Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coming back from a long day of mining, you decide to cull a few chickens on your way back, deciding it was the easiest to prepare for dinner. You sneak up on the chickens, grabbing one by the neck, causing all the other chickens to bolt away and the one in your hand to panic. It tries pecking at you, scratching your arm with its talons, drawing blood. You ignore it, deciding to take the time to feed it some seeds as an apology. Once the chicken calms down in your arms, no longer being held by the neck, you give it one last pet before you lay it down. With one swing of your axe, the head falls off, spraying blood everywhere. You were grateful you sharpened the axe the same morning.

You put the rest of the chicken on its back, deciding to field dress it before the sun came down. You didn't have enough time to bleed it before it became dark, which would leave you in a rough situation. You begin to pull the feathers out around the tail and wings, as it'd be harder after the body cooled. Pocketing the feathers for later, you continued to pluck the feathers off. Returning to your axe, you cut the feet off at the joint, throwing them out into the long grass. Using the same axe, you cut the chest open and begin pulling out the organs, making sure not to burst the stomach or gallbladder. Leaving the parts of the chicken you don't enjoy for the rest of the wildlife to feast on, you quickly wash your hands and the chicken in a pond nearby.

Before you can get up, you see something out of place on the other side of the pond in the reflection. A black figure. Startled, you look up and see nothing. This wasn't the first time this had happened, but seeing as it hadn't tried to harm you before, you leave it be. Standing up, you flip off the general direction of the figure before continuing your way home. The sun was starting to set, covering the sky in beautiful reds and oranges. Making haste, you were able to make it back to your house in one piece before the stars came out.

As you seasoned the chicken, your mind went back to the figure you'd been seeing for a little while. Well, it wasn't really a little while; if you remembered correctly, it had been a couple of months, at least since you noticed it. It started happening after you had moved away from the town, deciding to go solo for a little while, after you left your friends. You missed them, but it was nice being out in the forest. Weirdly comforting. You knew if your friends needed you, they would come to get you, but you were glad they respected your privacy. The figure, however, didn't start as a figure; it was a door left open that could have been a mistake, a couple of knocks around the house you assumed were just the trees or other mobs. But you soon started seeing something moving in the trees, tall, lanky, dark. You were never able to quite see its face, even when it was peering through your window before it disappeared, covered by a hood. You started to think you were going insane, you still think you might be going insane.

Before you knew it, the chicken was done cooking. You pulled it out of the furnace, letting it cool for a little bit. You went to look for some bread that you may have left lying around your cabinet. Lo and behold, you found the bread, but you also happened to find something else. It was a bottle of alcohol you had forgotten about since moving here. You remembered you started brewing it when you first moved, putting it in the cabinet to age. You picked up both, putting them on the table while you went to grab a glass.

You second-guessed yourself, thinking about how tired you were going to be tomorrow if you decided to stay up late tonight, but you decided to tell yourself you'd give yourself a day to relax and sleep in for once since getting here. Pouring yourself out half a glass of the glorified mead that was now triple the strength it was meant to be, you ate a bit of the chicken before you decided to get drunk in an attempt not to make yourself sick. You put the rest of the chicken that was left in an icebox for later, and chugged a glass, or a few of the mead.

Not satisfied with your level of drunkenness, you bring the bottle over to the couch, pulling out a book from the shelf in your small living room. You started reading, noticing how the words were starting to make less and less sense as you continued to drink. Getting bored, you pulled out paper and a pencil instead. You hadn't drawn anything in a long time, and for some reason, you decided this was the best time to do so. You began drawing your late cat from memory, the same one who was the reason for your departure, in order to focus more on something else rather than the loss that still plagues you. He was a beautiful black cat with slightly round tomcat cheeks. He had green eyes, which aren't common in this world, but you don't have the color to capture it, though. You had saved him from a swamp as a kitten when he was maybe a month old; there hadn't seemed to be any guardians or mother around.

You were taken out of your drunken stupor by a sound at the door. Your head swiveled around to face the sound, feeling as though your head was swimming in molasses. You saw the same figure through the holes in the door, the one that had been following you around for months. However, this time, he didn't seem to disappear; once you looked at him, you were able to finally see his face. A pale, white face, accompanied by a large smile, like he was mocking you. No teeth could be seen, a void seemingly behind his open mouth. It was his eyes that really captured your attention, though, black, squinted to match the smile, surrounded by black markings that led down to the corner of his mouth. You felt your body go cold, the tingly feeling rising up your face, the same one you felt when you first saw him.

What felt like minutes had only been seconds, as you were knocked out of your train of thought a second time by knocking. You heard him say something in a low, gravely voice. However, you weren't able to catch the words said. "Go the fuck away," you tried sounding angry, and you were still upset from the prior thoughts before the figure came knocking at your door. However, you sounded more pathetic than anything, drunk and slurring your words. Ignoring him, assuming you were safe just as before, you lay your head down on the armrest of the couch. Might as well fall asleep while the sun is still down.

...

Right as you were drifting off to sleep, you heard a creak. The door was open. You bolted upright, standing up and reaching for your axe. You stumbled to the door as quickly as you could; your vision felt wrong, you couldn't tell how far it was. You nearly tumbled into the door frame, quickly reaching for the knob. This had never happened before; you'd never seen him before your door was opened. "SHIT!" Before you could close the door completely, you heard shattering, your window was broken. The glass was all over the floor. Before you could return your focus to closing the door, you felt something hit you in the face. You stumbled back, falling on your ass, hand landing in the glass. There was something wet running down your face, a metallic taste entering your mouth.

Before you could recover, reaching with your left hand to try and grab the axe on your right side, it was kicked away from you. Your right hand was pushed further into the glass, as a black shoe grinding your hand into the ground. The pain was dulled by the alcohol coursing through you, your head was swimming, every movement you tried to make felt slow. Before you could look up or try and push the foot off your hand, the figure let off. Taking the opportunity to try and get up and push yourself further away from the figure, you stumbled backwards into the side of your stairs. You put your hand on the wall for support, smearing blood on the surface. You could still numbly feel what you assumed was blood running down your face, dripping onto you and the floor. Your head lolled forward, as you almost fell over, feeling light.

Before you knew it, you felt yourself being hit again. As you stumbled, almost falling again, you felt yourself being grabbed by the throat. Your back slammed into the wall, your breath was knocked out. Feeling your head crack against the wall, the same warm feeling flowed down your back. There were black spots dancing around your vision. Your hands instinctively wrapped around the arm that was holding you up, as you weakly tried to push the figure off you.

You looked at his face, still holding the same grin as when you first saw him. His clothes were also as unbelievably dark as his mouth was. His eyes held a cat-like excitement in them, the same way a cat's eyes dilate when they see a bird. They were voids, no distinction between the iris and pupil, and the same black it seemed to be covered in. As your gaze shifted down, a glint caught your eye. Before you could react any further, you felt it becoming harder to breathe. Your head felt like the muscles were trying to contract and crush your skull. You clawed at the arm, trying your best to get the figure to let go. However, it looked unfazed, like it couldn't even feel your nails digging into its arm under the dark fabric.

There was a pressure in your side. It quickly felt like your side was on fire, like somebody had taken a torch and branded you with it, but deeper. There was searing pain and you felt your legs giving out. As quickly as the pressure came, it went away. You felt the blood leaving you at a rapid pace, quickened by the alcohol induced thinness of your blood. However impossible it seemed, the figures smile seemed to get bigger, like an excited puppy. The pressure came back, you could feel something moving inside you, touching all the muscles and maybe organs. It was taking its time, using its fingers to explore the inside of your body. Its face was unbearably close to yours, you could feel its hauntingly cold breath on your face as your eyes began to roll back.

You felt cold, your hands starting to get clammy. Its fingers around your throat tightened, causing your head to feel like it was about to implode. You felt sick, a mixture of the alcohol, blood loss, and lack of oxygen. You could barely feel your body anymore as your fingers slipped from its arm, falling at your side. Your body had gone limp in its grip, depriving you of oxygen even further. You felt something wet touch your cheek; it was warm. It felt like a blessing with how cold you were feeling. You subconsciously leaned into its warm, blood-soaked hands. You felt yourself be pulled away from the wall slightly before you were thrown back. You didn't feel yourself hitting it.

It was dark, and it felt like you were floating. You couldn't remember anything; it was hot and cold at the same time. You couldn't see anything, there was nothing to see, or maybe you didn't have the eyes to see it. Suddenly, you were blinded by light. You bolted upright, hands supporting you up. You looked around frantically, feeling your heart beating out of your chest. Everything looked familiar, it was your room. The soft black sheets of your bed gripped in your hand. Suddenly, the memories came rushing back. You frantically ran your hands down your torso, lifting up your shirt. There was a scar that hadn't been there previously, bright pinkish-purple raised skin. It was new. Shit, that wasn't a dream. You tried to calm your breathing, your throat was sore, and so was half your face. You moved to the edge of your bed and sat there, trying to make sense of what happened.

As you thought about the events of the last night, watching the sun come up, you noticed something on the table next to your bed that you had never placed. It was a rose, a little note placed next to it. Nothing was written, but a messy heart was drawn on the piece of paper. You stared at it, confused; was it from the thing from last night? What the fuck was wrong with it? You let out a shaky breath, realizing how long it'd been since you'd even seen a person last, let alone felt the touch of another person. Well, it wasn't really a person, but it was close enough. You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warm feeling spreading over your face. You convinced yourself you weren't smiling.

...

Fuck. If you had really died, then that meant your friends were informed of your death.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of days since you last had the nerve to go outside, let alone open the door. You had been spending all your time trying to fix the window that had broken, which had taken you a couple of hours to replace the entire thing. It was a pain in the ass, literally, considering that you had forgotten a couple of shards during the clean-up and stepped on some by accident. You made a willful effort to ignore the walls and floor, stained with blood, which refused to come out no matter how much you tried to clean it. You decided you might just have to paint over it eventually.

Deciding you had done enough work for the time being, you sat down on your couch, giving your aching back a break from the exertion. You hadn't realized how long it had been, you began working when the sun was still East, but last you looked out there it was right above you. You felt your stomach grumbling, realizing the last time you'd eaten was at least 3 days ago, the leftover chicken from that night. You hadn't left the house since then, too scared to open the door or bring attention to yourself. Not wanting to stray too far from the house, you decided to test your luck with the small garden you had started right behind the house, hoping it was done growing.

Making up your mind, you hoisted yourself from the coach, taking slow, deliberate steps to the door. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reaching for the doorknob. Grabbing the axe by the door, you opened the door in one single motion, prepared this time for anything that may happen. You waited a minute, looking around to scan the tree line. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you closed the door behind you, carefully walking around the house. You made a mental note to yourself to add doors to the back of the house to make the process quicker.

Looking at your pathetically small garden, you saw that only a couple of potatoes had grown. That was good enough for you, getting down to your knees, leaving the axe next to you, you began pulling the potatoes out. The process wasn't long, but it was slightly messy, covering your hands in dirt. Standing up with a groan, stretching a little bit, you walked over to the barrel full of water and washed off your hands and the potatoes, causing the water to turn murky. You decided to leave it for another time, holding all the potatoes by the roots in one hand, grabbing your axe with the other. As you began walking back to the front of your house, a chill crept up your spine; it felt like you were being watched. There was no way you could chalk it up to your own nerves anymore, not with what happened just 3 days ago. You swiveled your head around, looking for the source of the feeling, and saw nothing. Deciding you were too creeped out, you ran the rest of the way to the doors, slamming it behind you the second you got inside.

With a deep breath, just as you had started out on the errand, you looked out the holes in the door, seeing nothing. Just as you had thought. Rolling your eyes, more annoyed than anything at this point, you walked to the counter. All you wanted was a nice break from everything, but even out in the forest, you couldn't find peace. You'd be less upset if the thing would actually show its face to you, outside of when it wanted to kill you. You heard knocks at the door, making you jump and drop the potato you were cutting the roots off of. You grabbed your axe, which you had left right next to the counter for safety, and ran to the door. You were ready to swing the door open and get a hit in, until you looked through the holes, seeing no tall, creepy figure, but instead a far more familiar and comforting one. It was just your friend.

Opening the door, your friend practically jumped on you. "Holy shit, what the fuck happened, dude!?" Before you knew it, your friend was bombarding you with questions and concern. "Bro, you scared the shit outta me, I wasn't expecting you to show up!" You groaned, not at all upset about your friend coming to check on you. It was nice to have a familiar, far safer person around you. Your friend finally let go of you from their bear hug and explained how it took forever to reach you. You lived quite a ways out. You closed the door behind them, maybe a little too hard, as it reminded your friend of the reason for their impromptu visit. "The fucking death broadcast had no cause of death." That caught your attention; that's never happened before, at least during your lifetime. You felt a chill go up your spine, that was a lot more concerning. Deciding not to tell your friend about your new visitor so as not to worry them further, you lied, saying it must have been some weird sort of mistake. You didn't want them thinking you had gone insane or trying and drag you back to town. Simply telling them you had a misstep and fell into a ravine. It was obvious they didn't believe you but they left it alone for the time being.

The conversation confirmed to you that you had indeed died. This was a whole different concern you had to worry about now. There was no guarantee of how many times you could realistically come back. It seemed infinite, but some people just never came back after they died, and everyone's limit seemed to be different. Other animals and villagers didn't seem to be this lucky; once they were killed, they were gone forever. It just keeps getting worse every day.

As the two of you walked further into the house, you headed for the counter, and your friend to the table, you asked if they wanted some potatoes. They agreed, and you put the potatoes into the furnace to bake. There wasn't much you could do but wait. You sat down with your friend across the table; it was weird seeing them again; you were beginning to forget what they looked like. You asked about why the others didn't come, wondering if they hadn't been up for the long walk. The answer was simple, many had been worn down with tasks, family, or had also decided to move away for a while. With how fast your friend had decided to head out to come see you, following the compass you had left behind that would lead to you, no one had time to write letters within the 2 days your friend had prepared to head out, apparently. Slightly peeved with the knowledge that your friends couldn't come up with a couple of words on paper in 2 days, you excused it since you hadn't exactly written to them either. Content with the answer, you got up to check on the potatoes, taking the time to tell them you had missed them, but planned to stay out here a bit longer. They seemed a little bummed out but understood where you were coming from, asking if you'd at least visit. You agreed, telling them you'd come see everybody when you had everything sorted out here. You still needed to create a small barn and keep some animals so you wouldn't keep having to go far out to find them. The potatoes were ready, you set them out on the table, and grabbed some butter and salt. You made a note that you needed a larger garden while you were at it.

It didn't take long to finish them, and your friend decided to head back before the sun went down, hoping it would take half as long now that they knew where they were going. You gave them a spare sword you had, seeing as you never used them, to protect themselves in case theirs broke, as it was chipped and cracked from the day-long journey here. You knew they'd be okay, though, as they were skilled, and you'd never seen the die within your lifetime. You saw them out, waving as they left, reminding them to tell everyone you loved them all. As you closed the door, you thought you saw something dark in the distance. You hoped it wouldn't do anything to your friend; you'd much rather its focus stay solely on you.

The house immediately felt emptier. Your friend had a way of lighting up a room; you couldn't wait to see them again. You walked over to the jukebox. You loved music but rarely listened to it. Starting it up, you put in a disc you had found in a cave. It took a second to start up, but it was nice, calming, and it filled up the room with warmth. You lie down on the couch, choosing to take a nap with the music playing, trying to convince yourself you'd be okay for the night. The sun was setting, and you realized how the day felt longer than usual, but who were you to complain? You were finally able to fix all the problems that needed fixing and were still able to have some much-needed time with your friend. You drifted off for a while, dreaming of insignificant things.

You were woken up abruptly by a searing pain in your arm. Shooting up, you look around, seeing nothing but an open door. You ran to the door, nearly tripping due to the drowsiness of being freshly woken up. Slamming the door closed, you whipped your head around, looking to see if anyone was in your house. You saw nothing, but there was another note on your coffee table, sitting next to an item. Walking up to it, you realized it was beef, just raw, bloody beef sitting on the table covering everything in it and soaking into the letter. Cringing to yourself, you picked up the note, expecting another heart. Instead, you were met with scribbly, nearly illegible handwriting. All it said was you're welcome, guess you couldn't complain too much. You picked up the beef and put it in the icebox for tomorrow.

You remembered the pain in your arm, lifting your sleeve to look at it. You stared for what felt like hours; there on your upper arm was a heart carved into your arm. So that's where the heart from the note went.

…

You noticed the music was still playing, you hadn’t slept for long.