everyone's together. Hm.

"How long until we get to Bambouche?" You look up at Isabeau.

He shrugs. "Mira says a week, now that the sadnesses are gone. Don't worry! We'll have time to rest and stuff."

Only a week? Your brow furrows. "What happens when we get there? Where do we go next? Do we-"

"Whoa, whoa, Sif, buddy. It's okay." Isabeau puts his hands up, offering a comforting smile. "Well, Bonbon's sister has to let us know whether they can stick with us on more adventures. Hopefully they can, and then we'll figure out what to do next. Together! As a family."

You hide your mouth in the high collar of your cloak, peering up at him doubtfully through your hair. "What if they can't? Or something happens?"

His hand hovers over your shoulder. Just touch me. It lands, and you relax. "Aw, it's okay. Maybe we can stay in Bambouche for a while- and we'll always use that port when we go other places."

You think of leaving Odile behind in Ka Bue. Stars. Your face sours.

"Siffrin… You don't have to worry. I'll stay with you for as long as you need."

You breathe in, and out. Isabeau wouldn't leave you. He loves you, so he won't. You reach for his hand on your shoulder, interlacing your fingers and holding on. He blushes, and his eyes snap straight ahead.

You take some time with him to calm down. After enough awkward hand-holding has passed, the two of you jog to catch up with the rest of your family, still engaged in their pleasant conversation. You try to stay with the group for the time you have. You play with Bonnie, let Mirabelle rant about her books… Everyone is talking about things you could have guessed. Still, it's spontaneous- sentences and jokes and laughs you haven't heard before are a balm to your soul. Walking is painfully slow, but it buys you precious time with your family, so you make sure to drag your feet.

Your family was quick to rent rooms and settle down after a day that must have been exhausting for them. Save for last night, you haven't had meaningful sleep in a year. Walking is just as restful to you- nice and slow and easy. Still, you find yourself collapsing into a surprisingly comfortable bed, watching Isabeau change his dangly earrings for studs by lamplight. You suddenly realize you've never really had privacy with him. Alone in this timeless room, he's… quieter, softer, more relaxed — or maybe he's anxious in a way you just haven't seen. For some reason, you feel vulnerable. You turn your eye to the ceiling and stare intently at the rafters.

Moments pass and your weight shifts as he lays down next to you, pulling a thick blanket over himself. He offers you half to sleep under. You shake your head- you're not ready. You figure he's as drained as everyone else, so you just turn over, bundling up in your cloak and trying to put your mind to rest. You try not to think about the sick nightmares you'll have, or how restless you really are, or-

He shifts. "Hey… hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffa-"

No! You turn over quickly. Whatever he has to say, he's saying it. Tonight. "What?"

"Oh- uh, hey, Sif. Are you okay?" He looks a little startled. Stars. You already messed it up.

You take a deep breath in, and out. "Yeah. Sorry. Is there something you wanna tell me?"

He grips the blanket tighter, sort of curling in on himself. "Well, yeah- um, there was, but I think it's stupid, actually. It's a bad time." He yawns, like a dog does when it's nervous. "I'd rather know how you're doing. I know the last couple days, uh…"

You frown.

"Oh, yeah. Heh. You must have been in there for weeks…" His bashfulness melts into shame. Nobody wanted to know about the loops, yesterday — you can tell they still don't. His gaze returns to you. Quietly, he asks, "…How long were you looping?"

You feel like you're a cloth doll, and somebody poured lead beads into all your limbs and made you weigh a thousand pounds. "A year, I think. I lost count."

A silence heavier than you settles over the room. Isabeau reaches out toward your limp hand. He stops short, probably trying not to spook you. You remember when your family compared you to a wild animal — too skittish to approach directly.

"Can you just touch me?"

Again, he looks startled. He takes your hand anyway. "Um, yeah. I can do that."

Your fingers curl around his, and you take another deep breath. "It's just- in the loops, you kept almost touching me, but you always stopped. I know I flinch, and I'm sorry about that, I just… it doesn't mean it's not okay. I'm telling you now that it's okay. I want you to."

"Okay. I will." He can't hide his blush, but he's not grinning, either. "Is, um… is that why you kissed me? Because I wouldn't touch you? And you wanted me to? And I was doing it over and over again and driving you crazy?"

You hide your face in your pillow. Stars, you hate yourself for that. "…Yeah, basically. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Aw, buddy, it's okay." It really, really isn't. "I don't even remember! So I basically wasn't there, right? No problemo."

….Is it okay? If he wasn't there — if timeloop Isabeau was just a shell, a character in a play, his whole being restricted to the moment the curtains closed — then maybe it's fine. Maybe you really didn't do anything wrong. If he's already let it go, then maybe you should too. Tentatively, you nod.

He clears his throat. "And, uh, speaking of that…"

You quirk an eyebrow, looking at him incredulously. "Were you going to ask to kiss me?"

"Well, I—" He suddenly looks very nervous. Why is he nervous? He knows you know he loves you. "—I mean, yeah, but that's okay, right? We talked about it! Practice!"

The shift in the conversation's tone almost gives you whiplash. He was right, this is a bad time. You offer him a smile. "Yeah, practice. I mean…"

You pull the blanket over yourself, getting under with him. His blush darkens and he freezes up. "Wait- so- yes? Yes?"

You tilt your head back, looking him in the eye. "Can you just kiss me?"

Isabeau doesn't hesitate to slide his arms around you. Something about the way he holds you — kisses you — is reassuring, grounding. He never would have done this in the loops. He never wanted you enough to push past his nerves before, but he does now! It feels euphoric to be loved! It feels like he'll stay with you forever. You pull and press closer, opening like a flower after a long winter, letting his touch promise you that you will never be alone.

As long as he touches you, you will never be alone.

Chapter Text

The castle's very walls are made up of Sadnesses. A hundred, a thousand — all of them lightless, all of them coming for you, you alone, and — why can't you move? The bind that lashes your arms to your chest pulls you back and you stumble and fall. You feel your ribs breaking and your teeth tearing through your tongue when you land. You try to push with your heels, scurry away, but the floor is Sadness too, and the craft-formed hands rise from all sides, and they grab you, and- and-

A light pries your shut eye open.

It's the sun, filtering through loose-woven curtains. Your cheek is warm where it rests on Isabeau's arm. You feel his chest rising and falling at your back, his nose in your hair; you hear him grumble in his sleep when the dawn disturbs him. You take a deep breath in, and out. You're not alone. He's fine. Everything is fine.

You're sure Mirabelle will come knocking if you fall back asleep, and the thought spurs you out of bed. You delicately free yourself from the tangle of Isabeau's limbs and try not to wake him as you step onto the wooden floorboards. By now, you're light-footed enough that they don't creak. He doesn't stir. You… what are you supposed to do now? Do you brush your hair for once? Put on your boots, pin your cloak shut? Getting ready is slow, and yet it seems too fast. Too easy. You've just finished sliding your dagger into its hilt when Isabeau rolls onto his back, elbows cracking as he stretches his arms in the air.

You sit back down on the edge of the bed, leaning on your hands. "How'd you sleep?"

When he looks up at you, his eyes are sparkling. An expression comes over his face that you can't read. "Really good."

His sleepy voice and toothy grin crack through your ribs to tug on your heartstrings. It kinda hurts. You blink at him stupidly. "Okay."

He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress to sit up with you. You stop yourself from flinching at how close he is. He's blushing, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. "So, um… you too? You're good?"

Always with the hard questions. You sort through your thoughts. You had a nightmare about something or other… You don't want to remember, so you just smile. "I'm fine! Ready when you are."

"Oh. Um- wow, yeah, you are." He laughs awkwardly and starts reaching for his discarded daytime clothes. You watch him dress quietly. Eventually, he clears his throat, still hiding his face from you while he struggles with his earrings. "…So, is… what is… what's up with last night? Does it mean… um… "

Stars. You do your best to recalibrate your brain for an emotional conversation. "…I don't know. What does it mean to you?"

"I don't know, I just thought- you know, since we talked at the House, and you said you loved me but you didn't know how yet- maybe it meant you figured it out."

Do you love him back? You like that he loves you, but is that what he wants? You feel shame prickling at the back of your neck. "I'm sorry. I don't know. I just- I mean, kissing you was good, but… I still don't know if I love you like that. I'm sorry. Everything is just really confusing right now."

You see his shoulders twitch, but when he turns around, he's giving you a big shiny smile. "It's okay, Sif! Take all the time you need." He comes back to you and rubs your shoulder like you'd want him to.

You lean into his side, letting his hand slide to your back. "We can just play it by ear."

For a few minutes, you and Isabeau stay hidden in your room, watching sunbeams crawl up the walls. You let your shame go — your mood's always swinging, but he stays right next to you anyway. The loops he traces over your spine are a sweet reassurance that he'll be patient through it all.

You can't help but feel relieved when the sun begins to set. The rhythm of walking keeps lulling you back into your awful memories, no matter how hard you try to stay tuned in to your family's conversation. You're not used to paying attention to them anyway, which disgusts you. To make things worse, Bonnie's been side-eyeing you since morning. They had excitedly led you through Mistralville's market and you wrinkled your nose at an apple they offered you. Your apology probably wasn't graceful enough, either — you really do hate food, after all. Eating all those huge plates every day, and the same snacks over and over, just to keep the show going… The thought alone makes you nauseous. You try to just stay quiet and keep going.

The Vaugardian countryside has slowly shifted from a windy meadow to a decently thick forest. There's something about the constant noise, the signs of life, that makes you nervous. All the movement is… unnatural. Long shadows reach across the uneven path, forcing you to be more vigilant — you're used to darkness or light, but the alternating patterns on the ground are messing with your already weak depth perception. You hear Odile ask you something about how you're doing, and Bonnie giggles. You're just about to make a retort when you look up.

A massive, wickedly shaped Sadness stands in the shadows of trees, its many hands poised for a barrage of Paper attacks. It has huge darkless eyes and a gaping mouth, and your family doesn't see it. This thing — this blinding abomination that should be dead but isn't — will kill them, will swallow them whole if you don't move.

Your dagger cuts through the air faster than you can think to throw it, sailing past Isabeau's head as your free hand forms a Scissors symbol. Like always, you strike for the heart. The Sadness's darkless eyes fly away, the rest of its body splintering into pieces around your blade. Your Craft hand feels broken — like it's been crushed, like the shards of bone are shredding through your most delicate muscles and skin. The burn shoots up your arm and through your veins, piercing your core. You don't care. The Sadness died fast and everyone is safe. Isabeau is safe. Bonnie is- crying? Is there another Sadness? You whip around, eye wild, ready to attack with your shattered hand if you have to.

But there's nothing. It's just your family, looking at you like they did once before. Why can't they just be grateful? You saved them a fight. You saved them. And yet, there they stand, huddling around Bonnie as if you would hurt them. You look desperately to Isabeau. He'll understand, right? He's a fighter. He can fix this- but he doesn't. Instead, he just gives you a helpless look before kneeling beside Bonnie and holding them while Odile talks them through their tears. Your stomach sinks.

Mirabelle runs to you, eyes sparking angrily. "Siffrin! Why would you do that? You could have seriously hurt someone- and, oh, those poor birds!"

What?

"…Siffrin?" She's staring like you're supposed to have a good answer.

Sweat starts to bead on your temples. Didn't she see? She could have died! They all could have died! You try not to yell at her. "There was a huge Sadness! It would have killed you! If you couldn't see it, how are we going to get through this trip?"

For a beat, she just looks at you. The defensive crease in her brow turns to worry. You watch as she decides not to reach out to you. "Oh, Siffrin…"

Her voice is thick with pity. You scowl.

She clasps her hands together, fingers pressing pale against her knuckles. "…There are no Sadnesses… we defeated the King, remember? They're all gone."

You feel sick with confusion. What is she talking about? She's right, right? When you look around, there are trees - not like the ones in Dormont, no, taller and darker, and- and you remember that. You remember the King dying. But there was a Sadness! You spin on your heel, looking at its body. It's right here! Right-

You're staring down at a tree stump, concealed by the evening shade, splintered into a million pieces. An empty bird's nest lays in two clean halves beside your dagger. Stars…

You're suddenly very aware of the breakneck pace of your breathing. Your whole body thrums with the searing pain radiating from your Craft hand. Your throat is too tight. You heave, landing hard on your knees as bile hacks its way up and out of you. Your teeth feel broken. Everything is breaking, rotting, and the world is moving without you. You choke on your breath, praying that you didn't kill anything — that you're not taking up too much space, that this isn't making it worse — and you know it won't work, because you're empty, so you just pray to wake up instead.

A warm hand lands on your back, matched by another holding your bangs clear of your face. Isabeau knows what you need. You try to breathe, squeezing your eye shut as cool air crashes into your lungs. You can't stop gagging yet, but he's rubbing your back, cooing at you. Mirabelle talks over you about stopping for the night. Odile's here now, answering her, and you hear Bonnie sniffling. Stars, why do you have to go and ruin everything all the time? You focus on getting your act together. You can fix this. You'll be fine.

You breathe slowly and heavily, clutching your wrist as you sway on your knees. Isabeau holds fast to your side. Your family moves around you, making noise until the glow of firelight brings your mind back to earth. When you look up, everything is blurry — how long have you been sitting here? A canvas tent has been strung between trees, and Bonnie's getting ready to cook something. Then Isabeau's helping you to your feet, and you're in his arms by the fire, and everyone's sitting around you and looking at you funny. Why did you have to lose your blinding hat?

"Siffrin… you there?" Mirabelle crouches beside you. You nod. Stars, your brain feels like it's exploding. "Please, help us understand… What's wrong?"

With some effort, you sit up straight, holding out your arm. "My hand hurts."

She delicately takes your Craft hand in hers, peeling your glove away. You hiss — you're expecting something gory, but it's… fine, save for your trembling fingers. She prods at you for a few moments before letting you go, and frowns. "You weren't supposed to use Craft again so soon…"

You sigh and sink into Isabeau's side. Odile leans forward, glancing between you and her open book. "I honestly didn't think you would be able to use Craft even if you wanted to, at this point. You're lucky to have maintained consciousness."

Bonnie stops for a moment, looking down at their pan. You're clearly stressing them out. You wish you were unconscious — it's hard to feel shame that way. You clear your throat. "How long is it going to feel so…"

"…Awful?" Odile finishes for you. "Hard to say… I've never seen Craft fatigue so intense. You may need to seek some kind of medical treatment."

Mirabelle pipes up. "Should we turn around? We might be able to get a cart tomorrow and get back to the House in Dormo-"

"-No!" You cough hard, your lungs still raw. Bonnie flinches. "No. I'm not going back. I'll be fine- I'm fine. I just need to sleep tonight."

You feel Isabeau tense up. "Sif… I get it, buddy." You don't. "But this could be really bad. You need help."

"You can't make me." The group quiets. You can see it on their faces- pity, indecision. They have no idea how much you can survive. "…I'll go anywhere else. Just not Dormont."

"Okay. I understand." Mirabelle gives you her signature sympathetic look. "Well, the next House is… close to Bambouche, actually. It's very big."

Odile nods. "I've been there. A place like that will still be recovering from the King's curse — still, it's very well equipped."

The idea of going into any House makes you grimace, but for your family's sake, you'll have to deal with it. Isabeau relaxes when you finally agree. "I guess we just get there as fast as we can," he says.

Bonnie uses the gap in conversation to bring food to everyone. You don't even look at it — you are not hungry. When they come to you, their arms are crossed indignantly. A whole year it took for them to stop hating you, and you wrecked it in a few days…

They practically shout at you. "What happened, Frin? You have to tell us this time, you know!"

You try to ignore the feeling of eyes piercing into your skull and figure out what to say. Your hand finds Isabeau's, and he anchors you. It takes a good forty seconds for you to speak. "I thought you'd get hurt… I'm sorry I scared you, Bonbon."

"Hmph… I wasn't going to get eaten by a crabbing stump." They're staring at the ground, boots digging into the soil.

"I know," you mumble. You're exhausted. "I'm sorry. I was just scared."

Odile comes to your rescue, putting her hand on the kid's shoulder. "We'll all have a talk about this later, Boniface. I think Siffrin needs to rest for now."

They relent, muttering something about forgiving you. Nobody wants to push you any more; your outburst was clearly too tiring for them. Mirabelle's healing Craft can't do much for your pain, with how little she's learned since the last loop. She's giving you that look again, anyway, like she doesn't know what to do with you. Odile is already gone.

When your head drops — when it lands in the crook of Isabeau's arm, and you're staring up at him, barely awake — there is no such doubt. You can figure out how to make the others understand you later, but he already does, right? With the way he carries you, tucks you into a sleeping roll and kisses your face goodnight, you think he must understand. You can rest easy by his side. The Sadnesses are gone, and your Isabeau banished them.

Chapter Text

You feel your body swinging like a pendulum, in and out of dreamless sleep. People are moving around you, carrying you, giving you sips of water. They're telling you things — someone you recognize is telling you things — and you might even be responding, though you're not sure. You don't care. You don't care about anything. You remember nothing but the stinging in your arm. Now and then, gentle hands press into your wrist, and the pain lightens for a little while. The one who spoke to you is rocking you now, breathing evenly. When you finally wake up, the midday sun looks down at you, peeking out from behind wispy clouds.

It's far too bright.

Your brows furrow. You blink hard, grumbling and trying to turn over. You're uncomfortable and everything aches. Whatever you're laying in keeps jostling. There are shoes tucked under your legs and people talking over you. And… your head is in Isabeau's lap, and his fingers are combing through your hair and he's caught up in some pleasant conversation. Okay, maybe this isn't so bad. You take a deep breath, trying to orient your mind. You used Craft and it hurt, and it still hurts, and you passed out, and now you're here. Where is here?

You focus your eye. You're looking at the inside of a wooden cart. You're supposed to be making this journey on foot, right? Bonnie's still here — you feel their boots tapping against your shin — so you couldn't have been out for too long. Still, it's time, time with your family all together that you've lost. Who decided to get a blinding cart? Even if you're not all there, even if they're fed up with you, you have to get up. You won't waste another minute.

Isabeau notices you stirring. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you feeling better?" He smiles down at you, creasing the dark circles under his eyes.

You give him a small smile in return, which seems to please him. "How long have I been out…?" Stars, your voice is shot.

"Well, you fell asleep last night… It's almost noon now, so however long that is!" You exhale, relieved. You hope he hasn't been awake this whole time — he sort of looks like it. "Everyone figured it'd be better to rent a cart and drive to Bambouche." Yeah, I'd just slow everybody down. "It's cool, right? It's just pulled by Craft. No horse! And Bonnie made us a big lunch, since they're such an amazing snack leader."

"The BEST. Prepare to be amazed!" Bonnie puffs their chest. Hm. You could have sworn they were frowning a moment ago.

Mirabelle giggles fondly. "Well, Siffrin? Are you prepared?"

You manage to smile and nod despite your stomach dropping. It's not Bonnie's fault you don't want to eat ever again. They don't need to know, but… stars. How long have you spent imagining this exact thing? Your family knows what's wrong with you now! They have material evidence of your suffering, and they're surrounding you and lifting you up — giving you food, rest, humor, kindness — and you want this. You're supposed to want this, but you don't. No, you want to carve your throat out like you have a million times before, so you can loop back and just walk past that blinding stump.

Odile looks back from the driver's seat. "Time for super-special power lunch?"

Bonnie cheers, and the others follow. It's sweet. Your family is happy. They're setting up a picnic on that ugly blanket they used every night in Dormont, and you're helping, and now you're sitting down with them. The kid prepares some side dishes. Odile and Mirabelle are having a little book club meeting, and Isabeau is just… watching you. Your gloved hand finds his. He's here, so you can get through this.

"It's SUPER-SPECIAL POWER LUNCH TIME!" Bonnie triumphantly punches the air, before placing a basket in the center of the group. They reveal a selection of very nice looking snacks, some of which you can't name. With a grand flourish, they reveal one last dish, presenting it to you like it's an expensive gift.

It's a malanga fritter. It's the first batch Bonnie has ever made. Your favorite food, which they remembered because they love you. This is a beautiful, kind gesture.

You. Smile.

"Malanga fritters! Aw, Bonnie, how'd you know?" You take the fritter, biting in like you haven't had one in forever. The sweetness makes you want to hurl. Yum! Smile! Chew and swallow! So many happy memories!

They beam. "You were staring at them in a book! And you looked so hungry and they looked so good so I made some! Do you like it?"

"Mmhm!" You hum through your mouthful. It's difficult to swallow, but you make it. Bonnie believes you. You don't have to eat much — just pick at your food and let everyone talk. It'll be fine.

Your family looks happy to see you eat, so you act preoccupied with it. Isa asks something about Mirabelle's novel, and there's a conversation going soon enough — one that you have no reason to join. You put your plate down, letting your face slip as you take a deep breath. In, and out.

"You okay, Siffrin?" It's Mirabelle, blowing your cover.

It's a bright day in a lovely field scattered with trees. There's a nice breeze, birds are singing — there's no reason for anything bad to happen. You can save this, you just have to focus. You look up at her. Everyone's watching. "Oh- I'm just waking up still. I'm okay!"

Odile raises an eyebrow, but Mirabelle is the one to speak. "Okay… Well, please, tell us if you need anything! We all love you, Siffrin! So let us help, okay?"

Stars, she knows. "Thanks, Mira… It's just the Craft fatigue, you know? The food is great!" You grin for Bonnie. "But it kinda hurts to eat…"

"I'll make soup next time! And then you have to eat, okay? You gotta stay strong and get better!" Bonnie's loud, like they always are when they're hiding nerves. You're stressing them out. It's all you ever do.

You reach for Isabeau's hand again, steadying yourself. "Thank you, Bonbon. I can't wait."

"Just don't push yourself," says Odile. "It's understandable that you'd have less of an appetite. You don't have to keep eating if you don't want to."

The chorus of reassurance that follows is supposed to make you feel better. In an earlier loop, it would have — you probably would have triggered it over and over again, just to listen. But… you don't need it. This could have been fine. You could have swallowed the fritters with your bile. Bonnie wouldn't look so disappointed if everyone had just let you power through. But no, now it's all awkward and everyone's worried, and you're a feral animal to be treated with caution. You smile and nod absently.

The stroke of Isabeau's thumb on the back of your hand helps the time pass. He loves you. You look at him, and he looks… tired. You lean your head on his shoulder, taking shelter, saying nothing. If you can just breathe in and out for long enough, things will get better. Everyone will get back on the cart. You'll fall asleep and wake up somewhere else, and then you can try again.

Your family has found a new place to stop. They're still hungry, or… maybe they think you are, because they're all looking at you with sweet pitying grins.

You don't join them yet. You're not ready. They lay down a blanket and sit together while you're still in the cart, watching the sky. Beautiful lightless clouds roll across the twilight — you expect that they'll begin to storm, but they only bring hot wind and humidity from the ocean. The field ripples like the fur of a colossal beast. You want to stare forever, struck breathless by the wondrous heavens, but everyone is waiting for you. You step lightly onto the ground, walking through the wet grass on bare feet.

Isabeau asks you something, but his words are stolen away by the wind. You call out for him to repeat himself, but your voice is stolen, too. It's like the air itself is pulling at your lungs. You can't speak. You won't.

But he nods anyway. It's like he heard you.

Ah, you understand. He's asking for your dagger. You toss it to him, where the hilt lands easily in his waiting palm.

While you weren't looking, Bonnie had set out plates- no, one plate. It's for you! It's empty. Its polished ceramic surface reflects the sky and your face, both crackling with lightning. You kneel before it. Your family watches you intently.

Something moves across from you. It's your knife! In Isabeau's hand! It swings down on his forearm, opening his shining arteries to the air. The exquisite, bright color of memory floods your vision as you watch him hack and hack. With each chop, tears spring to his eyes, but he's still smiling. He's looking at you, mouthing his love, gritting his teeth as his wrist breaks. The bone in his arm is unrecognizable, crushed as it is, inexperienced as he is with blades. He places his severed hand gingerly on the plate for you. Your family pushes it forward. You have to get better for them, they tell you somehow. You have to eat.

You take his hand in yours, kissing his limp fingers like wishing leaves. His body will die soon, but he's given you this lovely gift. You'll savor it. You caress the bloody stump, playing lightly with the shards of bone, feeling them cut your skin. You lock eyes with him. He clutches at his hemorrhaging wrist. He loves you. He's here, warm on your lips, loving you. His nails bend and break under your teeth. Bones snap, crunching, and bitter iron floods your mouth. The calloused skin is tough to chew. He's difficult to swallow. It burns — you think something is cutting your throat on the way down — but everyone needs you to eat more, so you bite into the soft flesh of the palm. It's salted with his sweat and your tears. Fibrous muscle tears between your molars as you work your jaw, and it's too much, and you want to throw up, but everyone is staring at you. You have to do this for them.

They're all carving chunks off of their limbs, bleeding, smiling, serving you muscle and glistening entrails. Bonnie shouldn't be here. Bonnie shouldn't see this. But they are, and they won't go, and you're eating them too. If you scream, the wild gale will rip your lungs out through your aching mouth. If you stop, they'll all hate you. You try to sob, but you just choke on the raw flesh stuffing your throat. You have to keep swallowing, keep chewing, take more. It's disgusting. Their blood seeps from your pores. Water bursts from your burning eyes, sizzling as it flows down your face. You fall to your hands and knees to eat off the ground. When you look up at them, they love you. They love you! You don't care how full you are, how much it hurts — you'll eat fast, as much as you can, until you're sick, and then you eat more, and then you eat more, and you eat more and more and more and more and more and

you're

holding Isabeau's hand.

There's nothing in your mouth. The man that loves you is cradling you, keeping you steady on the uneven road. The sky is darkening, but there is no wind. A few short buildings pass by in your periphery. Mirabelle's airy laugh chimes to the tune of Bonnie's humor. You take a deep breath in, and out. It's not real.

"Hey, right on time!" Isabeau greets you, loosening his grip to let you stretch. You blink hard — surprisingly, your eye is dry.

You look around at the bloodless scene and turn back to him. "Are you okay?"

He quirks a brow. "…Haha, yeah, buddy! I'm okay. Are you okay?"

You smile, your heart lightening a little. He's okay- sleepy at worst. "Yeah, I'm good."

He doesn't respond, but he grins at you, eyes sparkling with something like relief. You hear a stifled giggle from Mirabelle, which you ignore.

Odile turns her head, calling back to the rest of you. "We're nearly at the inn. Be ready to get your things inside!"

Isabeau whispers to you. "Don't worry about it, Sif. If you're still tired, I can carry our stuff."

You nod. An inn, out here? You traveled this route alone, once — you're still supposed to be a good ways out from any settlement big enough for an inn. You turn to Mirabelle. "Where are we?"

"In Vaugarde…?" She tilts her head at you.

"No, how far have we come?" You glance around the cart again. This is a town — the buildings that you thought to be abandoned are more polished than you realized, alive with light and the sound of people.

"Oh! We're-"

"-We got really far!" Bonnie exclaims. "'Cause the wagon is so much faster than walking. Dile says I could see Nille tomorrow!"

That's just great. Fantastic. It's wonderful news that Bonnie will be reunited with their sister so quickly, which is why you smile.

"Hehe, maybe," Mirabelle corrects. "It could be the day after! Bambouche is still a long way away. We might not get to stop as much if we want to make it there so soon."

Odile replies as the cart comes to a halt before a sturdy looking inn. "I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, Boniface. We should do our best to hurry."

No. Take your time. I've been asleep, I need more time. You inwardly curse the stupid blinding cart, speeding you toward uncertainty. You walk into the inn on autopilot, slumping on a bench in the waiting room. You try to massage the stinging out of your wrist while you watch everyone give the innkeeper a warm Vaugardian greeting. She's squealing about your family's heroic deeds. Mirabelle makes a valiant effort to pay for the night, but the woman roundly refuses, pushing your room keys across the counter.

Bonnie sits next to you, calling your name until you turn to them. They look worried. "Hey… Za said your tummy hurt earlier, so… these are for you." They offer you some flat crackers, dusted with salt. "I was saving them, but you need them! Nille always makes me eat these when I'm sick. They have healing… um… pro-per-ties."

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. The thought of chewing, crunching, swallowing… it's nauseating. You try to disregard the phantom scent of blood in the air. "No thank you, Bonnie."

They frown. "But you barely ate today! And you're supposed to go to the doctor and stuff… You should really eat something, Frin."

But you can't. You can't think about tomorrow — the lost time, the meals, the guilt, the burden you've turned into. It makes you dizzy. You shake your head.

"Well, what if I got you something else? I can make soup like I said, or-"

You can't take this. "I said no!"

The concern on their face falls away to shock. Their frown deepens, lip quivering with impending tears. "Fine!"

They get up, stomping away from you just as the others take notice of what's happening. Isabeau kneels to comfort Bonnie, looking just as upset as they are. Odile is questioning them, brows drawn to a harsh line. Mirabelle is shooting you a sour look. You deserve this, all of this. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, trying not to come too close to the others as you swipe your key and run to your room.

You shut the door behind you, praying nobody will try to bother you. You need to be alone. You deserve to be alone. Hot tears roll down your face faster than you can gather yourself, and you collapse into your bed, sobbing bitterly. Why couldn't Bonnie just leave you be? Why would you ever blame them? How could you blame anyone but yourself for anything? You're disgusting, filthy for the way you speak and the way you love and the warmth in your skin that remains where Isabeau held you. You miss the loops. If you could just go back, you could fix this. Better yet, none of your loved ones would be hurting, bruised by the torrential hail that is your presence. The loops weren't your prison, no, they were your family's safe haven from your monstrous ways. You don't remember who you were before, but you know a better person wouldn't have ended up this way. You're so, so ugly.

You deserve to hurt.

Your dagger can't give you a second chance, empty and wishless as you are. But it can hurt you, punish you, bring new life to the scabbed-over constellation on your arm. The blade shines in your hand. You turn it over, watching your face warp on the polished surface. You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.

Chapter Text

The doorknob clicks.

You stifle a scream. You were almost there! About to press the blade to your skin and fix yourself! Anger and frustration prickle at the corner of your eye. You just want to be alone. Light from the hall exposes you, and Isabeau's shadow swallows you back up. The oil lamp he carries traps him with you in a luminous bubble.

"Sif…? What are you doing?"

You grip your dagger tighter, straining your sore knuckles. "Thinking."

"Okay, uh…" His weight settles on the bed beside you, and you hear the click of the lamp's base as he sets it down on the bedside table. "Do you need the knife for that?"

"It's mine. What, I can't hold my own knife? Leave me alone." You sit up, hunching your shoulders.

He sighs. "Siffrin, please… I'm just trying to help."

Stars. You hurt everybody, all the time. You bite your lip in a feeble attempt to stop the quiver in your voice. You sound shameful. "I'm sorry, Isa, I know… Stars, I didn't mean that."

"I know." His pinky brushes against yours. "It's okay."

"It's not, though. It's not okay! Nothing is okay! All I do is cause problems and I- I made Bonnie cry and I'm making everyone uncomfortable! I just- ugh, Isa, I wish… I wish-"

"-Whoa, whoa! Don't talk like that! You are not a burden." You know he's lying from the look on his face — you're scaring him, and there's nothing you can do. "I love you so much more than that. We all do. Please, just… be patient with yourself. You went through so much."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Tears well in your eye, threatening to spill. "The only reason you can be patient is because you're not in my head! If you could see what I see, you'd be sick of me too! And I can't stop, Isa. None of it- none of it stops, and I can't stop messing up."

"Well… that's why we're going to Bambouche, right?" He has no idea what to say, does he? "Some Houses have ways to help, you know? Therapy and stuff. Mira told me about it."

"I'm not blinding crazy!"

He cringes like he's been stung. "…I know. Just… give it a chance, okay?"

You give up — this is going nowhere. You lean into Isabeau. His hesitation to wrap his arms around you is almost unnoticeable. He can't say anything to you, can't give you clarity. All he can do is touch you. At least he loves you. If you're good enough for him, maybe you don't deserve to suffer. When he kisses your forehead, you finally drop the knife.

You must've been awake for an hour by now, listening to Isabeau snore into your hair. Sleeping through the days has left you restless in the night. You might as well get up — the nightmares aren't worth the risk right now, anyway. You spend a moment longer in Isabeau's warmth, before slipping out of his grasp and padding into the hall. He barely stirs.

In your earlier stupor, you hardly noticed that the inn has a barren little porch. An empty table and chairs sit across from a wooden banister, covered in peeling paint. You lean on the handrail as a breeze blows over you. It smells like the sea. You squeeze your eye shut, wishing vainly that the road to Bambouche would twist and wind and keep you away for longer, but… why? You sleep all day, and when you're awake you just cause problems. You're not sure anyone but Isabeau even likes you. They don't understand the person you've become since the loops, and there's no way Petronille would approve of you after everything you've done. What's the point?

"Can't sleep either?"

You startle at the sound of Odile's voice. "No- no, sorry. I'm good. Going back to bed."

"No, you can stay. It's alright." Her stare is intense. "We should talk."

Hot shame blooms in your skin. You wish you'd stayed in bed.

Her footsteps get closer until she's beside you, respectfully distant. "…I can't apologize to Bonnie for you, you know. You have to do it."

Why? I'll just mess up again anyway. "I know."

She nods, glancing around — she'll looking at anything but you. "…What's going on with you, Siffrin? I know Dormont must have been… difficult."

"It was. You obviously have it figured out, so why are you bothering me?" You prickle.

"You know what I meant. You have to talk to us, if you want us to help you." She finally looks at you, sidelong, trying to read your mind.

You bury your face in your hands, concealing yourself. "Please don't make me talk about it right now, Odile. I'm tired."

She sighs, disappointed. "Fine, then… just listen. I don't know what you went through in the loops. I don't know how long you were in there — gems, I barely understand how they work. All I know is that you are safe. You are loved in this family. There is no good reason for you to be unkind, or lie to us, or do… whatever this is that you're doing. I think I speak for all of us when I say we'll be here for you when you're ready to talk. But it's not our fault. Whatever is going on in your head is not Boniface's fault. The throwing knives, raising your voice… It has to stop."

You crumble in silence. Your shoulders quiver in spite of you. She thinks you're a monster. You're violent and loud and she hates you. You know you're right when you hear her walk away, goodbyes muffled by your heavy breath. It's pointless to chase after her — it's not like you have anything to say for yourself. She's right. You're destroying your family.

Defeated, you return to your room. Isabeau is still asleep, arms reaching for the void you left behind. You crawl back into place. He grumbles quietly, locking you in with his heartbeat. He's strong. You've watched him crush countless monsters — he can handle you.

You blink and you're awake, staring up at the one who loves you.

You understand why he'd do this.

He loves you enough to do this — to put you out of your misery, neutralize you before you can witness yourself slaughtering your loved ones like mangy dogs. Or maybe he wants to give his heart a second chance to love someone better, and he just needs to get rid of you. Either way, waking up with his hands crushing your throat is… a relief, in a way. It can only mean good.

He's leaning into you. His weight presses your ribs into your lungs so hard that you wonder if they'll snap and pierce through them. His face, sweaty and tearful, shines in your light. He's beautiful. You let your eyes roll back in bliss, savoring your final heartbeats.

When your eye opens again, you're in an afterlife that's much too kind to be yours. The room is lit by early dawn, and Isabeau is splayed out like a starfish, pushing you to the edge of the bed. You take a deep breath in, and out. Stars, you've barely slept. It's fine. There will be time. You probably won't get through another day without digging the hole deeper, anyway, so… you should just get ready — wake up Isabeau, keep your mouth shut, catch up on sleep. It'll be a long day.

Chapter Text

You have to focus.

You flex your wrists absentmindedly, listening to them pop as you sort through the thoughts in your head. You're starting to think it doesn't matter how long you live here; nobody will ever look at you quite the same way that they do others. No, not you — not wild, stray Petronille, big sister or teen mom depending on who's talking, juggling a million things and a million more in the form of your kid sibling. Your parents said you'd never be able to handle it. You suppose they were right. Your feet ache, bleeding at the heels where your sandals chafe you. Your voice is hoarse from calling Bonnie's name. They must have run, right? They weren't beside you when you came to, but how far did they make it? To the House? Farther? You're starting to think you might have to leave Bambouche to look for them, but, no, if they come back and you're not here…

You rub your temples with your salt-scabbed thumbs, looking at the sun on the sea. Soon it'll be too dark, and you'll have to go home. The House is your last stop. You pick up your pace, trotting toward the outskirts of the city as your braids bounce over your shoulders. Either Bonnie is there, or you get to go to bed. You know what you'd prefer, but it's still a win-win, you tell yourself. Ugh, so many people. There's a crowd milling in the cathedral's courtyard, full of people searching for each other. Townspeople separated from beloved travelers in the freeze wait with bated breath as a registrar calls out names and bed numbers. Courtesy abandoned, you shove to the front of the horde, straining your ears.

"154, Nathalie to Corinne!

155, Laurence and Paul to Maria!

156, Boniface to Petroni-"

No reason to wait. You're already running, thanking Change they had the sense to use the registry instead of looking for you on their own. The great hall of the House has temporarily been cleared and filled with rickety beds, filled with people waiting and people reuniting. You can't help but hold back tears knowing it's finally your turn. One hundred and ten, twenty, forty… You dash down the aisle, skipping over rucksacks and discarded shoes as you finally lock eyes on bed 156. Your heart soars as you get closer, calling Bonnie's name.

"NILLE!!!"

Your sibling bolts for you, arms wide like a little bird's wings. They nearly knock you over with the force of their hug, and you couldn't care less. They could trip you a million times, burn down your kitchen, tie your shoes together every day — you'd never mind. Tears of relief run down your face, and despite yourself, you laugh.

"Bonnie! Bonnie, Change, are you okay? Did you make it here okay? Did anything happen?" You fuss over them, checking for anything you weren't there to prevent.

"I'm okay!" They beam, showing off their uninjured arms. "See, everyone made sure I'd be okay and they brought me back to you!" You look up. Blessedly, Bonnie is watched over by two people — an older Ka Buan woman and a Housemaiden, watching you with sparkling eyes.

You smile at Bonnie's guardians, full of gratitude. "Is that true? Thank you so much- I don't know what I'd do if you didn't…" The Housemaiden, tearful, reaches for your hand to shake. You take it, still holding your sibling with your other arm. "My name's Petronille, she/her — seriously, thank you."

"Aww, of course. I'm Mirabelle, same as you!" Her voice is sweet, but her accent is unfamiliar — not from this House, you guess. For a complete stranger to protect your sibling with her life...

Emotional, you go to greet the other woman. She introduces herself as Odile, and suggests that the group find somewhere less crowded to talk. You keep Bonnie's hand in yours as you follow them to a quiet, lamplit section of the courtyard. Everyone sits heavily — they must be as exhausted as you.

"Have you come far? I don't have a lot of space, but I can give you a place to crash if you need," you offer. You wish inwardly that you could give more, but you're stretched thin as it is.

Mirabelle smiles at you sweetly. "You're very generous! There's no need if it's a burden on you, though. We can find somewhere to stay."

Odile nods sagely. "We'd need to figure things out with Isabeau and Siffrin first. They might not be staying at the House."

"Who?" You ask. Bonnie stiffens subtly at your side.

"They're part of our traveling group," explains Mirabelle. "Siffrin isn't well right now, so they're in the hospital. Isabeau is looking after them, but I'm not sure how long they'll both be there. They said they'd come find us."

No wonder Bonnie seems tense. You pat their back, and they soften. "I'm fine waiting if you all aren't too tired. We'll have time to talk this way, anyway." Truthfully, you've been on your feet 12 hours and you'd like nothing more than to take Bonnie home and sleep, but you really can't bear not knowing what they've been through.

As usual, they read your mind, jumping to their feet with new energy. "Yeah, Nille, I gotta tell you everything! Get comfy! It's a super extra long story."

Isabeau walks in right as the examiner leaves, barely audible through the thrumming of blood in your ears. For a while, he just sits next to you, rubbing your back. You stare at your sore hands. Nobody will stick around with you for that long, not if you're useless — maybe Isabeau would, but then he'd be trapped. It's your fault. Your fault for wishing, for breaking down over a stupid tree, for being the way that you are…

"Siffrin? Hello?"

Stars, has he been talking this whole time? "What?"

"Just asking how it went with the doctor lady…? Is everything okay?" He's nervous.

You take a deep breath in, and out. It's fine. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine… I just can't Craft for a while." Years. "It's fine."

Isabeau tilts his head at you. "That's all?" Of course he doesn't believe you. Why would he?

"They want me to stay- um, live here. Maybe for a while, I don't know." You press your sweaty palms together. "The Housemaiden thinks I need all this extra help. Like that thing you mentioned."

"Therapy?" You slowly nod. He looks at you hopefully, voice restrained like he's trying not to spook you. "Do you think you'll do it?"

"I don't know… I don't know. I'm sorry. I really don't wanna be here. I need to get out." A House of Change couldn't help you, even if you needed it. You find it disturbing, the way the walls press in and expand every time you try to find your balance. This place can only make you worse.

Silence settles over you, and you hear muffled laughing and weeping and the sound of desperate prayer in the rooms around you. Outside the window, the sea finally swallows the sun. Stars, you're hungry...

You reach for Isabeau's arm to take his hand. "Please don't make me go through this alone."

"What? Aw, no, that won't happen!" He smiles at you pitifully. "I'm not gonna leave you, Siffrin. I don't care how hard it is for you to recover, or how long it takes, or what Change looks like for you… I love you. I'm with you."

"…I love you too." It might even be true, you realize. Here is this unyieldingly loyal man who wants you even now, who looks you in your wild eye and finds something worth cherishing. Close to tears, you reach up to kiss him. His thumb traces over your knuckles, and it stings just a little, but it's worth it.

After a moment — maybe a few — he breaks away, looking softer than he did. "I… they're probably gonna want the room back. Are you okay to go find the others?"

"Yeah, okay." You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. They might have found Petronille by now, and Bonnie could already be gone… but there's nothing you can do, is there?

You cling to Isabeau's arm, using him to stabilize weak legs as you find your way out of the hospital wing. When fresh air finally opens to you, you see them almost immediately — your little family and one other, a girl with her chin rested on her tightly balled fists. They sit on stone benches in a quiet garden, empty now that the lamps are lit. It seems like Mirabelle was already searching for you. She's on her feet and coming your way, face sown with worry.

"Thank goodness you're here. Are you okay? Better than this morning? What did the doctor say?" Like always, her fingers are nervously interlaced. Stars, you really don't have the capacity to deal with yourself right now.

"I don't know, fine." You avert your eye, trying not to mumble too much. "They just said I have to rest. It's not really a big deal."

She scans your face. It's obvious enough she doesn't believe you — you just hope she'll let it go, let you lie for now. It'll be better for everyone if she does. She breathes in, and out. "I'm glad you're okay. I… we'll talk more, okay? You should come meet Petronille."

Part of you assumed that's who it was, but… so young? As you approach, towing Isabeau, you see her more clearly. She can't be more than seventeen, with her lanky build and recklessly bad posture. She eyes you warily. You probably look terrible. She'll probably hate you.

You find your awkward place between Isabeau and Odile, sitting down and letting your shoes brush the tips of the grass. A sickening defensive feeling grips you as you look back at Petronille. Bonnie is under her wing, face riddled with apprehension. Odile, deep in thought, stares blankly at her hands. What is going on?

"You must be Siffrin." Petronille does a better job than you would have, keeping her voice even. Still, you can hear the uncertainty.

You extend a gloved hand, which she shakes curtly. "Yeah, uh, nice to meet you. I heard so much about you."

"So did I. Bonnie told me a lot about your… adventures, while you were in there." She blows air through her nose. "I'm really sorry I listened to that while you weren't there, but… I wanted to hear it from you, that it's all true. Is it true?"

You card through your thoughts, looking for moments Bonnie would remember. You hate this. "What part…?"

"Well, I heard you turned giant in Dormont," she begins. You nod slowly, tentatively. "You almost destroyed it. And on the way here you freaked out, killed some birds. And—" she turns to your family, gesturing toward all of you, "—you took Bon into the House while the King was still there freezing everybody. Is there something I'm missing? Like, do I understand right?"

Stars, you want to throw up. You'd rather skin yourself alive than be looked at like this, with such judgement. Mirabelle opens her mouth to explain, but you speak first. "Please- you don't understand. Im not- I wasn't doing good."

The girl frowns. "That's not what I asked."

"I didn't mean to hurt anybody." You remember the King's gauntlet, and your Family tiny and fragile at your feet. If Isabeau wasn't there to shield everyone…

"You hurt somebody?"

Bonnie interrupts, voice shaky. "Come on, Nille, they didn't mean to! They were just upset because of the time loop, remember?"

"I know." Petronille rubs their shoulder gently. "But if they hurt you- if they hurt someone I just need to know, okay?"

Your fragile mask cracks, letting starlight shine through. "I said I didn't mean to! And it was Isabeau that took the hit anyway, so what's the problem?"

Silence.

After you've been tortured with it long enough, Petronille stands. "Listen, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. I really was. But if this is how it is, I don't want you anywhere near me or Bonnie. The rest of you can visit if you really want, I guess. We're right by the docks." She turns to Bonnie. "Come on, say goodbye, okay?"

You open and close your stupid mouth. Bonnie looks crushed. If Petronille just knew, would just understand, Bonnie would be fine right now! But no, you're some violent animal to her just like everybody else, and now your family is broken. Your seething looks the same as your grief. You hardly notice the way everyone else looks around helplessly, speechless. Bonnie clings to Odile's legs, letting Isabeau and Mirabelle join in holding them. It's horribly awkward. You barely collect yourself enough to join them before the group separates. The kid gives you a look that might be fear, or a million other things.

Look at this mess. You shoot a glare at Petronille. Bonnie backs off, sniffling, clinging to their sister's sleeve. Her goodbye is terse, leaving you isolated — your worst nightmare.