Chapter Text
Bumps from old scars line your darkless arms, a mountain range of reminders of points and edges. If you pick the highest ridge and trail your fingers out from there, will you find a path? Is there a way to connect the dots you've made for yourself? Waking up each morning buried in your skin, hiding behind your arms, sweat the only barrier between you and your past - it's not what normal people do.
You think you're past being a person by now. Your former-self, they were a person. You hope. You'd like to hope. You don't remember hope, some mornings. It lists away from you like a feather from a sick bird. Someone once told you not to pick feathers up off the ground. Could make you sick. You don't remember who that person was, or if they were a person at all. Just something you've always known.
Your knees are tight as you lay on your side and you pull your legs up into you. A muscle in your lower back spasms and you feel sweat over every inch of skin, soaking into the sheets and your pajamas. The blankets are twisted around you and you don't think you're in the same sleeping position you started in last night. Sunlight burns into your bedroom (you can't get used to having a bedroom, a home, you won't allow yourself to get used to it, because it'll be harder when it all ends), making you sweat even more.
You haven't had this bed for even a week. But whenever you all say “Goodnight!” you smile and wave and close your bedroom door behind you. Then, you’re alone with the bed, the blankets, the pillows, and your thoughts. The monologues in your head chase you like dogs, just looking for pets and acknowledgement and food. You're really gonna kick those dogs away? You relent, every night, and let them amass.
You haven't seen your sadness in a while. That lightless figure outlined by static and unfocused by darkness. They comfort you, sometimes. Creating tangibility from your awful thoughts. Something to talk to, to reason with, to comfort. The first time you saw it, you never thought you'd miss it. But you're starting to heal your relationship with yourself, aren't you? You're learning to breathe alongside it.
…You hope Bonnie can learn to do the same. With their own sadness.
You never wanted this for anyone, least of all Bonnie. If the King hadn't cursed Vaugarde, Bonnie wouldn't be so traumatized. But you played a part in their shattering. Your fingers idly trail the scar where your eye once lay. Another valley and plateau, another mountain range. Someday you'll connect them. Balancing what you made and what you chose. Two sides of the same coin, no?
Another sigh escapes your lips. Your tongue lines the inside of your teeth, sticky and gross. You hate these kinds of mornings. You hate the empty nights even more, because you know sleep will never come. When it does, you don't remember it. Dreams and nightmares quieted by a shattered memory. You leave your own nights having never remembered falling asleep. You wake as tired as you slept.
In the long dark, you chase your dreams down a lightless stairwell, hoping to grab a railing only to grasp at an empty scabbard. It's not there. It's not yours (it never was), and you're not getting it back. Your hand clenches into a tight fist as you try to remember what it felt like to hold it close.
Odile took it from you. Without permission. She gave herself permission when you were obviously self-harming. Wearing suicidal ideation on your sleeve like a badge of honor. She hasn't given it back. Everyone knows she has it, except Pétronille you think. No one's asked her to give it back.
You understand why she has it. You know she isn't acting maliciously. But you still feel like your paper skin has been shredded and set alight.
An empty scabbard is heavier than the weight of the world. It pulls your clothes down to the ground and leaves you naked, shivering in the autumn wind. You need it back. But you're not getting it back. (This is for the best.) None of them are experienced in cartography. They've never made maps in their flesh. They've never seen the rivers and mountains and forests and deserts, they've never traveled as far as you have.
Your eye crusts open and bleeds a wet tear leftover from last night. You don't remember much. You remember saying goodnight, and the look on Isabeau's face, like he recognized something but was too scared to push. You remember your lips tugging against your cheeks and your cracking dry skin. You remember screaming into your pillow as you hid from the moon outside. This place, this home, it's still so new and you haven't bought curtains yet. The ones that came with the house don't block out enough light.
Your eye opens wider. You pull your arms away from your face, a trail of sweat and spit lining the distance between. Light seeps into your vision and you want to crawl under the blankets. But you have a better look at them now, the marks on your arms. Imperceptively higher than the surface. You lose count of them, or you forget how to count. Maybe there was a reason for each landmark. By the morning after it's done, you often forget why you did it. The feelings are still there but you're never sure what the tipping point was.
Your thumb shakes as it coasts the high ranges. It's easier to think of them that way, instead of as stars to leer at you, judging your every step. The night sky does enough of that already. You can press them, push them, squeeze them, and you can make more. Unlike that pesky Universe above, unchanging, uncaring, and unmourned. Your family will look at you staring upward and ask, “What are you looking at, Siffrin?”
And you answer honestly. “Nothing.”
You're glad to never have to see the observatory in Dormont again. Here in Bambouche, no one cares about the stars. But… that's not true, is it? There’s someone besides you who looks up. She… what’s her name? You met her, you talked to them. You'll probably see her again and then you can pretend that you never forgot!
You manage a chuckle. You've only been in this big new house for two days! Right? Just two, no more no less? You think that's right. You usually don't forget entire days. But, if you did, then you wouldn't remember the days you forgot! Just like how so many loops left your brain forever!
Ugh. You don’t want to think about this. If you stay in bed any longer, someone will come and check in on you. (Is that such a bad thing?) Get up.
Muscles stiff and skin surprisingly not bleeding, you roll out of bed and drag your blanket behind you like a cape. On the wall by the glass door to your balcony is a big calendar that you bought in Bambouche. You made sure it was the biggest one they had in stock so you'd always notice it. Written on September 5th is “home”, so that's when the whole town of Bambouche built you and the Saviors (and Pétronille) this house, this home.
Vaugarde is still so weird.
A few more crossed off dates, and the next blank one is September 7th. That’s today. You do remember the last few days, that's good. But, you know you’ll forget everything eventually. None of it will matter in the end. Thoughts and moments and memories bleeding from your skull like rain down the gutter, it’ll all be gone gone gone-
Nope! Not gonna think about that today. That's a problem for September-8th-Siffrin. You're September-7th-Siffrin. You're gonna have a good day. Yes, that’s what you’ve decided. After all that selfish sulking, you’re gonna try and ignore it. Be there with your family and you’ll forget about this morning.
That September-8th-Siffrin is in big trouble once tomorrow comes around.
Not you, though! Ha!
You drop the blanket on the floor and feel the ocean wind on your bare skin. Like air currents weaving through your mountains. You shiver and close the window. By looking at the pale sky you can tell the sunrise was hours ago. Maybe a clock would be good for your room.
As deft as a mouse, you crack your bedroom door open and peek into the hallway. No one’s around but you hear voices downstairs. The other bedroom doors are open, save Odile’s. Good! You don’t think you’re ready to talk to people yet. You grab your cloak and clothes and tiptoe toward the bathroom.
The steam from the shower bellows into the room, fogging up the mirror. Heat sends a shock down your skin as you step inside. Slowly, your body adapts to the rapid temperature change and you melt in the water. Sweat is exiled from your flesh, the runoff boiled away in the blistering fire. The water pushes your stress out to sea, driftwood on the waves and beyond the distant horizon. Thoughts vanish, images of the good things in your life fill the screen behind your closed eyelid.
See, the bed is the problem. No more sleep! Just find something else to fill the time! You could read or take walks or start carving again-
Hm. Need a knife for that.
Who cares! The shower is nice and you’ve already decided today will be good. Well, what’s left of today, anyway. You’ve been meandering the hills of your stupid brain all morning and getting lost in the forest fires. That Siffrin is dead to you, like so many others. So much of yourself left behind.
But that just means there’s so much more to find!
You spend extra time brushing your teeth. Somehow that’s always the dirtiest part of your filthy body. Donning your cloak and drying your hair as best you can, you head out to the hallway toward the stairs. A voice carries and you hear,
“Don't you throw that ding-dang orange at me!” Sounds like Pétronille! She’s trying not to laugh.
“I'm gonna do it! But only when you least expect it!” And that's Bonnie! Must be some kind of breakfast squabble.
You're still a little groggy and you’re kicking away stray thoughts, but you're too excited to spend time with your family to feel the full effects of a restless sleep. You glide downstairs and everyone smiles at you. You’re gonna make today a good day. Nothing’s gonna stop you! No shadows in your head, no mountains along your arm! There’s no skin like the skin you wake up in and you just gotta get used to it!
“Morning, Sif!” Isabeau greets you from the table, newspaper in hand. “How'd you sleep?”
You wave back and shrug. “Okay. Too bright.” You mutter. He’s probably perusing the help-wanted section of the paper. There’s a name for that section, right? Periodicals? You’re not sure. But you’re all looking for jobs and that’s good!
Sometimes you catch Pétronille looking at her toolbelt with a mournful expression. She's been stressed her whole life and her job was really loud, so those both caused permanent hearing damage. She can still hear okay but her tinnitus is bad. The doctors told her to quit her loud job (what was her job, again?) and take a vacation.
So! You had a great idea. If you all stayed, you could get jobs and support Bonnie and their sister. Nille could take a break, a rest she'd never gotten before. When you all agreed, you remember how loudly she laughed and cried and choked on her tears. This was all so new to her, so foreign.
Your thoughts wander as you sit down. Bonnie’s in the kitchen frying something up, smells tasty. Beside them, Pétronille is cutting something. You can't see over the galley counter that separates the kitchen from the dining room. But her arms are making “knife-cutting-food” motions. You’re so observant!
“MORNIN, FRIN!!” Bonnie waves their spatula toward you. Still so strange, seeing them without their pillowy hat. They shout, “I'm making eggs! Do you want cheese? Yeah you're gross, of course you want cheese!”
You nod feverishly.
“Bonnie, inside voice please.” Pétronille holds her hand over her ear for a moment and winces. Must be her tinnitus, or maybe Bonnie was actually too loud. You like Bonnie's volume! Let's you know they're always with you!
“Yelling before breakfast is a crime punishable by death, where I come from.” Odile threatens through her yawn as she descends the staircase. She's still in her pajamas and her hair is an absolute mess, almost as messy as yours! You like that she's more comfortable in a house than in a tent. She always groomed herself before letting anyone see her out in the wilderness. Not here, though!
You smile her way and she smiles back. Nille brings two mugs of coffee and hands them to Isabeau and Odile. She smirks and tells them, “Don't get any ideas, I'm not your waitress. You caught me putting on a fresh pot.”
“Not at all! Tomorrow I'll brew some coffee for you!” Isabeau puts down the paper and grins, “That way we're even!”
Odile thanks her for the cup and says, “I guess we should add coffee to the chore wheel.”
Nille walks to your seat and looks down at you. She’s so tall! And skinnier than you were expecting. All Bonnie’s talk of hammers and suplexes, you thought she’d be all buff like Mr. Amazing-Wonderful-Funny-Buff Isabeau. Surprises are nice. Surprises break any remaining scraps of paper that caught in the wind, ripped away from the script as it burned atop the House of Dormont.
“Siffrin, how do you like your coffee?” Nille turns to you and points toward Isa and Odile, “I already know how these two take it, and they're kind of… nasty?”
“Hey!” Isa pouts with a little bit dribbling from his lip, “Just because I like my mug half-coffee and half-lactose-free-milk doesn't make me nasty!”
“Lightless coffee.” Odile stares off into space and sips from her steaming mug. “Do not stand between me and my beans.”
“Hehehe.” Bonnie chuckles from the kitchen. “My shark's named Beans.”
(They have a pet shark?!?)
Odile squints toward the chef cooker and asks, “You named your stuffed animal after coffee beans?”
(Oh, right. Stuffed toy.)
They stick out their tongue and groan, “Blegh. No way! Pinto beans! The best beans!”
The back door slides open and the wind carries a salty air inside as Mirabelle kicks off her shoes. “I like lima beans!” She closes the glass door behind her and walks through the living room toward you all. “Wait, what are we talking about?”
Pétronille tries to get a word in but Bonnie barrels over her, saying, “We're gonna make all the beans fight in a battle royale.”
Mira gasps, “But!! They're all beans!? They should get along!”
“Don’t worry, Mira,” Your voice feels hoarse, you need a drink, “They'll all bean fine!”
Isabeau chuckles giddily and puts his mug down, saying, “You're lucky I wasn't in the middle of drinking my delicious coffee!! I would have spit all over the table!”
You grin cheekily and earn the normal groans from the normal parties. Some routines are still okay. Some scripts don’t need re-writes.
“So…” Nille scrunchies her face, “Siffrin? Coffee?”
Hm. You know this, right? You've had coffee before. It's not your favorite but she wants to pour you a cup. And she already made a pot! It'd be rude to say you don't really like coffee. But you don't know the right ratio of milk, sugar, and coffee! Or if there are other ingredients? Like whipped cream? No, that's for hot chocolate. Maybe you should ask for that instead!
Aaaaand you've been staring at her for too long. “Uh,” Your words stumble out of your dry mouth, “I'll have what you're having?”
Nille raises her eyebrow and shrugs, idly rubbing her hands through her super-short hair. “Alright, then. Two sugars, a dash of milk, maybe some caramel if we have any. Be right back.”
Bonnie starts serving breakfast as your conversation continues. You remember a time when the sounds of their voices drained you, their scripts branded into your skin. No matter how much you clawed and scratched, the words would never come out.
But now, months removed from the loops, the marks are fading a little. Hearing your family say anything but the script is helping a great deal. This is going to be a process. And you're finally feeling okay this morning after such a dreadful battle. Hold on to that. You know how easily you can flip from stability to scattered ashes. Mountains crumbling all around you and no easy way to raise them back up.
Nille hands you your mug and you take a sip. You flinch at the heat and blow into the surface of the drink. It ripples outward and you whisper, “Please cool down, please cool down, please cool down.”
The mug chills in your hand and you take another sip, a full one this time. You taste… bitter coffee. And milk. And sugar. And a little caramel. The tastes separate in your mouth even though the drink is homogeneous. You feel the muscles around your mouth clench and tighten.
Nille's looking at you, shaking her head with a smile. “Not to your liking, I take it?”
No it's very gross and you very much don't like it. You smile, lips stretched across your skin like an over-inflated balloon, and say, “I love it!”
Everyone laughs at your obvious discomfort, but that's okay. You know you're making a scene, it is pretty funny. Making them laugh is worth it!
Your throat clenches and you twitch as you take one last swig. Maybe you just don't like coffee and you forgot. That's very possible. But, trying new things is important! That's how you got through the loops!
Come on, stardust. Stop bringing it back to the loops for a bit. Please?
“Hey, Nille?” Bonnie asks as they serve eggs straight from the pan onto your plate. (Wonderfully delicious eggs and cheese and onions and peppers.) “What do you want for your birthday? It's only a few weeks away.”
She shakes her head, “Try a month away, Bonnie. Honestly, I don't need anything.”
They shove some cheeseless eggs into their mouth and grumble, “Ugh, you say that every year!”
Pétronille chuckles and waves her hand around the large and open house, “Yeah but this year? I really think I have everything I need.”
Mirabelle folds her hands under her chin and puts on a thinking face, “I'm sure we'll find some way to surprise you!”
“Oh ho, you're in for it now.” Odile rolls her head toward Nille, “Mirabelle is an expert gift-giver.”
“Yeah!” Isabeau claps, “And she totally doesn't make it really hard to shop for her! Not at all!!”
Mira's jaw drops, “Huh?! Do I really make it that hard?!”
“DUH!!” Bonnie yells, “I mean, what do you get for the perfect gift-giver?”
“Wha- I’m not! I just, my roommate in Dormont, Claude, she’s a perfect gift-giver! I-I just learned from her, I guess?” She pouts and shakes her head, arguing, “And- and I’ve liked every gift you've all given me!!”
Odile smirks and shakes her head, “True but you'd love the gifts if they came from you.”
Mirabelle is aghast at this point, eyes wide and hands over her chest, “BUY MYSELF GIFTS?! I DIDN'T REALIZE THIS WAS SUCH A PROBLEM?!”
“It's no problem for me!” Pétronille smiles and teases her, “Especially if you're the one buying me something for my imminent birthday! It’s October 3rd, by the way.”
The table giggles and tries to hide it, yourself included. Mirabelle awkwardly laughs along but you don't think she likes being called out. You should apologize for laughing later (no, no, no. Don't apologize for things that don't need to be apologized for. Save your apologies for the big things you'll inevitably mess up. Deal?)
…Deal. Eat your eggs.
(Mmm… tasty!)
Pétronille pulls out her journal and opens to an early page, “Speaking of, when are all your birthdays? I’ll get a calendar going.”
Everyone answers her one-by-one. Lastly, her eyes settle on you. Oh! Ha ha! You know this one, you actually know it! It's the birthday you chose for yourself! With a small smile that doesn't hide any lost memories, you say, “September 1st!”
She starts to write the date but freezes and looks up at you. The whole table is looking at you. Jaws are dropped. Eyebrows are furrowed. You… said something wrong? Or, did you say something and then immediately forget what you were talking about?
You pivot and say, “I, uh, I can pick a better day? Instead of S-September 1st?”
“SIFFRIN!?!?” Everyone shouts your name. The cacophony of noise is overwhelming as they each berate you for your obvious mistakes. You duck into your collar and close your eye tight. Don’t shiver, don’t shiver, don’t shiver-
“Siffrin, why didn’t you say something?!” Mirabelle asks, you can hear her frowning outside the safety and lightlessness of your eyelid.
“Maybe they forgot!” Bonnie shouts with a slightly hurtful chuckle.
Pétronille scolds them, “Don’t be mean, Bon. Now we know, and that’s all that matters. Right, Siffrin?”
…Yeah, now they know. Truthfully, you just thought it wasn’t important. You poke up from your hiding place and carefully open your eye. They’re all staring at you and you want to duck back down. The softness of Isa’s voice keeps your head above water, as it so often does.
“Sif! Tell us, what do you normally do on your birthday?”
That’s a good question. You hum and purse your lips, your eye trails upward in absent thought. You scan your brain for recent birthdays and say, “Well, first I find stuff in my pockets to eat…” You tilt your head to the side, “And then I take a nap…” With a bright smile, you look at Isabeau and exclaim, “...Until I get a headache!”
Flatly, Odile stares at you and asks, “How is that different from any other day?”
Mirabelle moans a bit and fiddles with her fingers. “Oh, Siffrin. I-I’m sorry we didn’t even ask about your birthday while we were traveling! We should have been more considerate, we-”
Hairs fly off your head with how fast you’re shaking it, “No, no, it’s okay!! I didn’t tell any of you so it’s my fault too. I guess, um…” You look around the table and dourly admit, “I didn’t really have anyone to celebrate with, before.”
“Well, now’s your chance!” Pétronille smiles and says, “Plus, it’ll take the pressure off my birthday.”
Bonnie jumps up on their chair and points their fork at you, “Frin! Food! What can I cook for your birthday-dinner?!”
You lean back and your eye widens. You don’t like to make decisions on the spot! But, you know this is Bonnie’s way of getting you a gift! Don’t think about it, say the first food that comes to mind. A non-loops food please.
“Uh…” You smack your lips and stammer, “I… um…”
Bonnie’s growing restless. They put their hands on their hips and frown, “I don’t got all day! I gotta go buy the ingredients!”
Why can’t you think of anything? You-
“FRIN!!”
You panic and shout, “CRAB CAKES!!”
Everyone but Odile gasps, the shade draining from their faces. Isa shakes his hands close to his chest and groans, “Ew, ew, ew!!”
“Siffrin!! No!!!” Mirabelle violently grimaces and shuts her eyes, “That’s- but- you- GROSS!!”
A little more calmly, Pétronille swallows hard and says, “I-I know it’s your birthday, but… maybe a less drastic meal would be better?”
Odile chuckles and shakes her head, “Siffrin, I’ll eat crab cakes with you. Us non-Vaugardians have to stick together.”
You’re sinking down into your shoulders again. The ocean is nearby, the beach and the waves, you just had seafood on your mind! And crab cakes are tasty! You haven’t had any since… Poteria? Or maybe Mwudu? Still, you’ve upset everyone. You’re about to offer another option but a small voice breaks the quiet.
“...I’ll do it.”
You raise your eyebrows. All eyes turn to Bonnie, still standing and looking a little unsure of themself.
They nod and look up at you, deep in thought. They say, “Yeah… yeah! I’ll do it! I’ll cook crab!”
“BONNIE!!!” Now everybody shouts their name instead of yours.
They stomp their foot on their chair with each word, “IT’S! HIS! BIRTHDAY!!!” Everyone protests further but Bonnie punches back with, “How would you guys feel if I said I wouldn’t cook you food for your birthday? You’d feel bad!!”
This is getting out of hand! You hold your hands up and say to them, “Bonbon, you don’t have to cook crab! It was just the first thing that came to mind!”
“Yeah, but why?!” Bonnie asks, crossing their arms. “Why was it the first thing? Because you wanted it! Dummy!!” They hold their chin up high and proudly say, “Plus, it’ll be a good chall- cha-” They bite their tongue and work through the word, “A good chall-enge! To test my cooker skills!”
“Are we really gonna do this?” Mirabelle’s voice is shaky, “I-I’ve never eaten c~r~a~b before.” The word spews from her lips like venom.
Isabeau hides his head in his hands and mumbles, “We can’t disappoint our special buddy on their special day…”
Bonnie rolls their eyes, “Ugh, I’ll cook different stuff for everyone else. This’ll be for me and Frin and Dile.”
A sharp breath passes through Pétronille’s clenched jaws, “And me. I’ll… try… the crab.”
Bonnie lights up and spins to face their sister, “Really? What changed your mind?” They pound their chest with their fist, “Was it my im-pact-ed speech about birthdays and food?”
“Impassioned.” Odile gently corrects Bonnie.
“Im-pash-nid!”
“Im-pass-ion-ed.” Nille takes a turn working them through it.
Their arms go high, “Impassioned!”
Pétronille chuckles and nods, “Actually, it’s because I wanna try everything you cook. And…” She turns to you, then looks away and bites her lip, “And I might know someone in town who knows how to cook crab.”
Odile folds her hands on the table and leans forward, “Fascinating… Who might that be?”
She hesitates, bites her lip, and admits, “...Tasha.”
“Tasha, like, your partner Tasha?” Isabeau goes pale, “The one we’ve been hanging out with?!? She eats cr- eurgh!!” He covers his mouth and gags, “I thought she was cool…”
“She is!!” Nille adamantly defends her partner, “She just… likes to try new things! Maybe she’s got some crabs in her icebox.”
(Oh, right. Tasha. That’s her name. The one who cares about the stars. The one who was raised in Bambouche, but her father hailed from distant and lightless shores.)
Bonnie hops off their chair and rushes upstairs, shouting, “THEN IT’S SETTLED!! We’re going to Tasha’s!” Their voice fades as they get out of earshot but they’re still shouting. Finally, they come back downstairs with a backpack in hand, “...and then we cook!”
A day out shopping with Bonnie sounds fun! Your smile warms your cheeks and you nod at your master cooker. They flash their teeth in a wide grin.
“Siffrin?” Mirabelle cautiously looks your way, “We know what you want for dinner, but do you want anything else? Gifts, or maybe you want to do something special?”
You’ve somehow manipulated the situation to get food that no one else wants, how else can you pull the strings? You’ll do what you do best: Fumble through the day and fall back on your controlling nature. Play them all like instruments, your empty orchestra swelling and swelling and swelling and swelling-
“Siffrin?” Isabeau reaches his hand toward you, “Lost ya for a second.”
You nod and bring the room back into focus.
“So?” Odile asks with a playful smile, “What does our silly little rogue want for their birthday?”
After scanning the faces of your acto- family, you say, “I think… I want to buy Bonnie a new hat and boots!”
Bonnie scowls and looks at you like you just kicked a puppy. They say, “That’s not how birthdays work, dumbfrin.”
You bat your eyelashes cutely and plead, “But that’s what I wanna do! If you’re up for it.”
Pétronille tiredly says, “Hold on. Bonnie has school today. It’s their first day back.”
Bonnie twists their arm a little and looks at their sister across the kitchen. “Can’t I just have one more day?”
Hands on hips, Pétronille argues, “I already gave you an extra day. Yesterday. Remember?”
“But!” Bonnie’s lips curl inward and you think they’re stopping themself from yelling. They look at their feet, adorned in sandals, and they mutter, “It’s their birthday…”
With a defeated sigh, Nille rubs her forehead and says, “Alright. For their birthday. But that’s it! Tomorrow, school. Got it?”
They brighten up, “Got it!! Frin!” They lift their hand toward you, “Can I take your hand!? Imma drag you outside, ‘kay? We’ll go see if Tasha has crab!”
You tilt your head and say, “And we’ll get you a new hat?”
“Mhm, sure.” Bonnie practically dismisses the notion and grabs your hand. At the contact, a warm tingle condenses in the small of your back. You try not to relish in it. Bonnie pulls hard and you nearly trip on your own feet.
As you’re yanked out the front door, you hear Nille call out, “Hey, bring them home safe!”
You yell back, “I will!”
She laughs and corrects herself, “I was talking to Bonnie!!”
The early morning wasn’t so great, but this is already turning into one of your more fun birthdays!