#for michael

Michael stepped through the doorway with a map in hand and fear in his heart...

That was the day the Distortion felt emotion.

He-they-it-we-- the melding of poor Mr. Shelley and the Spiral's advocate for a ritual twisted and tested them both through a process that nearly undid them together.

But because they-it-he were two into one, even as the Distortion took His shape and form, learned His emotions and took on His memories, Michael only really existed inside the halls. And yet he didn't.

Reflections, paintings. How the Halls changed to suit his tastes. The Yellow Door was who he was as much as it wished it wasn't. Both a blessing and a curse upon it- ritual ruined and now it knows anger. Rage.

Sorrow.

But now it could attract meals better. A charming young man and an inviting looking door...

The Distortion was Michael Shelley, but the hunger for Fear and Its nature all but washed his direct presence from itself. All but a room and the occasional glimpse of him within itself. Preserving the heart of someone it perhaps pitied or loved for what he became to it.

→

This is what Helen Richardson encountered on her first trip into The Halls. Disoriented, famished and dehydrated, she had thought she hallucinated it- like everything else It fed from her. The image in the reflection of a mirror of a round-faced man with blond curls could've been just that. After all, he wasn't there when she turned around.

But something was different.

Helen called out in case it really was someone else trapped there, frightened away. Called until her throat was aching, cried what she had left in her after. Then, hours or days or weeks or- who knows- later, she got up and started to walk again. And saw him again, looking quite sadly at her, as if it were his fault she were there.

She laughed at him this time, hysterical- up until he left the mirror again. Helen tried to call out, to get him to stop, but to no avail. But that had her moving, to keep walking, keep going. If someone was there, maybe she wouldn't have to die alone in here.

Besides: this time, she caught the faintest scent of sunflowers. Something she would remember even as she opened a door and stumbled out of the halls. It would fade with her surprise, yet linger as she breathed deeply her first fresh breath in... She didn't know how long, at the time. Even if that scent, that sad young man, would leave her while she attempted to recover and keep away from suspicious doors-

He was the first thing she remembered when It caught her again.

←

At first, Michael had thought it was her- the assistant. The one They tried to warn, about The Hive. Rooted in His history with His Archivist and what She did to It, that had been a test, a curiosity, and an urge it could not ignore. But realizing it wasn't the Assistant, Michael had turned away from the latest Meal in the halls, fading from the chore of existing again.

Or he would if she had not been so desperate. So determined.

This strength spurred what was there of Him, and Michael made his presence as little and simple as possible. It could hardly Know itself for risk of unbecoming, as the complicated process of how He became who It was could've only been done through the insanity of that stupid piece of paper he let Gertrude Robinson bribe him to use-

And for her credit, this Helen woman was a lot tougher than he had ever been. So he managed her a way out, while It was distracted. Maybe then He could finally fade in peace.

But no, more of that anger that grudge he'd unintentionally imprinted on The Door, and the Distortion kept poking into things that stirred the memories of Michael. Not really intentionally of it's only right, either, as the Archivist was a figure of interest and all, but the whole thing caused discomfort within the halls like anxiety might do to the gut.

Michael could not fade, the Distortion would keep at Its tactics to use His feelings against others, and Helen Richardson would be claimed again by the Halls- this time, for good.

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The mirrors were the first thing Helen watched after her initial breakdown upon realizing she was There again. Searched for that round face, the softer curls than the being that wore them outside the Door. If whoever he was had led her out before, maybe he could do it again- before she actually died this time...? But he didn't show, not for a little while, and her hope begun to fade.

Even if she could escape again, It would find her again, wouldn't it? Helen could still feel the walls breathing sometimes, got dizzy and disoriented when she turned a corner and found nothing but wall right behind her again. It still got to her, fed off her, but somehow... Either it was because she had been there before, or because she realized and accepted that escape might not be the way out...

Things were more familiar than before.

Only when she realized this, did Helen spot the sad blond man again, and she wordlessly followed his path this time.

Sunflowers. Warmth. Somehow the carpet under her feet felt softer. The walls weren't so twisted, things weren't shifting so much, vibrating through her senses. Sounds that echoed in ways they should not have were more muted. Helen wondered who or what this man was to this place, and after a time, she even asked.

"Who are you?"

No answer.

"Why do you two look alike?"

Nothing.

Of course, Helen had thought It had come in there to torment her, at some point in time, but the difference was more felt than realized, and a gut feeling kept her grounded on this one.

"Where are you?"

That question has the mirror fellow stopping. Now he could be viewed better, tall but not too tall. Dressed as if prepared for Winter, though the air very nearly felt like Summer. Helen waited to see what he would do, and when the answer was to start moving away again, she followed.

"I'm going to die here."

Not even a pause.

"Did you die here?'

Was it just her, or did she feel more tired? Weakening faster. Other sensations were starting to kick in again. How long has she been there? Her throat was dry... Helen tried to move a little faster, to catch up. She tripped, stumbled,

and caught herself with her hand upon the knob to a door.

Not Yellow. Not the way out. Plain, easy to miss as the hall shifted again around her and made her queasy. There was a round mirror on it, though, and in it she saw herself, nearly a corpse in appearance.

Behind her was the man, who looked a lot younger than she thought before. He almost smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. An unspoken apology on his lips, a hand closed over Helen's on the door handle.

"This is the only way."

↓

The doorknob was turned.

The Distortion was pulled into itself and remade.

Helen unbecame and became again, learning of Michael. Learning of the Distortion. And it learned her, became her as It had once been Michael.