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You don’t really understand how everything got so out of hand.
Mira had simply lent you some of her horror books a year ago. You weren’t too interested in the books at the time, but you were really, really bored. Stuck in blinding bed after stupidly using craft. Nothing had sounded appealing, and you didn’t dare tread the world of plays you used to adore.
When she offered out Death Die Dice Maker from her dorm room, you thought the story would be rather cheesy from the introduction, death and doom without substance. The novel subverted your expectations, striking that perfect balance of horror, humor, well-rounded characters and surprising realism. Mira has perfect tastes.
Hence… you started growing curious. Once the craft sickness eased up enough to allow your fam- friends to travel (you were sick of the same sights, same people, same house, same tree, same everything and that blinding statue mocking you with Loop’s face -) you all set out for Bambouche.
It was exhausting at first, several enforced breaks per day at your behest. Navigation was awkward, your cane kept getting caught in tall grasses and roots, and you stumbled more than walked, having grown unfamiliar with trekking across uneven ground. Most days would set with you being carried, heavy exhaustion pinning your limbs down. The chronic pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before, but remained frustratingly high.
A few towns away from Dormont- Odile, Mirabelle and you went to a local library. Odile quickly squirreled herself away in the history section. Mira wanted to see what new books the cozy library stocked since she’d started for Jouvente all that time ago. You followed her like a lost duckling, fully content to simply exist near her.
She stumbled across a shelf of horror books she had clearly wanted but was hesitant to indulge in due to the pricing. There was no financial reward nor motivation for defeating the King, and any offered rewards were swiftly denied, much to Odile’s remorse. So… the morning after, you came back and used your portion of the group funds to make Mirabelle happy.
After skimming over them yourself, you slipped the novels into Mira’s bag, picking up a few odd-jobs to earn some cash back afterwards and hide the deed.
Within several more library trips across Vaugarde, a growing appreciation festered inside for the handsome-young-men-falling-into-beautiful-heartbreaking-madness genre. In a strange way, it was cathartic to see these characters facing the same horrors you were forced to witness.
The rougher stories sometimes messed with your head, but the reward (“ the schadenfreude!!!!!!!!!” An echo exclaims passionately -) considerably outweighed the risk.
Plus… you may be trying to treat yourself better these days, but sometimes you need a day to feel crabby. Reading those books gives a pretty good excuse when you’re childishly breaking down over something stupid~!
However… the more books you compiled, the more common writing habits reared their head. Specifically in regards the more gruesome stories, they… irrationally irk you. For how easily they kill off characters and forgo realism for shock horror? Aiming cheap shots at the readers and making death seem something trivial, which it should never be!!!
(Sometimes it’s hard to apply that logic to yourself, but you’re trying.)
Considering you’ve become an expert at, well, dying, something about the deaths tugs at your stomach, heart unpleasantly. Thankfully, most of the deaths were so ridiculous to the point it became strangely hilarious.
No, that knife wound on their arm shouldn’t have made him limp and fall into a vat of tar. No, She should’ve passed out within two minutes from that werewolf, not the approximate five it took to monologue while bleeding from several arteries! No, that bed of spikes wouldn’t have ran through them that deep, since she landed on her back!
And for all the love that is the Universe, that is not what being frozen by a tear feels like. It’s falling asleep into a pleasant rest, not being stuck in an endless pit of agony as the curse slowly crawls up your body. That one was simply ridiculous- the author could’ve just asked the good chunk of Vaugarde’s population who froze to sadnesses!
The focus on glamour decimates the death’s intended impact- more than half the time the characters would be having their final monologues, a moment that should submerse the reader into the character- make them feel the clawing pain, desperation, fear, acceptance, or determination sifting down, down, down every thought as consciousness sluggishly slips away.
Yet, the character often focuses too much on the pain. Or, or, or! They’d be bleeding out, clawed to shreds, stabbed, torn apart, bones completely shattered, yet somehow retain consciousness in even the most brutal cases, staying coherent for a frankly abhorrent amount of time. The scenes would become so dragged out, the impact and emotional distress would weaken under the five paragraphs of cheap word slop.
One week, during a particularly bad streak of horror books, you and Mira made up a little game. You’d rate the character deaths, (you comparing them to your own) and slowly create a list of the most ridiculous deaths, explaining the reasoning behind the rankings.
You’d long since been integrated into Mira and Odile’s little book club, seeing your growing enthusiasm of the genre. Mira was practically vibrating when you hesitantly agreed to join. It was more an excuse to be with your friends, but it’s rather nice to talk books with the two.
Near the end of that fateful week’s meeting, you all were interrupted by a timid teenager, clutching a thick binder to their chest and shaking in their boots. They stared at the ground, gathering their courage.
“E-excuse me…? I’m sorry to interrupt, but-… I heard you talking about tropes in horror, and- and…” You had put on a smile, a little irritated by the interruption but remaining patient for the anxious teen. Fame really ruins the ability to go out in public without constant gawking.
“You’re the saviors, right? You- It’s okay if you’re busy, but I was just wondering, if…youcouldgivemeadvice-“ The Shy One rushed out in a single breath. You blinked. Mirabelle looked like a deer in the torchlights. Odile simply raised her brows.
The poor teen sweat bullets. “I- nevermind that was stupid of me to ask I’ll get out of your hair I’m sorry you just sounded really experienced and-“
“Wait! Oh, no, no, no you’re completely fine! I’d love to help you however I can, mx… um, what was your name?” Mirabelle stood from her seat and smiled sweetly. The kid flushed and fidgeted in place. The Shy One mumbled something, proceeding to say a little louder:
“Basil, they/them. Are- are you sure?”
“Mirabelle, are you certain we have the ti-“ you gently shook your head at Odile, nodding towards Basil. The old woman sighed, hiding an exasperated smile. You abandoned your seat and nabbed another chair, settling yourself closer to Odile.
The teen shyly sat next to Mirabelle, placing their binder on the table and cracking it open. The tome of binder paper was filled to the brim with scribbled notes and what seemed to be several pages worth of ink.
Oh stars. This is going to take until Bonnie seeks you all out for dinner, isn’t it? You grinned awkwardly, suddenly intimidated. You extracted your list from your pockets at some point during resulting two-hour conversation and gave it to the teen to look over.
…forgetting to take it back, having zoned out when you got completely peopled-out.
Thus, your peculiar fate was sealed. Mirabelle, Odile and you were apparently credited in the eventual release of Basil’s book. The Universe leads in the strangest ways, and you can only follow.
The curtains rise to the present day: Mirabelle is staring at you, eyes rimmed with hellfire. Her hands grip your biceps tightly, fueled with a raging storm of pure jealousy.
“What do you mean,” her hands tighten, “you personally were invited to meet with the author of The Cursing of Château Castle. And they asked you for advice regarding an upcoming horror book. ”
Turns out, helping some random kid who published an award-winning horror-based short story, when you’re as famous as you are, leads to news spreading fast. Authors began seeking the three of you out. Jumping at the bit to get your fam- party’s opinions in questionably-coincidental passing.
For whatever reason… you often were sought out for the aspect of realism. Apparently, that one list you gave Basil all that time ago made a few rounds, somehow garnering you the apparent status of assassin? You think that’s what you overheard, anyways.
…The thought makes you tired, just thinking about it. First Odile, now all of your favorite Vaugardian writers?
Mira shakes you, eyes wild. “Siffrin, now is not the time to zone out! I want to hear everything! Talk or so help me I’ll put mashed potatoes in your mangala fritters!!!” Noooooo!!!!!!! That threat sobers you up. Quick, say something before you miss the cue-
“It’s… what it sounds like. Apparently they were in town. They walked up to me and asked for advice. That’s all Mira, I swear.” You gently peel off her fingers one at a time, manhandling rattling your aching head. Mirabelle ‘hmphs’ at the lackluster information. You feel bad, but you’re just as lost as her.
Is there a way to rectify this?
“But-! If you want. You could come with…? I don’t think they’ll mind the extra input? It was an informal invite, so maybe…?” You flounder. Mirabelle freezes entirely, to the point you’d think she impossibly froze from a tear.
Uh? You laugh awkwardly. You broke her.
“…”
“…” Prolonged silences sure are amusing?
“…”
… Oh stars, you really, really broke her you idiot-
Mirabelle finally returns to her body. She takes deliberate breaths in, and out. Her hands clasp together tightly, visibly shaking with the sheer will to stay calm. She stands rod straight, eyes closed. Wuh oh.
“Siffrin.”
“Mira.”
“Im going with you.” Her hands strangle eachother further. “If I do not go with you, I will quite literally explode. Bonnie style.”
UM,
Quick, before you explode on impact again!
“O-of course, Mira. I was planning on getting you an autograph anyways.” You fidget under your cloak. It’s true- you’re certain she’d never forgive you for passing a golden opportunity like this. That, and give you the world’s saddest puppy eyes in existence for the rest of time. (Not hate. Remember that.)
“Good.” It almost hurts, how much she’s holding herself back. You look around the general vincinity… completely vacant other than you two.
“You don’t need to hold back, Mira.” a grin jumps to your face, bracing for her storm. Mira immediately shouts, making various noises of excitement. She grabs your hands and starts prancing around. You jump with her a few times, uncaring of the consequences later down the road.
Once she gets the immediate energy out, she lets go and starts talking up a storm. The next few minutes of your life are filled with equally excited and fearful rambling, her sparkly bow bouncing around with her animated movements.
Seeing her so esctatic never gets old. You’re so jealous of her energy.
“Ah-!!! Oh Change, I compete forgot to ask- what time do we leave? If there’s still time, should we grab some food on the way??? D-Did I hold you up and you were actually on your way to the meeting and now we’ll miss ourchancebecauseIinterruptedand-“ Mira runs out of breath, gasping to start rambling again. You tap her ankle with your cane, grabbing her attention.
“Mira, breathe with me?” She nods, gulping. You guide her through some ocean breaths instead of the usual box breaths. The new rythym snags a larger portion of her focus.
In and out. In, and out. In…and out.
“….Wooooosh.” Mira sighs, still vibrating but cut off from her spiral. “Thanks, Siffrin.” You nod, smiling softly.
“We’ve got plenty of time, Mira. Don’t worry.” Mira’s idol offered to buy dinner for the chat, ever gracious for unfreezing the country. Looking at the sun, it’s roughly four in the afternoon. Doing some quick mental math in your head, that’s… roughly three hours to prepare. “We still have three hours to prepare.”
You’ll have to remember to tell Bonnie not to cook for you nor Mira tonight.
Mira heaves a big sigh of relief, nerves melting away.
“Do you want to help me pick out an outfit? I’ll probably overthink it if I do it alone, heh…” Always. You nod, determined. She claps her hands, pleased. “Alright! Let’s go get ready!!!” She beams, eyes twinkling in glee. She leads the way, and you follow.
.
.
.
Three hours later, you dress in some plain attire and an anxious Mira dresses in a beautiful outfit Isa made her. As her layered skirt reflects the sunset, you can’t help but notice how perfect Mira is. The two of you set out towards the restaurant, hand in hand.