#artbang

Siffrin's vision fills with light. Something sharp and scratchy digs into his legs, and he shifts his body, nearly falling out of whatever he's sitting on. They blink away the haze and nausea and dig their fingers into their temples until—

He's in a tree? The Favor Tree? But why?

They squint at the foreboding silhouette of the frozen House on the horizon.

They're… back.

But… 

No, something’s wrong. The meadow? He's supposed to wake up there!

Wait. No. No. No. They're not supposed to wake up anywhere near Dormont! He's out of the loops! They're free! He's reunited Bonnie with their sister!

"Stardu—" A familiar voice cracks and cuts off like an arrow through a throat.

"Loop!?" Siffrin nearly sends himself flying off the branch with the force of his turn. Bark cracks under their white-knuckle grip.

Only an afterimage is left behind, quickly fading from view.

"Loop! Where are—what's happening!? Where did you—"

What? What? What!? No. They have to be dreaming. But...

Siffrin's chest starts to heave. He shudders. His stomach ties itself in knots. No. No. Nonono...

If they're here then—

The House looms.

NO!

Dream or not, they can't let that happen again.

He tears his way down the tree, ignoring branches ripping his cloak, his skin. The moment his feet touch solid ground, he's off.

Their fingers snap.

Make up the time.

The wind whips at him, and he pulls his hat tight to his chest as he takes the shortest possible route through thick trees and brambles. They rip and tear and yank and pull—it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter!

The roof of the house towers over them—a beacon, keeping him steady.

He trips and stumbles and crashes to the ground; the skin on his hand is torn open, but he’s back on his feet before the pain can even register. He—

Stars blind it all!

Fire shoots up his leg and sends him crashing back down.

He pumps healing craft into it and rushes ahead, ignoring the lingering burning, ignoring the fact that it's only a temporary fix, and he's only racking up the price he'll pay later.

They almost fall again when he breaks through the treeline to the path to the House.

Almost there.

The gate is unlocked and wide open.

The three Sadnesses in the entrance are gone.

Then that means—

He rushes forward.

No no no!

Death Corridor is empty. No sign of the boulder.

Huh?

Siffrin beelines to the pillar.

They got past?

How?

They flip the switch.

CRASH!

...

No time to dwell. Keep pushing forward!

"Please be safe, please be safe, please be safe!"

His ankle screams at him, but he ignores it, pumping more Craft into it and snapping his fingers again and again.

Make up the time.

Make up the time.

Make up the time.

Craft burns through his muscles, splitting and fraying the fibres apart, until all that holds them together is Craft energy itself.

Second floor, gate's open. Go go go.

He coughs and tastes iron on his tongue. His chest is on fire. The pain in his ankle radiates upward.

Doesn't matter, none of it matters.

Third floor. Go go go.

Key gone. Hair gone.

No no no. Are they already—

Wait...

There's a sound! Voices call out in struggle, and the mixed scents of fresh paper, earth, and iron grow stronger as attacks reverberate through the House.

Their lungs burn, and phantom flames flick up from their throat, but they push forward.

Make up the time.

They have to get there not one second too late.

He has to save them.

They burst through the door. There! Everyone's there! Everyone's standing... and so is the final, powerful Sadness. It towers over them, weeping dark liquid and thrashing about violently. Only one hand is missing.

Scissors.

Good.

Siffrin can’t stop. Won’t stop. In a flash, he's between his family and the monster. He pounces, driving his knife to the hilt in its eye. It screams—its piercing cry claws at their ears, but they keep pushing.

"Siffrin!" they all scream in unison.

He hooks one hand and his good foot onto the ring and stabs and stabs and stabs and stabs, holding on for dear life as it thrashes about trying to dislodge him. One fist comes around and hits him square in the back, knocking him through the ring and sending him tumbling across the floor.

It turns and—

FWOOM!

Rock, Paper, Scissors hit all at once, and the sadness screams its inhuman warbling cry and spins around to face the party. Siffrin stands, shaking, bleeding. He puts weight on his ankle and crumples again.

“Sif! Stay there! We got this!”

No. No. Not yet.

Another burst of Craft collects in his knife, and with a feral scream that tears his voice apart, he channels it all into one final attack, splitting the Sadness clean in two. Its cries are cut off, and it melts into smoke. He drops his knife and falls to one knee.

"Are you all okay?!" Siffrin cries. "I'm sor—" a bout of violent coughing cuts him off as everyone runs to his side. "I'm here! I'm sorry! Isanyonehurt!? I'msorryareyouokayimhereimhereididntihadtoihadtoicouldnt—"

They crowd around him, talking, worrying. It's so hot, too hot. He whines.

They're all safe. They're safe. Thank the stars. The Universe.

Siffrin grips their sides as the burning catches up to them. Everything blurs. They can't pick out anyone's voice.

Their breathing is haggard and fast. Too fast. Too fast.

He can't move his legs. They hurt. So much.

Not as much as—

At least it's not as bad as—

They see something appear before their eyes. They blink, shake their head clear to see Bonnie holding out a canteen. Trembling, they take the bottle and start chugging.

"I'm sorry!" they cough out between gulps. They inhale, and water fills their lungs.

Burns.

They hack and cough, and something metallic spews out.

They try to stand but fall back on both knees, shivering, threatening to collapse completely.

Warm arms catch him.

Hot. Too hot.

He can’t even flinch.

"Hey, hey, Sif, I got you, it's okay."

"M'sorry." They find themself leaning against him. Head to his pounding chest. Isabeau's heartbeat only increases in speed with a gasp escaping his lips.

Their hand finds its way to his and wraps around his thumb. Isabeau stiffens.

No. No. No disgusting. MOVE!

Isabeau relaxes, and his hand shifts around to cup theirs.

No. It's okay. It's okay, remember? He loves you. They love you. You can get through this. You can. You just need to—

Siffrin opens his mouth to explain, but can only get out another raspy 'sorry'.

Bonnie hands them another canteen, and they nearly knock it out of their hand grabbing for it.

Mirabelle is beside him next. Her hands hover over their chest, then legs. "Oh, Change, your muscles are full of tears. Ahh! Your ankle! What happened?"

"Ran fast. Dormont." They struggle up. Isabeau's large hands hold them steady. "Safe room ahead." He points weakly forward.

"O-oh kay."

The others look at each other and walk in a protective ring around Siffrin and Isabeau.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts! Their legs burn as if acid seeped into every cell, and any weight put on his bad ankle puts the pain of a thousand knives through it. Their lungs spark with fire that sticks to them with every cough.

It hurts so much.

But not as much as…

Knowing.

He's.

Back.

They're back.

How?

What did they do wrong?

"Hey, Isa," Siffrin mumbles down at Isabeau as he kneels before them on the floor, working their stiff leg looser. Every day, twice a day, despite Siffrin's insistence that they're fine and totally ready to leave for Bambouche, Isabeau so diligently and gently helps them get their strength back as their doctors instructed. "Hmm, yes, Sif?" He looks up at them, eyes sparkling with love. Love for them. Even after everything they've said and done to him, to all of them. "Mmmsorry," they mumble. He pauses, looking into their eye. They can't meet his gaze. "What for?" "Everything," they hide. "You're okay, Sif,” he hums lightly. “I've forgiven you a thousand times over." They bite their lip. "Why'd it have to be this loop?" "Hm?" "Why'd this loop have to be the last one?" "Ah, well..." His expression falls. "It could have been any one of the others." Anyone but those two. "But it had to be the one where I hurt you all so much." "It... you..." he squeezes their calf and goes quiet. The sensation of insects, deadly and enraged buzz in his chest. "It was the only loop where we all were forced to brave enough to step in and actually help you." They flinch. "Ah—I mean like, every other loop we stood by and watched if we noticed you were struggling." Siffrin mumbles something under their breath. "Sorry?" "But Odile did one time." "Ah," he mumbles. "Right." He slides his hands down and circles their foot around. "I think we all needed to be there from the start." "What do you mean?" "Like,” he hums and gives their ankle a squeeze. “You said she confronted you alone and nobody else noticed until right before you looped, right?" "Yeah." "Maybe if I was—if we all were together, maybe it'd have been different." "Stop blaming yourself." "Sorry. I just... we all have some level of fault in this." Siffrin grumbles. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I wasn't able to loop back after those... events." "I dunno," Isabeau murmurs, pushing Siffrin's leg up against them. They flinch as their knee reaches their chest and Isabeau slowly lets it fall. "I'd like to think we'd be able to talk you down each time." His cheeks go dark. "I know for sure I would have after the um... the kiss." Siffrin winces. "Sif, it's okay. From everything you told me, I’m certain I was just shocked and would have told you that if you had just waited a few seconds longer." "Yeah." His voice is so quiet that Isabeau has to lean forward to listen. "I guess." They pull into themself more. "Sometimes I..." They dig their nails into their arm. 'Wanna go back and fix things. Just to tell myself what a blinding idiot I am for not trusting any of you like that. Just to spare my undeserving past self the pain.' "Hm?" "Nothing, never mind."

Siffrin's legs give out the moment they pass the threshold, and their body nearly slips from Isabeau's grip.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, Sif." He lowers Siffrin down and props them up against the wall. Mirabelle hovers nearby, waiting for the moment Isabeau pulls away to jump in and assess them.

"I'm sorry," they rasp.

"It's okay. It's okay," Isabeau kneels beside him. "We can talk more when Mira heals you."

Siffrin opens their mouth to protest, but their body traitorously agrees with Isabeau. They can't get out more than a rough squeak.

"Boniface," Odile turns to the kid, "give Siffrin some more tonics and get us some snacks ready, please. I have a feeling we're going to be here for a while."

Mirabelle gasps. "Madame, I don't know how much time we have before the curse reaches us."

"It's—it's okay," Siffrin coughs, still heaving. "Hasn't reached Dormont yet." He moves to wipe sweat from his brow, but his arms protest every movement. "Have a few hours."

Mirabelle's frown deepens the more she looks him over. She presses her fingers to the underside of his calf, and he jolts away with a whine. Isabeau's barely able to keep him from crashing to the floor.

"I'm sorry!" Mirabelle puts a hand to her mouth. She looks on the verge of tears. "Oh, Siffrin. What happened? Was it the King? Does he have followers who attacked you? Did he—"

They shake their head, harder and harder. "My fault. My fault. Only me." Tears that failed to fall in their initial loops spill freely from their eye.

"Siffrin, what do you mean?" Odile peers into them. "Don't tell me you tried to—"

"M'dame," Isabeau puts himself between them, shaking. "Please, let Mira heal them first before you interrogate them."

She adjusts her glasses with a sigh. "I suppose you're right. The important thing now is that Siffrin is here."

"You really ran all the way from Dormont to here?” Mirabelle chews on her lip. “Without stopping? You were ignoring your Craft cool downs, weren't you?" She presses the back of her hand to his forehead. Cold. "You're feverish."

He takes another drink from the canteen with Isabeau's help as Mira moves back to their legs and starts pouring healing Craft into them. They tingle and squirm as the Craft pulls their frayed muscles back together and stitches them in place. They squeeze Isabeau's hand.

Hurts.

Hurts.

Hurts!

They cry out. Why? Why? It's not even the worst they've felt during the loops. Why are they crying now? In front of everyone!?

No. No it's okay, they care. It's safe. It's safe, you can cry.

...

Can they?

In this loop, with these versions of their family...

Will they forgive him?

Will they realize he's disgusting and cruel and stupid for agreeing to watch them die from afar just to test something?

But it was Loop, not them.

But loop IS them...

But Loop is gone! They just blinked out of existence! What happened? 

Are they going to lose them in this reality, too?

Is this some sort of punishment? They get to save their party at the expense of Loop's existence?

Loop...

Why did they do that?

Why didn't they just tell him?

...

...

...

He wouldn't have listened.

They let out another sob and curl into Isabeau. He jolts again, but slowly, cautiously squeezes their hand back and whispers soft words of reassurance to them.

It hurts.

Siffrin hisses as Mirabelle moves to their other leg, starting with the ankle.

They love him. They love them!

They stayed together, even after everything he did in that final loop.

Please let these versions love him, too.

Please let him go back to his reality after this.

Please be a nightmare.

Please let Loop be there.

Please don't let him start again start again start again.

He moves his healed leg, still sore, still tingling with pins and needles, but no longer feeling like it's burning from the inside out, no longer feeling like someone's trying to pull each individual muscle fiber out with tweezers all at once.

His breathing slows, and he lets himself sink further into Isabeau. His vision no longer swirls, and he's able to scan the room outside of their immediate circle. Bonnie's in the corner putting together their snacks, glancing their way every few seconds.

Oh, they never taught them how to fight in this loop.

They still hate him.

No, they don't. They don't hate him.

Odile's sitting cross-legged just beyond Mirabelle, and, as expected, is scribbling something down in her notebook.

Don't worry about it, it'll be fine. You know how to break the loops now! Just tell them now!

No, not now! Not after what you did. Not in this loop.

He takes a deep breath. The chill air is easier on their lungs now that Mirabelle has moved to their chest.

Mirabelle exhales a heavy breath. "How are you feeling now, Siffrin?"

"Fine—” He blinks away tears and hiccups. “Better. Still a little sore."

"I know. It should fade soon." She murmurs. "I'm sorry, but I need to take a short break. Are you able to stand?"

Grimacing, they press one hand to the floor and push up, sliding their legs under them. Isabeau keeps a firm grip on their arm, and they don't try to fight the help.

They're shaky, sore, achy, but they manage to stand and walk a few paces before gravity wins and they sink back to the icy tiles.

Nice and cool. They roll over on their back and close their eye.

"Okay," Mirabelle worries. "That's a good sign, I think. I should be able to get you close to normal once we get some food in us."

"Thank you."

"Sif?" Isabeau's grip on their arm has loosened, but still holds firm. "Can you—can you tell us what happened?"

"I—" Oh no, here it comes. Here it comes. You can't avoid this. You can't lie you promised Loop you have to tell them and trust trust trust they'll understand. This is terrible awful awful awful, but—

—but they still forgave you before, they still wanted to stay with you. It's not as bad as before. It's fine. It'll be fine. You didn't tell Mira she'll be alone forever. You didn't tell Odile her mom abandoned her. You didn't call Isa a coward and rip into him for every one of his insecurities. You didn't make Bonbon—

They catch sight of Bonnie shuffling around with their arms full of food.

He sees their face.

They are crying. Shaking.

What are you talking about? It's worse! It's so much worse! You left them to die! You left them all to die!

They approach and shove something into his hands without a word. The painfully familiar smell hits him. He tries not to flinch away.

"Malanga..." he manages.

Oh no, no no they still can't handle them, but...

But Bonnie... they still—

"Yeah, I made them for you, stupidfrin,” they pout. “So eat them all and tell us what happened! You didn't... You didn't try to run away, did you? You wouldn't!"

He grips the fritters subconsciously. The breading crackles and falls to his chest and the floor, and the grease spreads over his palms.

"I just..."

Oh no, the tears are back. Bonnie shoves another bottle to their face, and Isabeau takes it and helps Siffrin sit up before it spills all over him.

They take another long swig as Bonnie tearfully hands out snacks to the others. They're all so close. Watching him, waiting, expecting.