Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wake up in a forest.

You’re slumped against a tree, your back aching miserably. You listen to the birds twitter above you, the wind gusting through the leaves, a babbling creek somewhere in the distance. 

You’re…alive.

You’re alive?

You’d finally settled into the comfort of being dead. Overwhelming nothingness pressing in on you from every side. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing. 

But now you sit up, on a bed of frozen grass. Alive. Whole. Not…dead. 

You grab aimlessly at the knotted wood behind you, digging your nails into the bark. You pull yourself up, your knees wobbling dangerously. You’re clothed—you’d gotten so used to not being clothed that…now something about it feels wrong. You’re wearing thin, dark pants, and a thin, dark top. Nothing much. Your old clothes, if you remember correctly. From when you were human. From beneath your cloak.

You’re cold. Why are you so cold? There had been a permanent, flickering heat laying just below your skin. Your false skin. Whatever you call it. You rub your arms desperately, trying in vain to push some warmth back into your skin. Your real skin. Smooth and scarless because nothing ever stuck to you. 

Why are you here?

You look around the forest. There’s a flicker of light emanating from somewhere to your left, deeper within the trees. Shakily, unsteadily, you walk towards it. You try to keep yourself hidden amongst the trees as best you can—stepping over loose twigs and leaves, dodging around branches and half collapsed trunks. The smell of mud and woodsmoke is all around you. Your nose stings.

You peak around a tree and—

And.

Your stomach sinks.

It’s them. Why is it them, of all people!? Of all the people in the world you could have run into, the Researcher, the Fighter, the Housemaiden, the Kid, their sister, and your stupid, stars-forsaken, Wanderer. 

You don’t want to grace them with a nickname. Stardust is too cutesy, and Traveler is too kind. They don’t belong anywhere. They don’t deserve the family that you had first. What did they ever do that you didn’t guide them to!? You don’t want to be a good loser when they get to be a sore winner!

You grip the bark, anger snapping in your chest.

He’s cuddled up against the Fighter’s arm, both of them wrapped in a blanket, staring mindlessly into the fire. They’re holding something, pressing it tight to their chest. Fury bubbles up in your throat, boiling hot. It quells the chill on your skin for only a second.

You know, somehow, that it’s his fault you’re here. You’re not sure how, you’re not sure why, but…you just know. It’s his fault you’re alive again, it’s his fault you’re half frozen in this wood, it’s his fault it’s his fault it’s always his fault!

You’re so caught up in this all-encompassing anger, that you don’t realize until it’s too late—

The Wanderer has noticed you.

You had been having a…rough night. 

It had just been one of those days. The one’s you’ve been having every now and then. Where a lead ball settles in your gut. Where the idea of getting up for the day feels painful. The faux-stars pockmarked across your skin were calling your name. You scratched at them beneath your cloak, pulling aimlessly at the raised scar tissue. Isabeau had noticed, quietly redirecting you to your carvings. Sometimes you need something else to do with your hands. Sometimes you need a reminder.

Mirabelle had picked you up some proper carving tools a few towns ago—but you keep defaulting to your dagger. You don’t want to hurt her feelings, but it’s just…the most comfortable in your grip.

But you’ve finished your carving of Loop. There’s nothing else you want to work on at the moment. You hold it in your palm, gently tilting it back and forth. 

I miss you, you think. I want to see you again. Please. I miss you.

You run your thumb over their shoulders, over their chest. If you weren’t wearing your gloves, you think you might give yourself splinters.

You let out a low sigh.

“Everything alright, Sif?” Isabeau asks.

You shrug. You’re not really…sure. You feel better than you have, at least. There’s still churning disgust in your stomach, still a painful throbbing at the base of your skull. But you guess it’s better. It’s better than how you felt in the House, that much you know for sure. 

Ever so gently, Isabeau offers out his arm. You lean into him, pressing your cheek against his bicep. He wraps a blanket over both of your shoulders. You try to soak in his warmth. 

You squeeze the Loop figure, holding it to your chest. As irritating and as rude they were, you still…miss them. A lot. They were such a prominent part of the loops—one that changed and said new things and didn’t stagnate painfully. They hated you secretly, you think. You would’ve hated yourself, if you were in their shoes.

But you…were in their shoes. Because they are you. But not you? But…stars, it makes your head hurt.

You guess you can’t blame them, for being jealous.

You stare at the fire. The heat stings your cheeks. The air is still thick with the smell of onion and wine. Bonnie had made this nice, comforting soup—they said it was the only dish they could stand eating cheese on. They claimed it was the only thing that made cheese bearable. You’d enjoyed it, it had warmed your chest perfectly. You and the other adults each had a glass or two of wine, while Bonnie got to take a few sips from Nille’s cup.

You squeeze the Loop figure.

There’s a soft snap from the woods. Normally you wouldn’t be phased by it. Normally you wouldn’t even think about it. But now—now you’re a little wine-drunk, a little wound up, and a little stressed. You jerk around. 

A pale, wide-eyed face disappears behind a tree.

Your heart stutters in your chest. Cold adrenaline floods your veins. You’re on your feet before you realize what’s happening. Your dagger in hand, you dart towards—towards whatever it is.

“Sif!?” Isabeau calls after you.

You lunge. 

You and something cold tumble to the ground. Whatever this thing is, you’re only marginally stronger. You manage to wrestle down its flailing arms, grabbing it by the frigid face and nearly cracking its skull against a gnarled, knotted root. You pin it by the hair, press your dagger to its throat and. Pause.

You’re holding…yourself.

A two-eyed, freezing cold, copy of yourself. They’re shaking, barely concealed fury radiating from their every movement.

Your moment of confusion is enough for them. They bare their teeth and wrench their arms from your grip. They grab you by the throat. Your dagger skitters out of your hand. Their thumbs dig into your windpipe, pressing down right on your voice box. You tear at their hair furiously but nothing seems to faze them. Spots dance in your vision. You gasp for breath. You can faintly hear your family’s footsteps.

“Why am I here!?” The thing hisses. They yank you up and slam your head against the ground. Stars burst in your eye, your head spinning. “WHY AM I HERE!?”

Oh.

Oh no.

You recognize that voice. That haughty, mocking tone, buried beneath layers and layers of hatred.

“L—oop?” You rasp. Mud is soaking into the back of your hair.

Their eyes widen a fraction, but before they can respond, they’re yanked off of you. Isabeau has them by the collar, scruffed like a cat. He’s breathing heavily. You scramble to your feet, snatching up your dagger. The ground swirls beneath your feet.

Loop’s eyes train on Isabeau’s face. A brief look of confusion passes over him, before Loop is hitting him square in the chest with a flat handed paper attack. He staggers back, dropping Loop.

“Isa!” You can’t yell properly, your voice is shaky and weak. You want to help him. You don’t want to let Loop run off.

You move as quick as you can. You grab Loop by the wrists, throwing them against the ground, shoving their face into the mud. They let out a surprised grunt. You pin their wrists against their back with your knee, grabbing for Isabeau. He looks dazed, but mostly unharmed. You try to mend the small cuts on his chest, but all of your focus is on your wriggling doppelgänger pressed beneath your leg. You pour as much healing craft through your fingers as you can. You press your palm against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your hand, fluttering like a trapped bird.

All things considered, Loop barely did any damage to Isa. You’ve seen them fight, you know they’re much stronger than this. Its not that you want them to hurt Isabeau, but…you’re curious why they’re holding back.

“Loop,” you whisper. Your voice feels like it’s about to give out on you. You gently try and release them, slowly…cautiously…lifting your knee. They lung for your again, you scramble back—but the fight dies out of them.

They stumble to a stop in front of you, shoulders heaving. They seem so much smaller, now, looking like you. Looking like themself? Without all the light and flare, they just look…sad. Tired. You’re both caked in mud. Their hair doesn’t seem to have any dye in it, perfectly bright, save for the mud and the twigs. They have two eyes, that’s another thing—one of them is weaker and half closed, the iris dull and lifeless—but they still have it. You had to have your eye removed, back when you were attacked. Usually, you wear a crafted glass-eye beneath your eyepatch, to keep your face from deforming. You’re almost jealous, you would like to not have to wear the eyepatch—the one that draws everyone’s attention. 

Loop they’re only wearing your under clothes, absolutely nothing suited to the late winter, early spring weather. They don’t have your cloak, your hat (neither do you), or the longer hair you’ve grown. No wonder they’re freezing.

“Why am I here?” They ask again.

“I d—on’t know,” you rasp. Your voice is spotty and broken.

“Sif, what’s going on?” Isabeau asks cautiously. He’s keeping a wary eye on Loop.

You cough, it’s wheezy, it hurts your chest. “I don’t know.”

“Siffrin?!” Mirabelle calls, “Is everything okay?!”

Your breath catches in your throat again. You don’t pull your eye off of Loop. You don’t want to let them out of your sight.

“Ye—ah! Yeah!” You yell back. “Don’t worry!”

“Worry a little!” Isabeau corrects. He’s much louder than you. “Can you guys come over here!?"

“Isa!” You snap. 

Loop takes a step back, then another, nearly tripping over their own feet.

“Don’t—” you reach out for them. “Do—n’t leave. Don’t leave.”

They stare at you for a moment. They blink. Something shifts behind their eyes. Their expression turns so much more familiar.

“My, Stardust, you want to keep me around that badly?” There’s a waver in their voice, thinly veiled fury still simmering under their words. Isabeau shifts slightly, looking over at Loop. There’s that look in his eyes, the gears turning in his head. Uh oh.

You nod.

Loop falters. “…oh,”

“What’s wrong??” Mirabelle appears beside you, branches breaking beneath her boots. 

You jolt, gripping your dagger tighter.

“Oh gosh, sorry, sorry!!” She puts her hands up, backing away from you quickly. “Sorry!!”

You flip your dagger away, shaking your head. She didn’t do anything wrong. You try to appear more relaxed. Less…wound up.

Bonnie and Petronille come crashing through the brush next. Bonnie is on Nille’s shoulders, holding her hair like they’re steering her around. The both of them stare at you. Bonnie’s eyes jump between you and Loop.

“…two ‘Frins?” Bonnie asks quietly.

Loop tenses.

“You poor thing, you look so thin!!” Nille says. “Are you hungry?”

The question is so absurd that you can’t help but laugh. It’s wheezy and choked. Loop looks like Nille just poked them between the eyes. They blink a few times, then…slowly, they nod.

“We made soup,” Bonnie says, a little nervously. “D’you want…soup?”

Loop cautiously nods again.

They scrape some of the caked in dirt out of their hair, cautiously stepping forward. They follow you and the rest of your family back into the clearing. Your cloak is heavy with mud. Your hair is sticking to the back of your neck. You can feel bruises blooming on your throat. Your head is pounding.

Odile looks up from her book. She nods at you, then quickly looks over at Loop.

“Siffrin?” She looks over at you. Thank the stars everyone can tell you’re their Siffrin. “What’s—?”

“I’ll expl—ain later,” you choke out. You sit back down in your spot. Isabeau settles next to you.

Your head is killing you.

Chapter Text

The Kid’s sister…offers you food. She offers you. Food. You haven’t eaten in…in who knows how long! Decades? Centuries?? Eons??? Who’s to say!! 

The Wanderer and you had a bit of a scuffle, but clearly, they’re stronger than you. Only a little, but you hate it. You’ve lost to them twice now!! Twice!! How pathetic are you?!

Your stomach growls painfully, tearing itself to pieces. 

The Kid pours out a bowl of soup, sticks a chunk of bread into it, then cautiously hands it over. You take it almost greedily, you snatch it to your chest, backing away. You let the bread soak up as much of the soup as it can, before you stuff the entire piece in your mouth. Your cheeks hurt. You’ve missed having a mouth. You’ve missed eating. 

Eating used to be a core part of you!! You used to love it, you used to get teased for it, your family would make more than enough food for you and your bottomless pit of stomach!

But that was ripped away from you. You didn’t get to enjoy food for ages and ages and ages!! Because why would the Universe let you have anything!! 

You weakly sink to your knees, sitting back on your heels. This soup is the best thing you’ve ever eaten, you think. The last thing you can remember tasting was the bottle of stale wine you desperately downed in the House, trying to forget forget forget. This is better than that, you’re pretty sure. Anything is.

“So, who might you be, hanging around in the woods so late?” The Researcher asks. She’s looking at you with that analytical stare, the one that just picks you apart, head to toe. Stars, she scares you sometimes!!

You don’t answer. You’re not sure how to answer!!!

“Who do you think I am??” You respond out of almost habit.

“…” The Researcher does not look amused. In fact, she looks quite frustrated with you!! Uh oh!!

“Loop,” you hear the Wanderer whisper. 

You jolt—that’s not Vaugardian. That’s not—

You turn to them. He’s addressing you in your language. The language the two of you share. And you...understand him. You understand him!!! Your heart feels like it might explode.

“Do you w—ant to tell them?” He asks. His eye is blood shot, his lips a little swollen. There’s deep bruises ringing around his neck. You don’t feel bad about them in the slightest. You’re proud, even. You want to hurt him. You want him dead. “You don’t have to. I h—haven’t.”

“You haven’t?” You respond. Something in your throat burns. He...hasn’t told them about you. “…Nothing?”

“Nothing about who we are,” they say, smiling like it’s perfectly fine “They know—they know you…um...they know Loop as a star. You can be wh—oever you want. But you c—a tell them. I-If you want.”

You blink a few times.

The Researcher is writing furiously in her notebook. After a moment, she looks back up at the both of you.

“Is it safe for me to assume you’re both from Siffrin’s home country?” She asks you. “I recognize that language.”

“Look at you go, right on the money!!” You grin. Acting. You’re good at this!! “Yes, we do hail from the same place!”

“You two are quite similar in appearance,” the Researcher gestures between you both with her pen. Your heart is pounding in your ears.

“Well, I’d say we could be related but,” you force a cheerful giggle, “I’m not sure either of us would remember!!”

Now the Fighter looks a bit perturbed as well, he’s giving you that stare he used to—he bunches his eyebrows up and frowns at you and you know he’s onto you. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

“Have we met before?”

Your stomach drops. Your grin stays plastered on your face. It’s harder to play pretend like this, when you have a mouth. There’s so many more muscles to think about!! But that’s okay, you like a good challenge!!!

“Nope~!! I think I’d remember such a quirky group like all of you!!” You scoop some more soup in your mouth. You want them to stop asking you things. If they keep prying, someone is bound to find out.

“Um, I have a question!!” The Housemaiden puts her hand up. So much for that. You chew and swallow as fast as you can.

“Yes, you, the one with the lovely brooch!!” You point to her, your mouth still half-full of bread. “What’s your question!?”

“Why—why were you two fighting?” She asks, clasping her hands to her chest. “You and Siffrin, I mean!!”

Oh, that’s an easy one!!

“They startled me,” you and the Wanderer say at the same time.

The Kid giggles under their breath. “You two are too similar!! It’s weird!!”

“Yeah,” the Researcher gives you another scrutinizing once over. “Very weird.”

You turn back to your Wanderer. “They’re very smart.”

“They’re g—oing to figure it out,” he rasps. “If you l—let anything else sl—slip.”

You open your mouth to respond, but they put one finger up, pitching forward and coughing into the crook of their arm. It’s rough and throaty and sounds utterly painful. They’re shaking.

The others peel their attention off of you, and focus on him, instead. But what else is new!? The Fighter lays a large hand between the Wanderer’s shoulder blades. Your skin aches. Stars, stars, stars, how long has it been since you’ve been touched!? You wish you could rip apart your Wanderer. Take his place. Feel that hand on your back, on your skin. Soak in the warmth and the heat and the affection and make it yours. But you don’t get that, do you!? You’ll never get that!! The last time you got to hold your Fighter was brief!! He held your hands and he told you everything would be okay!! He told you, he promised, he tried to make it real and it wasn’t!! It wasn’t okay!! He’s gone!! Forever!! Because of you!!

You stamp down an angry, manic laugh.

You don’t want them to think you’re crazy, do you!?

“I think you need to take a break from talking for a little while,” the Fighter murmurs to your Wanderer. You hate them you hate them you hate them you— “give your voice a rest, okay?”

They nod, gesturing for something. The Fighter seems to understand, laughing and passing them a glass of what looks like wine. They tip it back, draining the cup in seconds.

“Easy there!” The Sister says with a laugh, “We’ve got a bit of a trek tomorrow!”

The Wanderer nods, but pours himself another glass, regardless. Their cheeks are flushed.

“Where are you going?” You ask, partially out of curiosity, partially to get their eyes off of your Wanderer.

“We’re heading to the Northeast docks,” The Researcher says. “We’re taking a boat ride to Ka Bue.”

“That’s crazy!” You grin wider, your cheeks aching. “That’s where I’m headed!”

“Wh—at?” Your Wanderer croaks.

“Siffrin, shush,” the Fighter playfully scolds him, pushing his shoulder. The wine in their glass sloshes around. Your Wanderer sticks his tongue out at him.

“What are you heading to Ka Bue for?” The Researcher raises her eyebrows, pushing her glasses up.

“Immersion learning,” you say quickly, “I’ve been trying to learn Ka Buan for a while, but it’s not sticking! I’ve heard surrounding yourself with the language you’re learning can help a lot!”

“Interesting…” 

Throw her off, throw her off, throw her off.

“Are you learning Ka Buan, too?” You ask, giving her the best faux-innocent smile you can muster. 

Behind you, the Wanderer giggles. It’s sloppy and sideways, and you’re pretty sure he’s well on the way to getting himself drunk. The Fighter and the Kid laugh as well, but the Researcher looks incredibly confused.

“I’m…Ka Buan,” she says. She looks back and forth between the others in bewilderment. “I’m from Ka Bue. I have an accent, do I not? Do I not look—?”

The Wanderer laughs harder—choking and wheezing a little. He leans heavily on the Fighter, sipping his wine between strangled gasps of air. You want him to choke on his stupid wine and to die in his stupid Fighter’s arms.

The Researcher shakes her head. “Whatever.”

“Do you wanna come with us!!” The Kid asks you, tapping their hands on their knees like bongos.

“Um—” you’re not sure how to answer.

“I—I’m so sorry,” the Housemaiden puts her hand back up. “We don’t even know their name.”

The Researcher raises her eyebrows, “We’re overlooking a much greater issue than their name, Mirabelle.”

The Housemaiden frowns. “…The trying-to-kill-Siffrin part?”

“Yes, the trying to kill Siffrin, part,” the Researcher pinches the bridge of her nose. The gesture is so painfully familiar. You want to cut her hands off and throw them away. “Do we really want them along?”

“They said they were just startled!!” The Housemaiden holds her brooch. Always quick to defend!! How sweet!! How kind!! She doses’t know your name she doesn’t know your name she doesn’t know your BLINDING NAME.

Your Wanderer hiccups, still weakly laughing. “S’okay, th—hey can come. I ca—n take them.”

“Siffrin…” the Fighter whines. “Quiet!!”

They nod a few times, leaning more into his chest. They set their glass down gently, closing their eye.

Fury bubbles beneath your skin again. Because they can take you. You know they can.

“I don’t want to kill them,” you say. Liar. “They just startled me!! I act on instinct, can you blame me?? They were moving very quickly.”

“He can be pretty speedy,” the Fighter says, rubbing his hand up and down the Wanderer’s arm. “As long as you promise not to kill him, you can hang around us!”

“Double ‘Frins!!” The Kid laughs.

Their sister swats their shoulder, “They’re not Siffrin, Bug. They just look similar.”

Ouch!! That one stings!!! You almost laugh in her face, but then you’d have to explain yourself, and you just can’t do that!!

“Would you want to share a tent with me?” The sister asks. “Bon and Mirabelle have been sharing, and…” she looks over your shoulder at the Wanderer and their stupid little plaything. “…I’m sure you don’t want to be in the same tent as those two.”

You don’t know this woman.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe waking up near someone new will be fine!! You might even prefer getting up beside someone who isn’t a poor mimic of the people you used to love.

“I’m sure I won’t,” you laugh. “How kind of you!!”

She gives you a mock bow, her braid slipping over her shoulder. “It’s my pleasure, stranger.”

Stranger.

Chapter Text

You wake up choking. 

You tear your way out of your sleeping bag, balling up your cloak and trying to muffle gasping coughs. Your shoulders shake, your neck throbs painfully. It feels like someone is driving a spear through the back of your skull and out your mouth.

“S’f…?” Isabeau mumbles. It barely sounds like your name.

You give him a weak, shaky thumbs up. You can’t pull yourself together enough to talk.

“Oh…oh no…” Isa’s voice is thick with sleep—but you can hear him pull himself up. A warm hand is pressed between your shoulder blades. He runs his thumb back and forth. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

You run your hand across your chest. You try to swallow but it feels like there’s cotton lodged in your throat. You shrug. Isabeau slips his hand up to the nape of your neck, gently threading his fingers through your hair. You groan. Spit is pooling in your mouth, but no matter how much you try you can’t swallow properly. Each breath burns down your throat.

“Let me look?” Isabeau asks.

You nod weakly.

He gently takes you by the shoulder, turning you around. He moves your head to the side, running his thumb over your jaw. You try to breathe out slowly, but it catches on nothing. You lurch forward, stuffing your face back into your cloak and muffling desperate coughing. You can’t catch your breath, you can’t catch your breath—spots are dancing in your eyes.

“Change…” Isabeau murmurs. “You’re really bruised.”

You press your face deeper into your cloak.

“No no no,” Isabeau pulls you away slightly. “Don’t block your face, don’t—just. Just try and breathe, okay, Sif?”

I’m trying!! You want to say.

Isabeau brushes your hair to the side and presses a kiss to the back of your neck. You shiver.

“I’ll be right back,” he says softly. “I’m getting Mira.”

You nod, taking in another raspy, pathetic breath. You stuff your face back into your cloak, curling in on yourself as you desperately choke on nothing. 

You remember the look in Loops eye. That anger. That vitriol. That unbridled hatred. Twice now, they’ve tried to kill you. 

You wonder if they missed you, like you did. You can’t bring yourself to be angry at them. They might hate you, they might want you dead, but…they’re the only person that kept you sane. They’re the only person you could talk to. They’re the only thing that felt real in the world. 

They’re…all you had.

Your eye stings. The figure of them feels leaden and heavy in your cloak pocket.

The tent zipper pulls open. You can hear Isabeau and Mirabelle clamber inside. There’s hands on your back, your shoulders, your arms almost immediately. Mirabelle runs her fingers across your throat delicately. You think she’s trying to assess the damage. You lean into her.

“Oh goodness…” she massages the side of your neck. “They really did a number on you…”

“I—hhhg…—” you try to respond, but your voice fails you, choking off into a squeak. “Hh—”

“Shh, shh,” Mirabelle combs your hair gently. Her fingers against your scalp is heavenly. You press your head into her hand. “I’ll fix that, I’m so sorry.”

That familiar menthol feeling spreads across your throat. It fills your lungs. Mirabelle presses her fingers against the pressure points on each side of your neck. You take a slow, deep breath. You lower your bunched up cloak.

“Can you breathe, bud?” Isabeau asks.

You take another cautious breath, then you try a little more confidently. You nod.

“That looked pretty rough…” he touches your back. A chill runs up your spine. There’s so many hands on you. “That new person really did a number on you, huh?”

“Was my fault,” you mumble, rubbing your neck. You still feel dizzy, your vision swimming. “I spooked them.”

“Mmm how about it was no ones fault?” Isabeau suggests.

“But like, a little more their fault than yours,” Mirabelle says. “I—I mean!! Because they, um—”

“They did. Also attack me,” Isabeau points out.

“You grabbed them,” you argue. You need to push back a little. You know it was your fault, not Loops. You scared them, and they reacted accordingly.

“They hit me with a paper attack, actually,” Isabeau says, his eyebrows bunching together. “…Lucky guess.”

You want to tear your hair out. If Loop doesn’t want them to know who they are, they are doing a terrible job at keeping it secret. Did they somehow forget how smart your family is? How smart their family is?? You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them.

“Were you making a fist?” Mirabelle asks. “You do that sometimes!! Maybe this stranger is just…really observant?”

Something in your gut unwinds.

“…Maybe?” Isabeau looks at his hands, like he’ll be able to see into the past. “I must have been.”

“I just wish we knew their name…” Mirabelle frowns. “It really feels weird. We’re going to be traveling with someone we don’t know how to address?”

A jolt of panic sparks in your stomach. What name could Loop give them that didn’t immediately give them away?

“M-maybe they’re. Changing?” You suggest weakly. “And um. They don’t have a name yet?”

Mirabelle’s eyes light up. “Oh, maybe!! Siffrin you’re so smart!!”

Thank the stars.

“Usually people spend some time on their own to Change,” Isabeau says.

“They were on their own,” you counter a little too quickly. Slow down, stupid. “Until they ran into us.”

Isabeau seesaws his hand, “Not…the kind of alone I meant, buddy.”

“I’ve—I’ve never Changed,” you say. Your defenses are crumbling. “I don’t…know.”

“I locked myself in my room for almost two months while I was Changing,” Isabeau admits. “You don’t…want to be interrupted, I guess? And you want it to be a surprise for the people around you, you know??”

Both you and Mirabelle shake your heads.

“I—” he gestures vaguely. “I?? I don’t know how to explain it?? To people who haven’t Changed??? It makes sense to me, okay?”

“That’s okay!”

“But I…I guess my experience isn’t all encompassing…” Isabeau looks troubled. “Maybe—maybe things were different where you guys came from?”

He looks up at you, almost hopefully. You shake your head.

“I can’t remember, I’m sorry.”

“Maybe they’ll remember!” Mirabelle claps her hands. “Maybe this new person remembers more about your country!!”

You force out a laugh. “Maybe!”

Your stomach hurts. You wish they did.

Breakfast is wonderful. You’re so enthralled by the wax paper filled with rice and vegetables the Kid has cooked, that you almost don’t notice that your Wanderer’s neck bruises have disappeared. The swelling on their face has died down. They’re sitting by the Housemaiden—she probably healed him. He’s poking at his food, not eating any of it. Whatever!! That doesn’t matter to you, does it?? If he choses to starve himself, that’s on him!!

You keep your eye on him, anyway.

This little group packs up scarily efficient. You only stand by and watch, still eating the rice you were given. Your Wanderer wraps his breakfast up and tucks it away under his cloak. You don’t remember ever do that, you don’t remember sticking food in your cloak for later. How peculiar!! Maybe watching your Wanderer has some merits!!

The Fighter packs up his tent. You don’t remember sharing a tent with your Fighter, but you barely remember anything from before your eternal torment!!! So how would you know!!! The only person who might remember is your Fighter, and…where is he!? Not here!! Nowhere to be found!!

You finish the rest of your rice, balling up the wax paper and shoving it in your pants pockets. You miss your cloak!! You’ll never get it back.

Your Wanderer still hasn’t eaten his breakfast by the time you all start walking again. The Kid gets hefted onto their sisters shoulders. The Fighter and Researcher talk about something, the Housemaiden is reading a book while she walks, holding onto the back of the Fighter’s shirt. You try to walk at the back of the group, on your own thank you very much, but someone seems to refuse to let you!!

Your Wanderer falls in step beside you.

“You need a name,” he says in your language. It’s so much easier, but so much harder to listen to than Vaugardian.

“Do I?” You ask.

“They want something to call you,” he says, “I said you might be Changing. Mirabelle believes me, but Isa doesn’t buy it.”

“You should’ve guessed that!!” You cross your arms. “A man who’s changed as much as he has, and you’re surprised he saw the holes in your little lie?? My, stardust, I’m almost disappointed!!”

Your Wanderer blushes, looking away. “I panicked.”

“Oh, of course you did,” you roll your eye at him. “That man could take two steps to the left, and you’d panic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean??” Your Wanderer has to turn his head all the way towards you to give you a dirty look. Oh…you’re on his blindside. He put you on his blindside…on purpose? How interesting!!

“You know exactly what it means!!”

Your Wanderer glares at you harder, but his face is flushed horribly—so that pretty much means you won!!

“Whatever,” your Wanderer shakes his head. “Isa’s really about to figure you out. And if he doesn’t, Odile will.”

“Do you really think he’ll be able to put it all together??”

You get a shockingly harsh glare from that one!!

Uh oh!! Someone’s getting annoyed with you~!!

“Yes, actually,” your Wanderer snaps. “He’s a lot smarter than you think.”

“Ooh, so defensive!!” You put your hands up, faux-laughing. It’s so easy to rile them up!!

“Whatever,” your Wanderer pulls ahead of you. “You need to figure something out, if you don’t want them to know who we are.”

“…you’re not going to help me?” You ask, feigning offense. “Stardust, I thought you cared about me!!”

“I was trying to, but you’re not making it easy.”

You scoff. “Go back to your ~family~ or whatever you’re calling them now. I’m sure they’ll be so much easier to deal with then me.”

“They are, actually!!”

You didn’t expect him to actually push back. You nearly stumble over yourself in surprise. Your Wanderer catches you by the shoulder, pushing you upright. 

“Either you figure something out, or we’re going to have to tell them,” your Wanderer says. His scowl is almost deadly!! “It’s your choice.” 

Before you can say anything else, they move back ahead, walking in step with the Housemaiden.

Your choice. 

Your choice!?

You don’t really want to choose. You’d like to continue being dead, actually!! But somehow, your Wanderer brought you here, and now you’re forced to do an encore for a play you are absolutely sick of!! You’re sick of acting, you’re sick of pretending, you’re sick of being Loop, and you’re sick of being Siffrin.

If only he’d killed you.

Chapter Text

You all board the boat to Ka Bue just before the sun starts to set. According to your Wanderer, they all had enough money saved up for three rooms. One for the Researcher, one for the Kid, their sister, and the Housemaiden, and one for your Wanderer and his Fighter.

But now…you had to add yourself to the equation!! Aren’t you just making everything so much harder!!

“The Traveler can stay with us!” The Housemaiden is quick to offer. 

You wince. Haha, ouch!! You don’t have a name picked out, but you haven’t been called a Traveler since…

Since…

Wow, since your own imprisonment!! The King called you a traveler, you think!! You’re pretty sure, at least. When you couldn’t even remember the fake name you’d given yourself, at least you knew you were a traveler!! At least you knew you didn’t belong anywhere you went!! You always stuck out like a sore thumb.

“…Can they?” The Researcher counters. “You are the group with the most people, would there be any room for them?”

“Oh, so you want to room with them, M’dame?” The Fighter asks, giving her a playful grin. “You’ve got an entire room to yourself, don’t you?”

“Counterpoint: I don’t want to room with someone I don’t know,” she replies easily. That manages a surprised laugh out of you. You quickly smother it behind your palm, ducking behind your hair. You can’t laugh out loud, you don’t know how much you sound like your precious little Wanderer!!

The Fighter sighs dramatically. “Okay, okay, they can stay with Sif and I.”

“What an honor!!” You clasp your hands. “Thank you for allowing me the privilege of a place to sleep!!”

“Loop,” your Wanderer scolds you. It’s strange, hearing your fake name in a different language.

“…What was that word?” The sister asks, “…Daw ra?”

“Nothing!” Your Wanderer grins.

“Yeah, um,” the Fighter laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re like, Sif-sized. There should be space for you.”

Your Wanderer stills.

“Is that…okay with you, bud?” The Fighter asks, bumping your Wanderer with his shoulder. 

They nod. Of course it’s okay with them!! They’re the reason you’re here, after all!! 

The Researcher frowns. “Siffrin, may I speak to you?”

They nod again, smiling at her.

The Researcher cuts her eyes towards you—so slight, that you barely notice it—before shaking her head. “In my room, please?”

Your Wanderer’s eye widens. There’s a moment of still, uncomfortable silence, before he slowly nods for a third time. The Researcher gestures for him to follow her. He ducks his head and disappears into her bedroom after her.

“I’m gonna take a peak around the ship!!” The Housemaiden, “Does anyone want to come with?”

“I think I’ll unpack mine and Sif’s things,” the Fighter hefts the bag on his shoulder.

“Me too,” The sister takes their sibling’s over-stuffed bag.

“I’ll go with Belle!!” The Kid announces, hands over their head.

You!! Don’t have anywhere to go!!

So you don’t!! 

Everyone goes in their separate directions and you try so hard to ignore the searing, aching, familiar pain in your chest. They’re leaving they’re leaving they’re leaving. 

It does’t matter!! It’s fine!! They’re not yours!! They’ll never be yours. They’re your Wanderers. Your stardust’s. Siffrin’s.

Not. Yours.

You stand in the hallway, feeling the ship list back and forth beneath your feet. The sloshing of the waves on the hull of the ship is almost soothing. It’s like a balm to the  burning, burrowing insanity that’s torn it’s way into your head. You could eavesdrop, if you were curious enough!! But you’re not. It’s almost. Like the energy has been sapped from your limbs. The anger you had been stoking towards your little Wanderer is ebbing away.

You…follow the Fighter into his…your…? Room? He’s sitting on the bed, rifling through things in his bag. You stand in the doorway. There’s only one bed, framed by two low bookshelves. There’s a stiff looking armchair, pressed in the corner by a desk and a small refrigerator. There’s a small, round window that’s far higher than you are tall.

You stare at the Fighter. There’s somethings you don’t…remember about him. Your Fighter’s hair was shorter. You’d left him in the summer, even though you’d been trapped endlessly in the House, he’d still had plenty of sun—your Fighter had been covered head to toe in freckles. This one’s are a little more faded. This one is wearing fingerless gloves, your Fighter hadn’t been. Your Fighter’s knuckles had been battered and bruised and you wonder if this one’s are too.

“You can come inside,” the Fighter says. He doesn’t look up at you. “I don’t bite.”

You bet he does. You bet there are buttons you can push, lines you can cross, that will get even someone as docile as him to break. Your Wanderer nearly found them, but he managed to reel it back in.

You want him to tear you apart. You think he might have, if you’d kept attacking his Wanderer. He’d grabbed you so violently. Yanked you up off the ground like you were nothing to him.

You want him to shatter your bones. Tear your flesh apart bit by bit. You think maybe, maybe maybe you’d be real. If you were dead, a memory, immortalized—you’d be real. Right?

You step inside.

“We didn’t really ask you,” the Fighter says. His voice is so welcoming. So friendly. You hate him. “Are you…even okay with sharing room with us? Let alone a bed.”

“I could sleep on the chair,” you say.

The Fighter furrows his brow. “Change, I’m sorry, I know this might sound so weird but…” he glances over at you. “You are exactly like Siffrin. It’s—” he laughs. It’s the worst, best sound you’ve ever heard. You want to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. “—it’s really throwing me off.”

You stay stock still. 

They can’t find out. They can’t. They can’t know!! If they figure you out, who knows what’s going to happen!! They’ll hate you (good) they’ll get rid of you (better) they’ll kill you (perfect) they’ll—

“Sorry, that’s a little weird, isn’t it?” He laughs again. “You just have the same haircut. And the same accent.”

“Haven’t you heard?? We all look and sound the exact same on our home island!!” You grin at him. You try to pour as much malice as you can into your tone. “Because that’s how it works, right?? The people of an ethnicity are all exactly the same!!”

The Fighter blanches. “Oh crab, that’s not what I meant—I’m so sorry!!”

“I’m joking,” you’re surprised at the burst of guilt in your chest. “I’m just messing with you!!”

“Change…” he lays his hand over his heart. “I’m fragile, traveler!! You can’t do that to me!!”

You find yourself…laughing? Why are you laughing?? Why are you laughing!!! 

…Why is he making you laugh? How is he making you laugh?? You hate it. You love it. You want him to stop talking to you, stop looking at you. You want his attention on you and only you. 

“But uh, no,” the Fighter hops off the bed, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t think you’d want to sleep on this chair. It looks…” he grimaces. “Bad.”

“I’ve slept on far worse,” you say through a laugh. “Let me be the judge of it!!”

You dramatically flop down on the chair and—ouch. Yup. Haha!! That’s awful!! The fabric is scratchy and stiff, and the cushioning barely does its job. You can feel the innards of the chair stabbing at you from all angles.

“See!” The Fighter looks triumphant. “It’s terrible, right???”

“It’s wonderful!!” You dramatically drag your fingers across the arm. “It’s such a lovely shade, isn’t it!! And isn’t this fiber work just stunning??”

“It’s…really not,” he makes a pained expression. “This is a five day boat ride, you can’t sleep on the armchair the whole time.”

“FIVE DAYS?” You shout—it’s louder than you mean to be.

He quickly throws his hands up, backing away from you. You like the fear in his eyes. You relish in it. If they hate you, you won’t fool yourself with stupid delusions. Thinking you might get along!! How blinding stupid are you???

“Five days, five days, five days—” you thread your fingers through your hair. “FIVE DAYS?!”

“I—I thought you knew!!” The Fighter backs up further, bumping into the bed. “You said you were going to Ka Bue, I figured you knew how long the trip was!”

You can’t lie for that long!! You could only keep the secret from your Wanderer because he was so impossibly, stupidly dense!! But no, no those other two—the Researcher, the blinding Fighter—no no no, they’re far too smart!! You’ll get caught in a matter of hours!!!

You grab your shoulders, your arms, your stomach. You tear into your forearms, pulling at the skin hard enough to bleed.

“Woah, hey hey hey!!” The Fighter suddenly gets much closer to you. He drops to his knees in front of the chair. He doesn’t touch you, thank the stars!! You’re not sure if you could handle that!! You might break, you might splinter, you might shatter. “Don’t do that, it’s—you’re okay!! The boat ride will pass so much quicker than you think, don’t—don’t freak out!!”

You tear at your arms more, more, more—blood speckles your fingers, soaking beneath your nails.

“Do you—do you get seasick??” The Fighter asks. “Is that why you’re—? I have ginger and crackers, I get motion sick sometimes, too!”

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh in his face. You don’t say anything, you don’t say anything. You can’t—he’ll know, he’ll know your voice.

He gets to his feet, and slowly backs away from you. You watch him cautiously. You force air into your lungs. And out. In. And out.

The Fighter comes back with a small bag, he hands you a. Cracker. Just a plain cracker. You take it from him. It tastes like nothing. That’s…the point, you’re pretty sure.

“Sorry, we should’ve mentioned something,” the Fighter laughs softly. “About the boat ride.”

You nod. Anyone’s fault but your own. 

“Do you want some bandages?” He asks.

You…nod again. Your arms are smeared with blood. Ohh…that’ll be another dead giveaway, won’t it!!! You and your Wanderer have far too much in common!!!

The Fighter hands you a roll of bandages, sitting back down in front of you. Part of you wants him to wrap you up himself, a selfish part of you. Your Fighter would have. Your Fighter would have.

The Fighter hands you another cracker. 

You take it. 

It still tastes like nothing.

“Siffrin, may I speak with you?” Odile asks.

You give her a smile, nodding. 

Odile gives Loop a sharp look, then nods towards her door. “In my room, please?”`

You. Freeze. You might have gotten caught. This might be it. You nod again, slower this time. You glance back at everyone else. Loop looks worried, but doesn’t say anything. No one else looks phased. You…suppose this isn’t too out of the ordinary.

You follow her into her room. It’s nothing crazy—just a bed, a desk, an armchair, and a rug. It’s suitable for a week, that’s all it needs to be. Odile locks the door behind you, and sits down on her bed. She pats the spot next to her. You sit as well.

“Everyone seemed to have…quickly invited our new guest to travel with us,” she says, “And while you haven’t opposed, I’d like to ask you again in private.”

You tilt your head.

“You’re the one who was attacked,” Odile turns to you slightly. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this person tagging along with us? It’s alright to say no.”

“It’s fine,” you say, maybe a little too quickly. “I just startled them.”

“They nearly killed you,” Odile points out.

“It’s fine,” you insist. “It’s—”

“Siffrin,” Odile’s tone is harsh. “Death is permanent, now. It might be fine to you, but it’s not fine to us.”

You wince. “Sorry.”

“So, are you comfortable with this traveler tagging along?”

You nod. “I am, it’s okay. I like…” you nervously giggle, “I like being able to talk in my language.”

Odile has a knowing look on her face. Part of the reason you wanted to visit Ka Bue, part of the reason you wanted to try your hand at learning Ka Buan again, was to have another piece of connection with Odile. You speak Vaugardian almost (…sort of) fluently, you’ve got that link between Mirabelle, Isabeau, Bonnie, and now Petronille. But you and Odile have been communicating in your third and second languages, respectively. It’s not hard to talk to her by any means, but it’s…different.

It’s different.

“I just…have a feeling,” Odile starts.

“You have feelings?” You give her a teasing smile.

“Don’t give me that,” she rolls her eyes at you. “I had a feeling, that the others were so quick to trust this traveler, simply because you and them…look quite similar?”

“Oh…!! …Do we…??” Your voice breaks. You don’t look at her.

“…Yes, incredibly similar.” Odile cracks open her notebook. “If I may ask. Do you know them?”

You…shake your head.

“I don’t believe you.”

You tense, digging your nails into the bedsheets. Odile zeros in on it, turning fully. She crosses her legs on the bed, laying her notebook in her lap. You turn as well. You’re face to face, and there’s nowhere for you to hide.

“I—I do know them,” you admit quietly. “Um…I don’t—I don’t know if I should tell you. It’s not—”

“It’s not your place?” Odile finishes for you.

“Yeah.” You ball your fists up in your cloak. “It’s—they’re…they’re important to me, you know?”

“They tried to kill you.”

You pinch your lips. “…Yes.”

“But they’re important to you?”

“Yes.”

Odile looks at you for a moment. “You’re bizarre.”

You wink.

“So,” Odile cracks her notebook open. “If you two know each other, do you know why you look so similar? Or is it just chance?”

“…” You grimace. “We do.”

“Alright.” Odile taps her pen on the corner of her notebook. “And what would that be?”

You look away, hunching your shoulders.

“Can’t tell me?” 

You shake your head. It’s not your business to share. It’s Loop’s. Loop gets to pick if and when they want to tell everyone, and you’re pretty sure they don’t want to say anything.

“I would if I could,” you tell her.

She reaches out, ruffling your hair. “I’m sure you would.”

“It’s…just um.” You shrug. “Really…complicated? And…hard to explain?”

“Do you think I won’t understand?” Odile gives you a teasing smile.

“Yyyyes, actually? I barely understand it, myself,” you admit, “Um…I’ll explain eventually. Some day. When I. Figure it out?”

“You’d better,” Odile smirks, “I’m actually quite interested.”

You snicker, “Yeah, me too.”