Chapter Text
Being out of control is definitely a feeling you’re not used to. You suppose you lost control as soon as this loop started, when you felt the need to rush to the King by manipulating your friends with expedience. You lost their love and for a brief moment you were truly hated. You remember the feeling well. It's different, hating yourself and being hated by others. One is comfortable and familiar. The other is heartbreaking but affirming. Because, if they hate you, then at least you were right to hate yourself, too!
But it all worked out. They're still here. It may seem repetitive to keep saying that to yourself, but you must.
Bonnie forgave you almost immediately, chalking it up to you being hungry and sad and sick and stuck in school forever. Isabeau almost took it as flattery because you knew him so well to dress him down like that, but he gave you a pass due to mitigating circumstances.
(Just the one pass. Don't screw up again. You're a feral dog on a very short leash.)
Odile also forgave you quicker than she should have. She must have really found it “cute” that you almost destroyed the world to keep them with you. Maybe that's why you were comfortable approaching her and asking where your dagger was. Maybe she loves you so much that she's willing to lose your trust by stealing from you. To keep you safe. Isn't that a good thing?
And then there's Mirabelle.
You don't want to think about this.
You told her to accept that she'd always be alone.
And she slapped you. Said you were never friends.
Can you imagine? If your places were reversed? If she said to you, you who of all things fear abandonment and loneliness the most: if she crawled up to you like a beast and said “no one will ever love you you will be alone accept it accept it accept it-
.
You let a splash of cool water bounce off your tongue. When you all set camp, Mirabelle asked you to come with her to fill everyone's canteen and get water for Bonnie to boil. Before you set off, you unwittingly looked to Odile for approval. She gave you a gentle nod. You guess it's better for you to have a keeper than to be alone. It's almost smothering sometimes, like putting a blanket over a fire still burning. Try to keep the flames at bay, stardust.
The river's source is a tall waterfall pouring over a large stone hill. It's a fairly rocky area with grass and vines growing up around the river’s jagged shoreline. The trees are sparse and the air bouncing off the water is cold. It's loud too, the water crashing down into the river. You lean in close to the edge of the waterfall and lap it up with your tongue (like the animal you are).
You step back from the edge and swallow. Probably should boil it first to kill any bacteria. But you've been through worse.
“Siffrin!” Mirabelle shouts from across the river, on the other side of the waterfall. “We need to boil this first!”
Always looking out for you, it seems. You stick your tongue out and slowly lean closer to the water once more, so close you can almost feel it. You smirk.
“STOP THAT!” She can't reach you quick enough, so she opens a full canteen and splashes you with water. You guard your face and laugh as your gloves and cloak get a little wet. She's smiling too and shaking her head. Seeing her in good spirits makes you feel warm.
You both fill your canteens again. You have plenty of extra vessels to fill so this could take some time. Mira calls out again, “Siffrin, look at this!”
You look up and can't see her face. She's leaning stage-left (or right to the undamaged), looking between the water and the cliffside. You lean to your left and see her face obscured by the rush of water. You doubt she can see you clearly, so instead of staying quiet you ask, “What is it?”
“I don't know!” She has to holler over the noise, “I think it's a cave?”
You turn to face the wall. Light stone dripping with reflective water stretches out before you, but as your eye lines the surface you see a dark space. It's tall and wide, and on the other side toward Mira is more stone. That's a cave alright! You love caves. Spelunking and finding new holes to crawl into is fun. You don't know why you love caves, probably something to do with the person you used to be.
You call back, “How do we get in?!” There wasn't an easy pathway to walk, and the waterfall was almost adjacent to the cliff. You see Mirabelle make Craft motions with her hands but you can't tell what she's casting through the water. She raises her arms above her head and a darkless shield masses above you both. It's her Holy Care Shield!
The waterfall bounces off the shield and arcs forward, leaving the wall and now-visible cave open to the air. The rockface is gleaming and wet, while the cave itself is open and inviting. You give Mira a thumbs up and start shimmying along the narrow ledge, back to the wet wall. You see her bite her lip as she holds up the shield. You know she can keep Crafting without tiring for a while. She's probably worried about you slipping and falling.
You think about pretending to slip, but that's too mean. Although it would be really funny if you did end up falling while only pretending to.
You round the jagged corner and step inside the open mouth. Before you get a good look inside, you reach your arm out and offer it to Mirabelle. She slowly takes it, one arm still raised upright to keep the waterfall at bay with her shield. Her brooch goes ding-ding as she carefully maneuvers along the wall. She closes her eyes as you guide her into the cave.
With one last hop, Mira moves from the outer edge to inside the cave. She breathes a sigh of relief as she opens her eyes. You smile, happy that she made it. Canceling her Craft, she smiles back and you both turn to look deeper in the cave.
The opening was fairly small but the cave quickly widens to about 15 meters across. The ceiling is only a few meters above your heads, and it’s not as dark as you were expecting. Further ahead, light is spilling in through cracks and holes in the ceiling. The air is damp and moss covers the ground. It’s almost slippery. Still holding Mira’s hand, you walk forward toward the lights.
Ahead of you in the main cavern, the ceiling is much taller. The spotlights illuminate a few large boulders and a lot more moss. Parts of the cave are still dark but you can see well enough. The sunlight pouring in from the ceiling is spilling into the darkened corners of the cave. There don’t seem to be any more pathways: This is all there is to see.
Snap.
You stepped on a small branch and broke it. You freeze in place, not from the sound but from the sight. Ahead of you in the main cavern, the moss rustles across most of the floor. Mira gasps and covers her mouth.
Small glowing lights begin to float up from the moss, gently buzzing and dancing in the air. Fireflies! Darkless spots slowly zoom around the main cavern. You smile as you try to count them. Onetwothreefourfivesixseven- It’s no use. Just enjoy the sight. Not every aspect of your life needs to be catalogued.
Under her breath, Mirabelle mutters, “...so pretty.”
You couldn’t agree more. You hold her hand tightly and slowly walk forward. The moss is soft beneath your feet and you’re almost sinking in. Walking into the swarm feels a little daunting but it’s absolutely worth it. You’re surrounded by darkless spots in the air that sway with each breath you take, and with each gust of air swallowed by the mouth of the cave. You and Mira smile brightly and gaze around the cavern with awe, hers a little more audible than yours.
Slowly, the light show makes its exit. The swarm begins to float up toward the cracks in the ceiling. Together they leave the cavern and fly off into the daylight. The air is still and you stand in the light on a stage all your own, feeling the warmth of the sun radiate through you.
This. This is why you love caves. Sure, you could more easily hide away from the world here. But where else could something so magical occur?
“I feel a little bad.” Mirabelle frowns and says, “They were probably asleep!”
You smile, “They’ll be okay. They’ve got each other, no matter where they go.”
You let go of her hand and you both look around the cavern. There isn’t much here, just wet stone and ever-expanding moss. Still, it’s a nice change of pace.
“Siffrin?” Mira calls from the other side of the cavern, “I think I found something.”
You turn and gingerly walk across the soft mossy floor. She’s kneeling at one of the large boulders. In front of her are three tall and bright mushrooms, their caps bulbous and almost glowing in the light. She leans in closer and asks you, “Do you still have that fungi book?”
You nod and feel around one of the back pockets of your cloak. Deftly, you pull out a small guidebook with slightly damaged edges: Mushrooms and You: A Camper’s Guide to Vaugardian Fungi. This book has come in handy more than once. You often gathered food from the woods for Bonnie to prepare when supplies ran low. Eating bad mushrooms could prove disastrous.
You shudder as you remember how eating pineapples seemed like a good idea at the time. An allergic reaction is different to poison, sure. But that’s not a death you’d care to repeat.
If the choice was yours, that is.
You open the book and find the chapter on cave mushrooms. After flipping a few pages you find a mushroom matching the one before you. “Cairn Bolete.” You read aloud. “The caps are safe to eat and are quite zesty. Beware: Do not pull stalks from the ground. The roots can emit nauseating pollen when aggravated. Caps should be cut at the top of the stalk. Dice them and fry them, then add them to rice for a real kick!”
Mirabelle hums, “Bonnie’ll love these. Can I borrow your dagger?”
-You freeze.
She’s waiting for an answer.
“Siffrin?”
Come up with a lie, quick!
You clear your throat to buy yourself a little time. “Oh, I… uh…”
She turns and looks at you with a curious expression. Say something!
“I… lost it?”
Her eyes widen and she stands, “You… lost… your dagger?”
That was a very unbelievable excuse. You shrug.
“Oh! That’s not good.” She’s more concerned than angry. Why would she be angry at you? Why did you think that? She asks, “Do you remember when you last had it?”
You hold up your hands and try to recover, “It’s probably in my pack somewhere.” With a nervous laugh, you add, “Or maybe it’s in one of my many pockets.”
She laughs through her nose and says, “That wouldn’t surprise me. Your cloak holds so many secrets!”
You bat your eyelashes and do a little twirl. Confession avoided.
Mirabelle removes her pack and digs through a few of the side pockets. She mutters, “I think it’s in here somewhere… Ah hah!” She retrieves a very small folding pocket-knife. Opening the blade, you look away from the glint of the metal. No need to remind yourself what you’ve lost. That cold metal could easily slip past your skin like an uninvited guest. You close your eye shut and try not to shudder but success eludes you. A dark chill radiates from your core, absorbing your entire body.
You could always steal her knife, like how Odile stole yours. Maybe you wouldn't feel so weightless anymore.
i f y o u c o u l d j u s t h o l d i t a g a i n-
“...Siffrin? Are you okay?”
Your eye shoots open. She hasn’t gone to cut the mushrooms, she’s still holding the knife and looks at you concernedly.
You don’t want to hide your emotions from her but this is different. This was something to keep between Odile and yourself. You know in your heart that there’s no way out of this. You nod.
She shakes her head and frowns, “Don’t lie to me, please.”
You look down at your feet, an icy weight pulling your heart downward. Shame comes in many forms. You should catalog each type and write a book. Shame and You: A Traveler’s Guide to Immolation. That’d be a top seller.
Mirabelle sighs, probably in disappointment. “How can I help you if you don’t talk to me?”
You don’t have an answer for her.
She turns and kneels. Gently and carefully, she removes the bulbous caps from the mushrooms and stores them (and the knife) in her backpack. Then, she unfurls a small blanket and lays it over the soft moss adjacent to the rock. She sits down in the light from above, back to the rock, and looks up at you. Expressionless.
You’ve done this before. Feelings-buddies talk. Like you agreed.
Don’t let her down.
Your knees are shaking but thankfully it’s only a few steps to the blanket. You sit down and face forward. Both of you watch the waterfall pour over the cave’s mouth. The sound of rushing water is soothing. The light is nice on your skin, too.
She takes a breath. “After I healed you from the fire, and after our chat, I spent a lot of time thinking. The things you said in Dormont… they forced me to understand myself before I was ready. That hurt. It still does.”
You shudder under your cloak and hug yourself.
Her voice is pained and soft like that of a berated child. “When Claude and Euphrasie started dating, I was so happy for them.”
For a moment you squint. Those names are familiar. You know them? Maybe? Use context clues. Listen to what she has to say.
“I mean, my roommate and I never get along, but I love how happy she makes the Head Housemaiden.”
Ah, there it is. You should have known their names. Maybe you did, at one point. No matter, unclench your fists and pay attention.
She sighs, “That's actually when I realized what was happening. All around me, people in Dormont were pairing up, or grouping up. Finding their soul mates. And there I was, wondering why anyone would actually want to do all those… things with someone else. So I set out to experience it, even if every fiber of my being said it was wrong.” She shakes her head and stares out into the waterfall. “Sometimes I would try and make plans with my friends, and they'd have to cancel because they were with their partner. It kept happening, again and again. And I knew…” She closes her eyes, breaths ragged and shoulders shaking, hands clasped in her lap. You hate how tired she sounds.
She swallows the lump in her throat and says, “I knew that something was wrong with me. Th-That I'd end up alone.”
It's getting harder to breathe. Pinpricks begin to form in the center of your chest. You desperately want to tell her that she's not alone, she'll always have you. You want to reach out and tell her that there's nothing wrong with her. That she doesn’t have to change and she can stay the way she is if that makes her happy. You know the script. You’ve memorized the lines. Play your part and tell her that it’s okay.
…But you lost the right to say that to her a long time ago.
You quietly let her continue.
“And you saying that to me, just… affirming it so bluntly. It still hurts. Even if I'm learning that being alone is okay, and that Change shouldn't make you do things you absolutely can't do.” Mirabelle pauses for a moment, gathering her strength to continue. “I’ve talked to Isabeau about it, actually. I didn’t tell him everything, but he reminded me what a terrible strain you were under. And I feel awful for the things I said to you. The loops, your wish, your fears: We could have talked about it. But you don’t talk to us.”
With a heavy breath she fiddles with her fingers in her lap and says, “I still see that unchanging part of myself as a flaw. I don't know if I'll ever accept it, and I… I don't know if I can talk to you about this after what happened in Dormont. But I forgive you, honestly. I think I'm angry because you still know more about me than I know about myself.” Under her breath, she mutters, “...and about you, too.”
Mira gently breathes and looks toward you. Your fists are clenched tightly and your knuckles are probably paler than your face. The sunlight doesn’t feel as warm as it used to. But you look at her, stare into her eyes and tremble in the lightless stain you’ve painted on your friendship. She almost looks sad but something else is behind her eyes. She says, “I can't change what you did, and I can't stop you from knowing so much about me. But, maybe we can balance the scales?”
You raise your eyebrow. You were expecting her to… say something worse. Anything worse, really. You deserve nothing better.
“I-I mean,” She bites her lip as she sorts through her thoughts, “There’s no way I can do the loops like you did. So, the only way for me to learn about you is to talk to you. I want to know more. We keep opening up like this,” She motions her hand between you both, “and maybe we’ll be even, someday. That’s one of the reasons I want to teach you about Change. If I can help you overcome your fear of it, I can help you the same-” She pauses and looks down at her lap, her dour face a ghost of her light. She inhales and whispers, “The same way you tried to help me.”
Your intense grip on your midsection softens. It’s just like Mirabelle to overcome conflict with kindness. A familiar and warm shiver climbs over your shoulders in a more comfortable embrace. That incessant urge to apologize is creeping into your mouth but you don’t dare act on it. Still the manipulator. Take a different approach, easing the tension might help a little. You barely smirk and say, “I imagine you’ll be less of a jerk about it than I was.”
She looks back up at you and nods, “That… won’t be too hard.”
To your honest surprise, you both gently laugh. She turns her whole body toward you and holds out her hands. You turn as well, adjusting your cloak so you don’t get it twisted under your crossed legs. Your hands are shaking but you raise them up and place them in hers. You shiver.
Mirabelle holds your hands tightly and says, “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Say it quick now, stardust. Before your shame takes over again.
You breathe in, and out.
“...Odile has my dagger.”
She blinks and her brow furrows. “She… does? Why?”
You wetly open your mouth, close it, take a breath and try again. “She’s worried that I’ll use it.”
Mira waits for you to continue.
“...On myself.”
Her sharp gasp echoes through the cavern and your hands are crushed under her grip. You don’t move. “Oh, Change.” She says in a breathy voice. All she can do is stammer. “S-Should… should she be worried?”
You can’t lie to her. The answer is yes, but oftentimes the answer is no. You’ve really put yourself in quite the conundrum. Every bone in your body begins to ache, your animalistic instinct tells you to run, and your carotid artery pulses, begging to be unsealed.
Hold on to your courage, stardust.
You take another breath and answer, “Sometimes.”
She’s crying now, whether she knows it or not is unclear. You wish you could cry like that. It’s very infrequent when your emotions boil over into anything but damage. Her grip could break your hands, or at least stretch out the material of your gloves. She’s sniffling, the loose mucus draining from her nose runs toward her upper lip. You want to wipe her face, to take care of her, but you can’t do much without your hands.
With her nose stuffed and runny (an interesting combination) she gasps and starts breathing through her mouth. You don’t know what to say. You can’t promise her you’d be safer if you had your dagger. You can’t promise her that you’re going to be okay. You can’t promise her much of anything.
Some friend you are.
“I-I-I’m sorry!” She raises her voice through her tears, “I knew you were hurting b-but I… I didn’t see it! I should’ve-” She shakes her head, you can feel her trembling, “I s-shouldn’t have told you I was still mad! I’m sorry, I-”
“Mira!” You try to hold her hands a little tighter. “Please don’t blame yourself. This is on me. Something I need to figure out.” You sniffle a little.
She’s almost choking on her sobs now, sputtering half-words through her lips faster than the water rushing down into the river.
You can’t promise her much, but you can help her. “Breathe with me, okay?” You take long and sustained inhales and exhales. You sway your chest up and down with each breath as though she needs the reminder. Her erratic breaths keep pace with yours, interrupted by sniffles and shudders. You keep breathing, as does she.
It takes time (Minutes. Maybe hours. You’d sit with her forever if she needed it. In fact, you have!) but she begins to take slow and deep breaths. She doesn’t let go of your hands. A bit awkwardly, she turns her head to her left side and wipes her face on her shoulder. She does the same for the other side. Her face is a little drier, at least. Same can’t be said for her shawl.
She nods and says in a scratchy voice, “I’m okay. Thank you.”
You smile.
Mirabelle takes another breath, “I’m sorry, I panicked and assumed it was all my fault. That’s not fair to either of us.”
You know the feeling well. You shrug and say, “Welcome to my world.”
She sniffs again, in laughter or recovery you’re not sure. She straightens her posture and nods. “Okay, let’s get serious.”
You weren’t serious before?
Her eyes fill with determination. “Odile has your dagger. Good. But we both know you probably don’t need it if you-” She inhales sharply but jumps back in quickly, “-if you planned on hurting yourself.”
Your gaze falls down to your hands. She’s right, of course. Nothing to say.
Firmly, she shakes your hands and says, “Eyes on me.”
You look up. Again, Mirabelle seems to have this strange power over you. She says “look,” you say “how high.” The lack of control would feel uncomfortable if it was anyone else.
She leans forward slightly and you can see her lip barely quivering. Her voice is strict. “If you ever feel like doing that, you come to me. I will sit you down. I will read you a book. I will hug you until your back breaks.” She blinks and shakes her head, “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean that. B-But, actually! I did!” She perks up, “Anytime. Midnight. Lunch time. Anytime at all. Wake me up. Grab my hand. Tackle me. Just… just do it! You don’t have to tell me why you’re in pain, or what you’re thinking of doing! Just take my hand!” She shakes both of your hands, almost flailing your arms up and down. “That’ll be the signal! Grab my hand as hard as you can!” She leans forward and shouts in your face,
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, SIFFRIN?!?!”
You jolt back a little. This probably isn’t how a therapist would handle a conversation like this, but her honesty is more important than her tact. You always look to Odile for precision and tact, anyway. They’re both very different people with the same level of concern.
Quickly, you nod. Your hair jostles around your face.
“SAY IT!!!” She shouts again, “PROMISE ME!!!”
You stammer, “I-I promise!”
Looks like you were wrong. Looks like you can promise her something.
Immediately, her shoulders slack and she leans back. The vice grip around your hands softens. She sighs and takes a few breaths. Shouting really took it out of her, it seems. You exhaust her. And everyone else.
You hold her hands a little more tightly. All she does is silently watch you. You’ve barely said anything all day. Now it’s your turn to talk. That’s how conversations work.
With a newfound confidence, you say to her, “I promise I’ll come to you if I feel like… doing anything.” Honesty is hard for you, sometimes. But keeping quiet and lying are two very different things. Speak truthfully, your family won’t accept anything less. “I kind of bounce back and forth. Sometimes I’m good, sometimes I’m not.” You lean your head to one side, then the other with the good and the bad. “Most of the time, I find myself thinking about how nothing is worth losing what I’ve gained. You and Bonnie and Isa and Odile.” Your soft smile fades and you add, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, then…” Mirabelle rubs the back of your gloves with her thumbs. “Let’s figure that out together. Because there’ll be a time when we’re not with each other.”
You grip her hands like a lifeline.
“B-But!” She squeezes you back, “It’ll be a long while before that happens. In the meantime, we'll be here for each other. No matter what it takes.”
She said she’d teach you to love yourself. That’s a far-off and unreachable goal in your mind. Then again, you thought you’d have to travel every road alone. Things look different with her shield protecting you, Isa’s fists beating down your foes, Odile’s books to teach you, and Bonnie’s frying pan to… cook for you? That analogy got away from you. Try again later.
Right now, just smile and hold her hands a little tighter.