#angst tw

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A sense of nebulous disappointment followed Damien throughout the next two years. It wasn’t a shroud, it didn’t drape itself over him and block his sight – no, it was just there. The voice in the back of his mind was always tainted with expectation. Something was always bound to go wrong, according to the whisperings that he heard late at night.

But it never did.

Of course, things weren’t always great. There were disagreements in his relationships, with you and his sister and his friends and anyone who he spoke to often enough because that was just how life worked. However, there was never the big one that he always anticipated, like the next eruption or earthquake. Those problems either petered out into inconsequence or were solved with an apology. After realizing that the town was still standing, he started to do everything that he had avoided in his life, until there was nothing left to be done but live.

Damien found that hard to do. He didn’t want to expect the worst. He didn’t want to be a pessimist. He didn’t want to be on edge every second of every hour of every day, but he couldn’t help it. Even when it was all going so well, there was that reminder that things could so easily go south in the blink of an eye, slipping soundlessly into chaos.

So, unable to truly rid himself of his suspicion, he elected to ignore it. When the day was going well, he pushed the thoughts into the recesses of his mind and beat them down with a stick. 

That technique worked wonders in the most important of moments, the first of which was a crashed date night. By then, you and Damien had established a routine of a Tuesday dinner spent specifically isolated from the rest of the world. Work talk was off the table, and despite the pun prompting a hearty groan from you when Damien said it aloud that first evening, neither of you dared to break from it. It became sacred and thus sacrilegious to burst the bubble that formed around you. It was a time for you as a pair, as a relationship, as an emotional connection that was only interrupted a single time by Celine bursting through the front door and berating Damien for keeping your relationship from her for so long.

As she had explained – read: yelled – Mark was the one to tell her, which only happened because she caught him giving Will the dollar for their little game. She was almost as annoyed about having this secret kept from her as she was about being excluded from the bet. Her appearance had sent a lightning strike of dread through Damien, melting his clothing to the chair and making him merely watch with fear as she got closer. 

In his mind, she was going to cut his head off for getting into a relationship at all when he was supposed to be devoted to the city – but she stopped a few steps away from the table, and Damien was able to wedge himself apart from his seat. Then came the thought that she would berate him for keeping his relationship a secret instead – but she just crossed her arms and complained about all the wasted advice she could have given him. Then, once everything seemed to have calmed down, he imagined that she would leave and take the trust she had placed in him with her – but, lo and behold, she didn’t. She’d stayed for a cup of tea and a conversation about your first date.

As Damien wished her a goodnight at the front door, a hug was exchanged between all three of you, and his life continued on as if it had always been that way.

As if he had never been afraid in the first place.

He supposed that he had less to be afraid of this time around. He had put certain measures in place in order to discourage the tragedy that had fallen upon everyone before. You were the first step, of course, followed by a closer relationship with Mark. Damien liked to think of it as truly understanding where he was in this moment, even though he was arguably monitoring him like an overzealous babysitter. In full-group events, he made sure to involve Mark. The result was a total positive – as long as he ignored the mental strain that came with everyone in one room again. Only he seemed to see the tension, the hallucination, the expectation.

The next part of his plan was less of a step and more of a theme; he decided to take a page out of Celine’s book, literally and figuratively, as he hesitantly delved into the world of dark magic.

And that was where you found him, curled up on the couch with a book in hand, glasses on nose, and the suitable backdrop of a stormy night. It was cliché, almost, and you wanted nothing more than to join him with two cups of tea and your own entertainment. Being near each other was enough. Although getting closer was not a thought you resented, you were quite content with this routine that you had settled into. It was awfully domestic, and college-you would have laughed at the mere thought of it, but it was true and real and right.

The begrudgingly amused smile that Damien sent you as you collapsed into the cushion next to him was evidence enough for that.

You were the first to speak, peering over his shoulder to get a peek at his book. “Finally finding common ground with Celine, huh?”

“I figure if she’s going to get involved with the other side of things, I should know about it.”

Ah, siblings. You knew enough about their upbringing to understand their protectiveness of one another. Any sign of a threat was stamped out before it could even be considered a problem, if it got to that stage at all. It seemed like the two had a sixth sense for what would pose an issue in the future, before the cracks of weeds got close to the concrete.

That wouldn’t stop you from teasing him about it, however. It was part of your job as his partner, after all.

He lightly pushed your head away by the jaw, aiming your smirk away from him.

“To keep her safe,” he explained.

He moved to smother your cooing with that same hand, but you ducked just in time to be able to say, “As long as you don’t go getting possessed, I’m happy.”

He paused. In your mind, he was probably lamenting falling in love with someone so overly dramatic, which you guessed was a family trait. In your mind, he was trying to find a way to assuage your silly demand without giving you more ammo. In your mind, he was amused.

In Damien’s mind, he was apologizing for everything that you had gone through at his own hands.

“I’ll try not to.” The words came out soft and tender.

He found it hard to shift his attention back to the book. Really, he could barely remember what it was about. Was it the importance of chalk or the pros and cons of crystal balls? He didn’t know, but he also didn’t care. 

His fingers intertwined with yours.

You sent him an unimpressed look, taking his gesture as an attempt to stop you from scattering a pile of documents over the coffee table. The binder was in your other hand, a case file that you hadn’t had the time to crack open at the office the day before. Your reaction was the only reason that Damien noticed at all.

“Hey, none of that,” he muttered. His thoughts were still tainted by a sense of fear. He didn’t have it in him to be playful.

You had fewer reservations, half-heartedly trying to hide the papers behind your leg. “What?”

“It’s your day off, remember?”

Though you rolled your eyes, you acquiesced to his implied request, stowing the binder away underneath the table. Even as you sat back in the embrace of the couch, notably work-less, he couldn’t help the memories of the first time he had enforced your break. It had been bad, to say the least, and had ended in a cold night.

Things like that weren’t what he wanted to dwell on now. Yes, once you had reacted poorly, but now was not then. You were better now, you were both better, and that insistence on pure productivity had faded somewhat to a healthier degree.

Subtly, Damien glanced at you.

Everything about you was healthier, compared to the recent months, but more so to the last time that he had been through it all. Back then, the bags under your eyes had been just features of your face, as natural as your mouth and nose. Both of you spent nights on end holed up in your offices, space and a certain strain between you.

Damien didn’t have the words to express how happy he was that you were better now. If he tried, you surely would have thought him crazy, so unspoken they would have to go.

A familiar hesitancy – one he had sworn he would never indulge in again – was pulling at his heart.

But before he could address it, all attention flooded to the knock at the door, which you got up to tend to.

As you walked, you asked over your shoulder, “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Get a hobby!” Damien called back after your image that disappeared round the corner. 

Ignoring the hypocrisy that you would one day hold against him, he flipped through the pages of the book before securing it on the table again. He was getting nowhere with it, and wasting time had long since made him unbearably guilty. He had no idea how Celine had managed to get through the damn thing – and, quite frankly, it was more enjoyable to spend time with you, anyway, so when you returned, he was quick to redirect his focus.

“Archery, gardening—" he continued, watching your expression for any sign of interest. As you let yourself fall onto the cushions, he twisted so that he was fully facing you, finishing off, “—collecting stamps.”

“Or I could try mixology?”

Damien quirked a brow, but he got his answer when you handed him a slip of paper. What he assumed to be the envelope that it had arrived in was still between your fingers, and you twisted the edges as you said, “Might be able to show up Benjamin if I’m quick.”

New questions arose from that comment, but he figured reading the letter would be the best way to solve them. Still, he struggled to keep his mind on the words, eyes rushing past each letter and sending them all into one blur while his mind created ever more questions in the background. Who had delivered the letter, who was it from, were they the same person, why deliver it so late at night, it was nearly—

He felt like he was going to pass out.

His vision swam, and his heart stopped, and his skin froze, and his brain tried to come up with any other explanation for what was happening other than the impossible.

Damien paid more attention the second time that he read the words – he’d simply read them wrong, horribly wrong, so inconceivably, terribly wrong – because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He had done everything differently this time. Better. He had solved all his problems and made sure that no new ones arose. He hadn’t made a mistake this time! But no matter how he looked at it, word by word or letter by letter, there it was.

The invitation.

The poker night.

“What date is it?” His own words sounded foreign, as though someone beside him was talking.

You tapped your finger gently against your thigh. “October twelfth, why?”

Damien’s thoughts burst from their stutter into overdrive. This was it. Doomsday. The changes he had made hadn’t worked, but why? Why!? Had William ignored him, had Celine given in, had Mark forced them together? He had been doing so well. They all had. All that time and energy, and for what, a little peace in the middle of the storm.

“Damien?” Your question knocked him out of his stupor, concerned eyes staring into his own. A deer before a hunter would have fared better. “What’s wrong?”

Silence tensed between you, swelling with the power of fear. To you, this was startlingly similar to years ago, a moment that still confused you to this day. A sudden bout of delirium from Damien, stuttering and stumbling and staggered panic. You had once tried to get him into a hospital, but he had refused, citing a momentary and rare case of ‘lightheadedness’.

You didn’t believe him, of course. You loved Damien, but even you had to admit that he was an awful liar. It barely covered that instance, let alone the pointed shift in his work-life balance. In a matter of days, he had pulled the city from its pedestal and levelled it with his relationships and health. His health. The man who once traded four nights of sleep for a council meeting cared about his health.

Suspicion was your right. But now no time to be suspicious, you had to be worried.

“I-I’m fine, just…” he struggled to get out, “it’s so soon, isn’t it?”

One hand leapt to his arm. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, we should go, but maybe—” he cut himself off with a sigh, running fingers through his fluffed-up hair. His pupils flitted about in the confines of his glasses, like bees in a hive. They only stilled when he landed his attention on the coffee table, a reprieve that let his voice catch up to him. “Maybe we should go separately.”

“What?”

You didn’t sound annoyed, per se, but he still rushed to continue, “Not in a bad way, I just think, well, it might be bad.”

Obviously, that didn’t help; confusion, concern, and a speckling of offence still coated your expression, and, although Damien wanted nothing more than to wipe it from your face, his mouth was working miles ahead of his brain. He stumbled over some choice words before they devolved into a rough groan. How he was going to explain this to you, he had no clue.

In a fit of irritation, he snatched his glasses from his face and threw them to the side, his voice following suit in carelessness as he said, “I’m worried what will happen if we both stay the night.”

He forced himself to look right at you while you paused. Silence was always a double-edged sword with you – you could have been dissecting his argument or appreciating the peace. Now, your lips pursed, and your brows creased. An attorney for work, an attorney for life. 

“And why is that?”

“I can’t explain it, but there’s something wrong with that house. Celine’s been suspicious of it for years.”

“But it’s just a house.”

“It’s not.” The words came out pleading, but Damien didn’t care, not if it meant you would listen to him. “It’s wrong. And I just need you to trust me and stay away, just for the night.”

You seemed skeptical, which was fair given that he was asking something of you with no logical explanation, but he needed you to listen. He saw the skin between your brows crinkle as you thought on his request. You, whom he was supposed to start a family with, grow old with, simply be with long after you had originally disappeared from his life. All those ideas of living together, finally able to be domestic in the between-moments – they couldn’t have just been fantasies. They had to be more. Real. If they weren’t, and all of it ended tomorrow night, what was this for?

His last word was quiet. 

“Please.”

And then something in you shifted.

“Okay. I trust you.” You grabbed his hand tightly. “But you have to explain everything in the morning.”

“I will. Thank you.”

It wasn’t just an empty promise to get it out of the way; he was going to tell you everything that had happened. Seeing you like this, confused and suspicious of him, he couldn’t take it. He needed- no, he wanted you to trust him. He wanted you to be happy with him. He wanted to confide in you everything that was wrong because that was what a partnership was.

Besides, by then, he would have reached the limit of his knowledge. It would be a new beginning for everyone, even if they didn’t know it.

Damien brought your hand to his lips, laying a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“I love you,” he said as he brought it back down to rest in your lap.

“I love you, too.”

Standing in front of the manor’s jaws, Damien wondered how he had never noticed it before. The miasma of danger that infested the building almost screamed at him. No wonder Celine hadn’t liked it there; he was barely able to stand walking through the doors, let alone living there, but he supposed that was the price to pay for knowledge. Now, he knew what kind of things happened here. The twisted innards behind the shiny exterior that pulsed like veins. He could only hope that they had run empty or, better yet, never awakened at all.

That prospect grew dim when Damien walked through the front door, between the teeth, to see a worryingly familiar face in the foyer. It wasn’t one he had seen recently, and the presence of Abe, of any private investigator, was cause for concern. 

“Mr. Mayor.”

No, not just concern, it was bone-chilling dread.

But the pleasantries still had to be exchanged. Damien gritted his teeth and held out a hand. “Please, just call me Damien – and you would be?”

“Abe is fine.” His hands were cold and dry. “Friend of Mark’s.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Despite that one being a dog-faced lie, his introduction gave Damien pause. On his first go around, there was distinct hesitation around the word ‘friend’. In hindsight, it was likely because he wasn’t Mark’s friend but employee, if the man you paid to spy on your wife could be considered your employee. This time, however, there was no dip in the conversation. Possibly, it was genuine, and Abe was at the party because he was indeed close to Mark. Or for one reason or another, Abe had gotten better at lying, and Damien was still walking the knife’s edge.

His nerves spiked again at the sound of a new voice bellowing from behind him.

“Ah, there you two are!”

Damien didn’t turn fast enough to avoid being roughly clapped on the shoulder by an over-eager Mark. Instead, a grimace overtook his face, one he quickly tried to hide, as his weight was pushed down onto his bad leg.

“I trust you’ve been introduced?” Mark asked. Fortunately, he didn’t appear worried by the prospect; although he shone on the stage and screen, hiding his true feelings in the wider world was not his strong suit, and becoming defensive was the top sign of his lies.

In this moment, he glanced between Damien and Abe, a smile playing on his lips that grew wider at their mutual nod.

“Wonderful, and—” He threw a glance around the room, “—now, where’s our attorney?”

“They couldn’t make it,” Damien rushed to say.

For a moment, his mind ran wild with explanations, but none appeared that wouldn’t make more trouble for him later. He could wait weeks for the truth to come out, or Mark could ask you directly about whatever excuse he gave. He couldn’t exactly tell him why you really weren’t there – that he had explicitly requested you not attend - but what was the better option?

But then Mark huffed and ran a hand through his hair, asking, “Work, is it?”

Well, that was certainly a way out.

“Yes,” Damien replied quietly.

Another sigh broke down the tension, and he thought he was in the clear. Mark would walk away, he would say goodbye to Abe, and maybe Will would waltz through the door to get the party started. Only, before any of that could happen, Mark was winking and saying, “You know, I have ways around that.”

His words tumbled out of his mouth in response, “No, this is quite important, I’m afraid, but they send their regards.”

“You say that, but tonight was supposed to be a, well, a reunion! We can’t do it right when we’re missing someone!” And then came the awful expression of a man with an idea. “I’ve always been good at people, Damien, just trust me.”

Mark’s hand on his shoulder sent a bolt of lightning through his skin and into his veins, and the thump of his heart in his heart could have been mistaken for thunder.

Although Damien opened his mouth to protest, to give more excuses and reasons why he couldn’t enact whatever catastrophic plan he had come up with, he was interrupted by someone coming around the corner. Mark stopped briefly on his walk toward the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek, but Damien was left alone with Celine once Abe started to follow the host away.

His sister’s appearance was only the first of a slew of differences this time around. She seemed much happier in the company of their old friend group, which, eventually, did include Will. That alone initially spiked his heart rate to unhealthy levels; he was greeted by the dramatic cheers and smiles, but Damien’s mind painted its own images. Arguments, brawls, gunshots. The first few seconds of Celine, Mark, and Will in the same room were torture.

Still, he couldn’t discount that it was a difference, a sign that this night wouldn’t be like its ancestor, when he was received with positivity instead of spitting savagery. Abe interacted with the two casually, giving no clue that he might have spied on some illicit affair that neither of them trusted Damien with. No, he was normal, they were normal, everyone was normal, because that possibility hadn’t come to pass this time. 

However, that didn’t stop the stream of thoughts that reminded him that it once had. In some universe, everything had gone wrong, and he couldn’t be certain that this one wasn’t the same until the night was over. None of the time in that manor could fully lay all of his worries to rest, like zombies that just refused to die, or a man who was continually revived by the dark forces inside a house and driven insane—

Well, suffice to say, Damien was struggling. Optimism was coming difficult for him, but he was trying to keep an open mind to the development of the night.

And it was working!

Or, it was, until it wasn’t – when the drinks reached everyone’s heads, tripping them up their brains and letting their mouths move faster. Damien wasn’t sure how it had gotten like this, but there he stood, caught between Abe and Will’s stewing argument and the spat that Mark and Celine were starting up. Words were flowing and getting louder and louder and louder, but the little voice in his ear stayed above all the noise as it laughed because this was how it always ended, and he was so foolish to think it would be different, and, sure, no one was dead yet, but how much longer did he think he had?

Everyone was so angry.

When had it gotten so bad?

Damien could do little more than stare, brow furrowed, as if this scene before him were a puzzle with a key to the madness that he simply had to look harder for. Abe and Will traded insults, though it was better than blows, but his attention was trapped by Mark and Celine. Just as the host hissed out his last word, Benjamin appeared around the corner and coughed to announce his presence. A wise move.

For a moment, hope sparked in Damien that the butler could bring some peace back to the party, but that was firmly dashed when Mark adjusted his lapels and returned his focus to Celine.

Damien braced for another comment.

“Good. Maybe an impartial judge will be able to sort this all out.”

Except it was so much worse.

As if stabbed through the soles of his shoes, he leapt toward Mark as he moved to leave the room. Celine made her own noise of discontent at the abandoned argument, but neither of the men stopped, not until they were both standing in the foyer in front of the one person he was terrified to see.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said, shirking your coat and passing it to Benjamin, “I decided to take on an extra case, and I couldn’t get away.”

If it had been any other situation, Damien would have fretted over you working on your day off. However, as it were, he was paralyzed with the realization that everything was breaking down around him and he could do nothing about it.

Mark had no such qualms, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “No need to apologize. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Guided by Mark, you moved towards the main room, but Damien refused to move. You couldn’t go in there, you couldn’t even be in the manor, there was nowhere safe for you except in your house, curled up in bed with a hot drink and a book to be found safe and sound tomorrow morning.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Look, I know you asked me not to, but—”

“You told them not to come?”

Mark’s betrayed expression sent shivers through him.

“No, well, yes, but I told them to come in the morning.”

“Mark called me and told me you wanted me here.”

Damien’s look was switched to his friend, who had apparently and suddenly decided that lying wasn’t so bad after all. The betrayal morphed into offense.

“It’s a reunion, Damien!” he yelled, spreading his arms and taking steps towards the main room. Carnage added to carnage, and the entire manor was breaking out into a warzone.

Luckily, you moved in, laying a hand on Mark’s shoulders. “Hey, hey, let’s all calm down.” Though he didn’t shrug you off, there was still a certain hostility in his eyes that made Damien’s nerves skyrocket. “We don’t need to argue.”

“You’re right,” Mark spat. “This was supposed to be a celebration, so let’s go and celebrate.”

Your hand was left floating in the air as he stormed away, but the tension in the room was surface enough. It didn’t leave with Mark, no, it stayed, sapping all noise and feeling from the air. Foyer left cold in the host’s wake, Damien sighed, and you muttered a small, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, and he thought for a moment that you were going to head straight for the rest of the guests; however, you stopped in front of him, gripped him by the hand, and squeezed. Your eyes betrayed no mockery, just genuine care. A silent check-in, which he returned with a smile.

For the rest of the night, after your arrival, things simmered. The collective mood had definitely dropped from the start of the party, but drinks were still shared, poker hands dealt, and jokes made. Laughter came slowly, though Damien was simply happy for it to come at all. 

At one point, he managed to catch a glimpse of Celine and Mark in the hallway. Their conversation was lost to him, but they later returned to the poker table arm in arm. Hope sparked in his chest that not all was lost, especially when Abe and Will carried on their own game of gin rummy. The festivity had returned to the manor in a way that he had never seen before.

So, when you found Mark dead in the morning, the world fell out from underneath him.

Accusations and arguments burst like boils between the group, everyone a suspect and nobody safe. The presence of Celine did nothing but add another witness to the pot, and Abe didn’t hesitate to point fingers. You tried to bring logic to the investigation that quickly developed, and yet there was nothing to be done when guests and staff alike were under suspicion.

That thought stuck in Damien’s mind over the course of the next few hours. From morning to afternoon to evening, the sight of Mark’s dead body refused to leave him. Not only was his friend dead, but he also knew exactly who had killed him – and it was the very man whom he had placed his faith in the first time.

He looked at the Colonel. William. Had he and Celine still…?

He pushed that train of thought out of his mind at its first appearance. No. Even after all this, he still believed in him. It must have been an accident this time, and who was to say that last time wasn’t the same? He only knew that he couldn’t give him up, no matter how much his conscience begged him to.

When it next came time for the group to convene, and the idea to talk to Mark’s ghost was proposed, Damien almost let it slip by him. Celine ushered you toward the staircase, and you got up from the table with clear determination. He could try to stop you, but that would only cause more friction, so there was only one other thing to do.

“Wait!”

With a sigh, Celine turned to him. He was struck with a sense of déjà vu, but it wasn’t from his last life this time, but from his childhood. Those moments, rare as they were, that Celine became uncharacteristically distant, treating him like just an annoying brother instead of one of their sole sources of companionship in their house.

He couldn’t help but wonder when she became interested in the occult.

“Yes, Damien?” she asked. Even still, her eyes were sliding up the staircase, impatient and impersonal.

“I- are you alright? I know this news can’t be settling well with you.” Those familiar words tumbled from his mouth before he could think to stop them, but he clasped a hand over the rest of them. If he weren’t able to change his words, how was he supposed to change anything else?

“I’m fine for now.”

“But Mark is dead—” He just didn’t think she was the type to become mixed up in all of this, “—and we shouldn’t be separating like this when there’s a murder about.”

The lie fell just as easily as the truth.

“And the best way to protect ourselves is to figure out what happened.” She glanced at you. “We can do that.”

You nodded. As strong as your conviction was, it worked both for and against you. Once you got it in your head to do something, you did it, no more questions asked – so how was he supposed to protect you, protect everyone from this, if no one listened to him?

Just as Celine gestured you up the staircase, Damien said, “Then I’ll come with you.”

Two gazes landed on him that he could see, but the burning on his back suggested more. Damien was quite proud of himself for pushing through them and standing his ground, staring straight back at his sister, but that was a celebration for tomorrow.

“You can’t interrupt,” she ordered.

“I won’t, but I can’t let you go off alone.”

One glance up and down from Celine, and that was that. Damien wished he had her confidence in her decisions, but he had to make do with what he had.

“Fine,” she said simply before brushing past you and making her way to the second floor.

With a glint in your eye and a frown on your lips, you followed her, Damien quick to step behind you. A slight brush of his hand against yours was both too much and too little; he wanted nothing more than to stop this doomed night where it stood, but everything he did felt useless. All his efforts, futile, and yet he could do nothing else.

The three of you got to the room in short order, settling in for the séance that was supposed to contact Mark’s spirit. Damien had no guesses as to how this would go, especially as he hadn’t been present before. Last time, he had wished you and Celine luck for your efforts. Last time, he had spoken to the remaining men downstairs. Last time, he couldn’t do anything to help you when it all went wrong.

This time, he hoped, would be different.

Listening was the first step. Seated around the table, flickering candlelight reflecting off the crystal ball in the center, Damien tried to get to grips with the process. Despite his own research, he hadn’t quite reached the ‘communing with the dead’ stage. He would let Celine hold the reins in this because, even after everything, he still trusted her. He didn’t have much left.

“Now, I’m sure this must be unsettling for you, being thrust into this series of unfortunate events. But I promise – with your help, I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

His attention flickered to you. If you got out of this, what would you do? He still had to explain everything, and now he would have to deal with Mark’s death on top of it all. He no longer had a real motive to steal anyone’s body, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would do it anyway, if death were just that frightening.

“Now, I’m not sure who would want to kill Mark, but something tells me this seemingly significant event is actually a footnote in a much larger mystery unfolding in our midst.”

Had you felt the same way? Had you considered yourself ‘dead’ inside that mirror? Technically, you were. Your body was broken and then commandeered, full but a corpse, nonetheless.

“I’ve never been very comfortable in this house.”

Right now, you were alive. Color brushed your skin, and human perseverance occupied your eyes. Even now, he couldn’t imagine you in the same way that he had seen you before – a broken doll on the floor of the manor, limbs splayed out and neck pointed the wrong direction.

Did you remember anything?

“But something tells me there are dark forces surrounding this manor.”

In an instant, all sound was sucked from the room to be replaced by a vacuum. The temperature dropped and stilled, like the room wasn’t affected by energy at all, and all the buzz of the night stripped itself, as if he had gone deaf, and the candles snuffed themselves out in a show of cowardice, beckoning in a stark and suffocating silence.

Nothingness. Everything, from the furniture to you and Celine, had evaporated. 

“Are you having fun?”

The words reverberated through the darkness, bouncing from non-existent wall to non-existent wall, against the ceiling and the floor that stretched for eons into the past. The thought of it made him sick, and the sight of it ripped out the bottom of his stomach altogether, but the sound of it…

Dread coursed through his veins.

Slowly, he turned around to see a mirror. A reflection. A version of him that was exactly the same but warped by the switch from flesh to glass.

“What?” Damien asked.

“Are you having fun?”

He stared incredulously at it.

“Uh-huh, yeah, I’m having fun– what are you talking about?”

The man – the entity – the thing tilted its head, as though it had the capacity for confusion. Any emotion, Damien knew, was beyond its reach. Glass was not flesh. It didn’t tear, it shattered. It didn’t leak blood, it leaked shards. It didn’t experience emotions, it was and always would be empty.

“This repeat,” it said, those echoes chasing its every syllable. “It was meant to… calm you down.”

“You sent me back?”

A single nod, so small that Damien nearly missed it.

“Why?” came his question, increasingly desperate for an answer that he almost didn’t want to hear.

“You deserved it. Think of it as a thank-you for letting me use you.” Regardless of its words, the tone stayed casual, uncaring. “I thought you would appreciate it.”

Appreciate it?

Appreciate it?

“Having to relive the worst twenty-four hours of my life!?”

“And the last two years.”

“I spent them trying to fix all of my mistakes, and yet here I am! In the same damn position as I was the first time!”

“But you enjoyed them, did you not?”

What was wrong with this thing? Did it genuinely believe that living in constant fear of his life collapsing around him was enjoyable – news of the affair like a bombshell destroying everything that he held dear – Mark and Celine and William and you getting more and more distant, all the while he was incapable of holding everything together – being completely and utterly useless?

Damien opened his mouth to say all of that, but no noise came out. He was silent for a moment, and then there came the click of his jaw as he closed it again.

Because he had enjoyed them. He cherished the seconds between the fear, and he managed to go through with ideas that he had never thought possible. He had grown closer with Mark and Will, understood Celine, and you… Oh, how he loved the days spent with you. He held them to his heart closer than before because there was nothing in the way this time. The pressure of expectation had been lifted, and, of course, being publicly a couple was still an obstacle yet to be vaulted, you were both able to breathe easier in one another’s company.

That giddiness let sorrow in when he thought about the future. Tonight couldn’t be the end; he still had so much that he wanted to do.

His voice was weak as he asked, “But why didn’t it change anything?”

“No matter what you did, it was always going to end like this. It has to. It has already happened, after all, and there is nothing to be done about it.”

The body’s eyes were blank. Damien might have tried for some kind of emotion, but there was no convincing himself of something so clearly lacking. There was no sympathy, or pity, or even amusement. Its eyes were just eyes, the same as its suit, its shoes, its face that looked so much like his own.

“Please.” His shoulders dropped, and his eyes darted to the missing ground. “Please don’t make me go back.”

“It is too late.”

Reality hit him in the stomach, knocking the breath out and forcing him to lean an arm against the table. The cloth pooled around his elbow, a strange sensation after the experience of that nothingness, but his attention soon darted to the two people in front of him. Celine stared intently at you, but there was a certain glazed-over look in your eye that told him exactly where you had gone.

“What happened?” Celine demanded. “Why did you stop? Did you see something? Someone?”

As she pushed a scrap of paper into your hand, Damien leaned closer to you, resting a hand on your arm. Cold leached into his skin, just as he suspected. Information and vertigo weren’t the only byproducts of the void.

Tentatively, he asked, “Are you alright, dear?”

You brushed him off with a quiet, “I’m fine,” before sketching whatever you had seen with rough, shoddy, shaking lines. Whether your unsteady hand came from the jolt of reality or fear, he didn’t know, but he made sure to keep contact with you, hoping to ground you.

After the last scratch of the pen, you handed the paper back to Celine. Her expression morphed from interest to confusion to the smallest trace of anger.

“What is this?” Her grip tightened. “This doesn’t answer anything!” She shot up from her seat. “You need to go back!” The paper crumpled in her hand. “Go back, now!”

One look at your panicked face had Damien standing, too. He had never seen Celine so enraged – she could be opinionated and hotheaded, yes, but not like this, and not to the people that she cared about. Was she like this last time? He had only seen the tail end, heard a raised voice, but he hadn’t seen her eyes. Two pits of fury, hot as the hells, were aimed at you.

“Celine, that’s enough,” he said firmly.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough!” Her palms slammed onto the table, nearly toppling over the candles and sending a wave of tension through the room.

He had almost forgotten about the rest of the company until Abe shoved open the doors and, before he knew it, you were coaxed out of the room with the detective’s arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. The loss of contact made his heart rate spike, but he knew it was for the best – his selfish desire to keep you near him was weak enough to ignore for the time being. He would find you later, once he had sorted out whatever had gotten into his sister.

“What was that?” Damien asked, as gently as he could stomach.

Celine simply stared at him, the anger sapping from her eyes. While that was undoubtedly good, it sent concern through him, and he carded a shaky hand through his hair just for something to do.

“Look, I did some research about this whole occult thing – and I think you should leave it be. It’s not too late to go back and forget the whole thing.”

“Oh.” Her words were blunt and cold and not what he had expected. “It’s you. I was curious why it was all happening again. And so far in the past, too.”

“Celine?”

“You tried,” she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hard. It didn’t work, though.”

Then, she huffed. This conversation seemed nothing more than an inconvenience to her. It was casual, and it left Damien in the dark.

“No matter. I can work with this.”

In one swift movement, she grabbed the crystal ball and made to smash it over his head, but that was one of the few things that he remembered from before. Ducking came easy to him, instinctive, and he would have been glad to avoid the blazing pain had he more time.

In this moment, he backed away, accidentally knocked over a chair, and yelped, “Celine!”

“It’s not Celine anymore.”

She circled the table and shoved the toppled chair aside with a heeled foot. As she got closer, the war raged on in Damien’s heart. He remembered a vibrant pain that had knocked him out, but that had been the end of it. What was happening now was completely out of his control.

“What are you talking about? This is insane!”

Her hands grasped his collar and slammed him to the ground.

“Insane, like repeating the last two years is insane?”

Questions flooded Damien’s mind, just as quickly joined by answers that still came far too late. This wasn’t Celine anymore, in the same way that the thing in the void was no longer anything at all. The entity that had spoken to Mark was apparently rather slighted by his intervention, and he could have laughed at its pettiness, but he was too busy pulling the body down and scrambling out of the room.

He was alive and away from it, in a perfect position to warn everyone else of the thing in the séance room. If he could get outside, to where he saw you gathered with that groundskeeper, he could protect you. He would figure out how to save Celine when you and Will were safe off the property, along with anyone else who was at risk from the darkness inside that manor.

Pressed against the railing, he watched the lightning strike and heard the thunder rumble, and then, at the push against his back, was pushed over the banister. The crack of bone against stone and the frigid loss of blood. The chandelier’s lights danced with another shot of lightning, but, in that position – so similar to the one he had once seen you in – a familiar dark enveloped him.

Out of which, a familiar face emerged.

“Celine?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Her hands grasped his, pulling him to his feet. Though he stumbled at first, tripping over nothing but his own confusion, she steadied him and let him take a moment to assess their surroundings. She must have already had her moment because her gaze was locked solely on him.

Damien half expected to see the same blankness as he had before, or maybe the doctored anger, but her eyes were oceans of sorrow and regret.

“What happened?” He asked this, but he wanted to laugh at his own words; the man who had been through all of this twice over was confused. How pitiful.

Nevertheless, Celine explained, “We died. We’re dead. Whatever is in that house killed us.”

“I know.”

This time, rightfully, her eyebrows knitted, and a frown pulled at her lips. “What do you mean you know?”

Damien wasn’t certain of how long he had left here. Their fate was unclear, coated by a haze of possibilities and inevitabilities and the frigid cold of the void that seemed to clog his throat. He pushed through in order to do what he should have done at the start of all of this.

He told someone what had happened.

“I’ve done this before,” he started. “There’s another entity, it sent me back to do it all again.” Hesitation pulled at his heart for a second, forcing the words in his mouth to reform themselves. “I don’t think it’s evil, it’s just… angry.”

Celine opened her mouth to speak but immediately closed it again when her focus was stolen by something over his shoulder. Confusion melted into certainty, as if she had made up her mind. He didn’t know about what until she took a step forward, saying, “I don’t think good spirits use copies to manipulate someone.”

Instantly, Damien whipped around.

And all breath left him.

He failed to save Mark, he failed to save Celine, he would certainly fail to save Will, and now, he realized, staring at the three figures standing in a near-distant pocket of the void, he failed to save you. Death didn’t mean the same thing here, but it was death all the same. 

His legs threatened to give out under the weight of his guilt, but even with that force crushing down on him, he pulled forward, threw his heartache to the side, and sprinted toward you. He knew damn well what was going on because he had taken part in it last time, but not this time, no, he was not going to trick you, he wasn’t going to let you go easily, he wasn’t going to lose you to the mirror again!

“You know you cannot do that.”

“I don’t care.”

Damien said the words before he had fully processed the thing standing in front of him. Instead, he shoved past and tried to leave it behind him.

“It will not change anything.”

“I don’t care!”

Again, he ignored it and pushed through, and again, he was blocked by its sudden appearance in front of him.

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I can’t let them die again!”

Although he darted around the body, its words chased after him. “They are already dead. The best thing for them now is to follow the course.”

Any objections turned to ash in Damien’s mouth, but he refused to stop. He ran like his life depended on it – in some ways, it did – and the pain in his duff leg shot through his nerves, tying itself into a noose. He was running against the clock, but no matter how much he pushed himself, he seemed to be getting no closer to you. He couldn’t remember where in the conversation you were, he wasn’t close enough to tell, and every second spent in that uncertainty was wasted.

In a fit of frustration, he spun around to see just how far he had come, only to find himself face to face with Celine, who was not an inch from him, right where she had been standing all along. The thing stood beside her, but he spared it no mind.

“Are you going to help me?” Damien asked, panting.

Her eyes jumped between her brother and the thing that looked so much like him. They both wore the same suit, held the same stance, looked at her with the same expression. At the moment, it was a question of who to talk to first, but Damien felt the possibility in the air of a choice.

Celine glared at the thing.

“What are you?”

The corner of its mouth perked up for a split second. “I’m something that wants to get revenge on Mark.”

“Why?”

“Because he betrayed me, just like he did you.”

That wasn’t right. Not this time. Mark had done nothing wrong this time. How he had died, it was an accident. Damien stared at the body, the liar, the trick of light in the reflection of a mirror.

He breathed a small, “What?”

“Mark orchestrated all of this.”

“No, he didn’t.”

It didn’t look at him as it spoke. It kept its eyes fixed firmly on Celine, the one who held the power here. Damien would follow her to the ends of the earth, to the end of his life, and it knew that. He trusted her, and it would use that trust like a weapon. 

“He did, originally. When he found out about you and the Colonel.”

Celine’s attention crawled to Damien, and there he saw ever more regret, as though she had already made the choice.

Still, he pleaded quietly, “He didn’t this time.”

But that regret remained fixed as she said his name in such a way that he just knew he had lost.

“You can’t trust it.”

“Yes, you can, and if you trust me a little longer, I can help you both get out of this. More or less alive.”

The step that Celine took toward the body was the last nail in the coffin. Damien couldn’t bear to see the deal be made, so he turned on his heel and moved his attention elsewhere. The void stretched for years, infinite darkness from the beginning of the universe stuffed into a prison of unreality. Anything was possible in that place, except for change.

But when you caught his eye, standing in the space between mirrors, that disregard for the rules overtook him again. He took off toward you, and, glancing over his shoulder, realized that he was getting closer.

Doomsday was fast approaching. He felt it biting at his heels. The cold of the void was getting colder, dipping into negatives and freezing his footprints – but he was running, hoping, praying that he would get there in time. The thing wasn’t coming after him, probably preoccupied by Celine, and he knew both himself and his sister were goners, but he could save you. Your spirit would pass, and you wouldn’t be trapped in that damn mirror.

Heart thundering in his chest, the last remnants of his mortality, Damien reached for you, and he swore he saw the briefest glint of recognition in your eyes.

Only, what should have been the texture of your jacket as he swiped down was, instead, the wooden handle of an oh-so-familiar instrument.

The crack of the logs echoed the shattering of his heart when Damien’s axe bit into the firewood.

lol i regret nothing, and i’d say that i’ll post something fluffy next time but i know damn well what’s in my queue and i’m not gonna lie to you guys

Also i love me some mythology musical aus because this and ‘Nothing Changes’ from Hadestown is banging