#slitheringredemption

Slyn looks up from the base of Achilles' statue where he stays most days, expecting to see someone else paying their respects...

Instead, he sees Dunite. And she's staring right at him.

His tiny snake head lifts as a cold fear travels down his body. He wouldn't trust her in this state normally, but something about her face fills him with dread.

This isn't normal. Usually she just gives Slyn a glare in passing... but no, this is a hatred that would have him dead on the spot if looks could kill.

Something tells him he has to get away, and get away fast. He turns and starts crawling away, faster than he ever has in this state... but as Dunite marches forward, it's evident he has no hope of escaping her.

She picks up Slyn without any regard, the wooden joins of her fingers pinching his body. He hisses, mouth clamping down on her hands desperately, over and over as she walks out of the courtyard. The gummed bites leave no damage except an ache in his mouth.

"I should have done this a long time ago," he hears Dunite mutter as she carries him down the hall. Slyn looks around frantically, hissing out for help before her thumb clamps down over his mouth. Nothing releases her grip, no amount of thrashing and flailing and panicking... and finally, they reach the oh-so familiar door to the dungeon.

The musty darkness sends every bad memory he's ever had of being down here cycling through his brain like a video. All the times he's locked people away and beaten them, all the times he's been tortured himself, being locked up and isolated for longer than he can remember fill his mind at once, and the tears start. What is she doing? What did he do? Why did she bring him here? The panic starts to steal his breath as composure slips out of mental grasp, recollections of endless pain and anguish threatening to overthrow any remaining rationality.

"Quit fuckin' crying, you brought this upon yourself," Dunite whispers through gritted teeth as she throws him down into the coldest, darkest corner.

Slyn shakes off the impact of the throw, blinking in the dark to see Dunite sift through her bag. He trembles, paralyzed in the cold of his former prison, wishing he could scream or hiss loud enough for someone to hear.

And out of her bag, Dunite pulls out the head of a halberd, broken off at its wooden handle.

Slyn's eyes widen. It's the same halberd he used to kill her what feels like a year ago.

Dunite's eyes gleam against the ever so slight glint of the blade, her hand shaking as she holds the broken wooden handle. Slowly, she turns her head to the terrified little snake.

"What. Scared?"

He doesn't respond.

"Yeah, well, guess what. So was I. So was everyone."

She puts her hands on her knees, face wrinkling with disgust at Slyn like he's the most despicable creature in the whole world... and to her, he most certainly is.

"You know, my parents warned me about certain people. Greedy people. Selfish people. Abusive people who'd kill and hurt and relish in others' pain for one reason or another. Now doesn't that just sound familiar?"

Dunite scoffs, pacing back and forth. Slyn stays in the corner, paralyzed with fear and not daring to make a sound.

"I don't understand Icia," she continues. "To be honest, I think her whole idea of redemption is fucking crazy. I mean... you?? Redeeming yourself?? YOU KILLED ME!!!!

"And not even only that!!! You abused people, you stole stuff, you enforced Hexe's rule-"

Slyn flinches at the name.

"Oh don't pretend you're scared of her, you were her HUSBAND. You loved her, you did everything for her... for what, so you could be a 'good husband'? Is that what you wanted? To be a good husband? What about being a good person, huh?! A good KING?!"

Dunite crosses her arms. "Let's face it, Slyn. You never should've been king. Icia would've been a better ruler than you- hell, I think anyone would've been better than an abuser who enforced a tyrant's rule."

Slyn doesn't respond. He tries, though. It comes out as nothing more than a desperate hiss as he watches from the corner, paralyzed.

"... bet you know what's gonna happen now, Slyn. I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna drive the fucking blade down your neck and cut your head off."

She stops pacing and stands over him again, rage continuing to build along with a hint of anxiety. Is this really the best idea? Is she really doing the right thing?

Of course you are, Dunite, she thinks. You're killing a villain. Saving the kingdom. Getting your revenge.

"You're gonna go to the void. And you're going to see exactly why it's so horrifying, and exactly why I've been wanting you to experience it. 'Cause you don't know the HELL that being in the void is. It's the worst experience ever. It feels like being surrounded and filled with... hate. If hate had a feeling. The hatred of everyone else around you."

"That's how it feels. And when you fucking get there, you're gonna feel MY hate. You're gonna feel AKLATAN'S hate. SAMMY'S hate. THE COOKS. EVERYONE. AND THAT'S ALL YOU FUCKING DESERVE!!!"

She lowers herself, vision red with wrath. "Aren't you excited for that? To feel how much everyone really hates you once you get to the void? I know I sure am. 'Cause let's face it, no amount of words can describe how much I hate you, how much I hate what you did to us, your voice, your relationship to Icia, everything."

Slyn hisses again. And for a moment, Dunite pauses... only to burst out laughing.

No... cackling.

A dreaded cackle that sounds almost identical to the one he thought was forever gone.

"Is that supposed to be an APOLOGY?! ARE YOU SORRY NOW?!" She yells, with no regards about if anyone outside can hear her or not. "AFTER EVERYTHING, ONLY NOW YOU'RE SORRY?!?! YOU DON'T GET TO BE SORRY NOW, IT WON'T UNDO WHAT YOU DID!

"IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE PAIN OF DYING!!! IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE FEAR OF SEEING EVERYONE ABUSED!!! IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE FIGHTS, THE HATE, THE ABUSE, THE TORTURE, IT DOESN'T CHANGE OR UNDO ANYTHING YOU DID!!!! AND IT SURE AS ALL FUCK DOESN'T MAKE YOU WORTH FORGIVING!!! YOU'RE NOT SORRY, YOU'RE JUST AFRAID!!! AFRAID LIKE ALL OF US!!!"

Dunite's yells echo through the dungeon, Slyn trembling with each word. Tears fall down his face and body, blurring his already terrible vision.

Dunite pauses for a moment, heavily breathing as both hands take hold of the halberd head.

"I'm done with this," she whispers, stamping her foot on his tail. Slyn shrieks with pain. "You've heard enough. And if I were to say everything I wanted to say to you, we'd be here too damn long. You've already lived long enough."

Slyn stares for a moment before the fear in his face softens. Ever so slowly, he straightens his neck and lays his head on the stone below. His eyes squeeze shut.

Dunite lifts the halberd blade above her head.

"Good riddance, Slyn. I'll never forget how you made my second chance of life a true, complete hell."

And with a final grunt, lifting the blade higher just for a split second before bringing it down....

....... something falls on Slyn's body.

He flinches, thinking it to be the blade.... but no.

It's small. Wet.

A droplet.

There's no pain. No sound of the blade clashing on the stone. No splattering sounds. Nothing.

He pries his eyes open as another little wet droplet falls on him.

Dunite has frozen, the blade stopped right at her head and trembling in her grasp. Her lip quivers as light green tears drip down her face, falling onto the dirty stone below.

There's an expression full of pain Slyn's never seen in her eyes.

"..... I can't do it. Why...?" she whispers.

After a moments pause, she swings the blade down and aside, the metal flying across the dungeon until it clangs against the opposite wall. Dunite bursts with a frustrated yell.

"... why can't I do it??" she asks sharply. "I've wanted to kill you for so long, why.... why can't I do it...?"

Slyn doesn't dare move or open his mouth as Dunite sinks to her knees, more drops of peridot trickling down her face.

Her voice catches on sobs as she stares at her hands. "... I'm so mad," she mutters. "I don't understand. I can't stand you. I hate you. I want you dead. Why can't I kill you....?"

There's a pause, as if she's expecting him to answer.

The rage and adrenaline dissipates as she stares at the unused blade behind her, not a streak or drop of blood dirtying the metal like she was hoping.

Is she... relieved to see the blade clean? No... surely not... right?

"... Icia wants you alive. I don't get it. She'd be so upset if you died.... why...? She fought against you for so long, why does she want you alive now?"

... is it because you're related to her...? Is that why? You're suddenly family and she's so desperate to have a normal life here that she'll just... forgive you for everything?"

She pauses for a response that she knows won't come, a louder sob escaping her lips.

"... I can't do it 'cause of her. You better be... be fucking grateful I love Icia, 'c-cause if I didn't then..."

She stops in her sentence. The thought of how Icia would react if she went through it sends chills down Dunite's spine.

".... I still want you dead, though. I want you dead so bad. I was supposed to have a good life here, I was supposed to live happily and never have to worry 'bout death again... and then H-Hexe came, and you..."

Her voice trails off, and not a word follows. Only choked, shaky cries.

Pull yourself together, Dunite!!! She berates herself internally. What are you doing?! Don't cry in front of him, you're supposed to be the strong one here!

But she can't bring herself to grab the blade and finish what she started.

It's all over.

Slyn's so dizzy and shaky from adrenaline that it takes him a moment to realize exactly what happened. It confuses him as well, after everything he's done to... well, everyone. Why can't she kill him?

He couldn't entirely blame her if she changed her mind now. A part of him kind of wishes she did. Because she's right. All of this is his fault.

She has every right to kill him.

"... I hate you," Dunite whimpers. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..." over, and over, and over as more tears fall onto the ground in front of Slyn.

The snake looks down, wishing he could assure her that he feels exactly the same about himself. He's killed. He's tortured. He's abused. He's humiliated. He's done everything and more, all for what? For a fake wife? What was he thinking?

The question of what to do now slowly rises through Slyn's hazy thoughts. The door probably isn't locked, he could find a hole and wriggle out... but oddly enough, he doesn't want to leave Dunite here, alone and sobbing in the damp darkness. How would that make him better than any other time he's done it?

The snake hesitantly crawls forward, hoping she both reacts and doesn't react at the same time. Again, he wouldn't be surprised or mad if she did.

Dunite's eyes squint open as he crawls onto the puff of her dress and curls into a spiral as he's done in so many other places. Only once does he make eye contact, a soft, weak, exhausted stare that is slowly broken as he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh.

Regret floods through Dunite's body.

... I was going to kill him, she thinks with increasing horror. I want to kill him, I want him dead, but- Icia... and Raina... and Yume- oh my god, what am I doing?

Her quiet sobs grow louder as she leans down, head resting in her hands on the stone. A few small tears stream down Slyn's face and soak into her dress, guilt filling his whole being. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for him. They wouldn't be fighting, they wouldn't be screaming, they wouldn't be crying. No one would be.

Dunite turns her head to face Slyn.

"... I don't know what you've done to me," she whispers with bitter, regretful tears. "I was supposed to kill you and make everything better for everyone. Why did you have to go and make people love you...?"

Those words stab Slyn like a knife.

".... why did you have to go and make me not want to go through with it...?"

She turns her face back into her hands, the peridot tears seeping through her fingers.

"... I hate you. I hate what you've done to the Kingdom. I hate what you've done to Icia. I hate what you've done to me. I hate it. I hate you..."

"I hate you...."

"... I hate you."

The dungeon door creaks open, and the familiar sound of light, sharp steps down the stone makes Dunite sit straight up.

The light shines from behind the figure, gleaming against her light blue... no- ice blue hair. Her silver eye is wide with horror, going from the halberd blade strewn across the cell to the puppet girl sat in the opposite corner.

"... Dunite..?." Icia utters as she starts to approach. More tears pool down Dunite's face as she hears the terrified tone.

"What did you do....?"

Dunite opens her mouth, only to break into tears once again. "I'm sorry.... I couldn't do it, but I'm sorry...." is all she manages to say.

Icia starts to ask what she means, only to have her voice trail off as she stands over her friend....

Slyn's absolute least favorite day of the year. Just waking up and realizing what day it was fills him with a primal fear instilled in him years ago... the expectations. The faking. The roses.

Oh god, the roses. How he loathes the roses on Valentines day, it's like they're everywhere he turns.

Slyn turns his head towards the rosebush of the garden, fearing the worst. And just as he had dreaded, it's blossoming bright and beautiful, seeming to outshine every other flower in the courtyard.

He grimaces as best as a toothless snake can grimace. The petals, loose at the top and furling into each other, growing tighter and tighter towards the center until they're folded onto each other into a nub peeking out from the rounds of red.

That furling folding shape that he knows far too well... a voice echoes in his mind, despite his best attempts to distract himself.

"80 petals. Don't you dare forget this time, Vincent."

... 80 petals. 80 petals or else it'd be all worth nothing, he thinks to himself, turning and crawling away.

Such a stupid, insignificant factor, yet one taken so seriously. How he hated the idea of trying to count every single petal, hated pissing off each florist in the area because none of their roses had enough, and most of all hated how one rose wouldn't do. There needed to be at least 5 for Roseanne to be satisfied.

Slyn crawls into the castle, lost in his thoughts. The air reeks of love and joy, feelings he's never understood on this day. It's always just been a chore for him, a competition to outdo last years near-impossible lavish display of affection, no matter who it was for.

Roseanne had stuck to her namesake. She loved her roses. Loved them to the point he saw them everywhere in his home, even on the most mundane of days. Almost all of those roses, either from Slyn himself or colleagues trying to convince her she could do better. "You're not doing enough", she'd snarl. "Look at what they got me, and you only got me half! Do you not love me?!"

Always a competition for her love, he thinks bitterly. How pathetic he felt, desperately trying to convince her he did love her, money was just tight. Or the florists didn't have more. Nothing soothed her rage, except a good few hits to the face and some special demands.

.... wow. He really was a weak man back then.

Slyn tilts his head in the direction of some giggling, peaking inside a craft room to see Nova sitting on the ground, cutting red paper into hearts while laughing like a kid. For a moment, the snake pauses.

He remembers that. Kids cutting out hearts and giving them to each other in the halls of school, sneaking them into lockers of their crushes along with candies and flowers from the potted plants kept on the teachers' shelves.

Not once does he ever remember receiving one.

And not once did he ever feel such joy and excitement making one.

Slyn stares at Nova's excited eyes, listening to hums of joy and blissful laughter as he undoubtedly imagines Mirobelle's reaction to his gift.

.... is this really how people feel about this day?

He already knows the answer. He's seen it with his own eyes, time and time again, romantic and platonic, but it all baffles him regardless.

He's never given valentines. He's never received them. He's never had a genuine Valentines experience that he's truly enjoyed, not with family, not with friends, and most definitely not with lovers.

An ill pang of jealousy flushes down Slyn's body.

Is he really that unloveable...?

To be surrounded by so much joy and love, yet feel nothing but anxiety and loneliness. Why is he like this?

Slyn continues crawling along until he reaches his room, feelings mixed and thoughts disorganized. He hates this holiday because he never got what everyone else did. He hates it for the competition it had to be for him, to always impress his lovers. He hated it for the torture he put himself through. Because that's what love is, right?

He gave everything for Roseanne, did everything and all he could, and received nothing but beatings and insults in turn. Hexe was better and worse at the same time... she never did care what he did. He'd turn the castle upside down, spoiling her with lavish gifts and the biggest bundles of flowers she could find, yet she'd give nothing more than a half hearted thanks.

One incident in particular echoes in Slyn's mind as he crawls up the stairs. A bundle of flowers- thankfully not roses- clutched in his arms, the cloth binding them stained with the blood of several... he forced the cooks to craft a divine meal. Found red flower petals and showered the dining room with them. Ignored everyone's confused whispers as he ran to and fro, desperate for... anything. Anything for some semblance of love.

And when Hexe saw it all?

".... hm. It will have to do."

An angry tear pricks at his eye. What was she expecting from the man she called weak and insignificant? Nothing much, evidently, just nearly breaking his back trying to carry all the flowers in one trip.

And the worst part? All Slyn remembers is the joy.

The joy of not being completely ignored. The joy of not being hit or screamed at or told to please her in other ways. The joy of below the bare minimum, but above rock bottom.

....

He's at a loss for feelings. That was love to him. It was abuse and screaming, and then it was "you will do". It was all love in his eyes.

But he's seen Icia and Lance. He's seen Mirobelle and Nova. He's seen Latte and Aklatan, or Vaga and Nathan, or even...

.... Samuel and Alex.

Samuel.

One time he tried giving Slyn a good Valentines day. Just once.

It involved a ride on the dragons... Slyn remembers clearly how he complained about the cold, despite how free it felt to feel his hair whipping in the wind. Samuel, over and over, kept assuring it would be fine, his hands resting on Slyn's shoulders and waist.

He had more planned, he said. But a rush of fear had filled Slyn's mind, and he quickly excused himself after the dragon ride and hid in his bed. That didn't stop Samuel from still trying to bring him dinner, knocking on the wood and saying he hoped he wasn't asleep.

Slyn pauses again before continuing. He's never felt more stupid.

He did have a good Valentines. Or, at least, he had someone attempt to make it good for him.

But he threw it out.

What a stupid, stupid man.

Finally, Slyn reaches his room and wriggles uncomfortably under the door, head spinning with regret and confusion.

Love was yelling.

Love was fighting.

Love was demanding.

Love was complying.

Love was ignoring.

Love was sneering.

Love was giving everything.

Is love still giving everything? Why does he still hear it so often, to give everything? Even if he gave everything it still wasn't enough.

People now say love is kind.

Love is understanding.

Love is reassuring.

Love is mutual.

Love is safe.

Love is joyous.

Love is exciting.

And this wretched day, it should be about love.... but to him, it feels like none of the above. Only anxiety, loneliness, and the expectation of, once again, being ignored.

He starts crawling up the wooden bed post, against the ribbed texture he almost forgotten. None of what Roseanne or Hexe gave him was love, at least according to everyone else. But it all felt so normal and right, even though he envied the normal situations others experienced... but then, when given the opportunity, he ran away and disregarded everything done to him, just as his wives once had.

Slyn curls up on the dusty bedsheets, faded of his human stench. He sighs and closes his eyes.

He doesn't understand this holiday.

He doesn't understand love.

He doesn't understand not-love.

Slyn drowsily lifts his head as Icia and... someone else comes into view. His eyes narrow.

"What do you want now?" he hisses.

Icia steps forward, kneeling in front of him and presenting something.... a pillow. Slyn's head tilts as he stares at it... what is this? Some kind of mockery? A gift?

He looks up at her face. "Icia, wh-"

He stops dead in his words. There are tears running down Icia's face.

It's been so long since Slyn has seen her cry like this... last time, it was of grief and anger. Her silver eye gazes back at him... there's no anger. But there is grief. So, so much grief.

Slyn feels a cold shiver down his spine as his anger temporarily subsides.

"... what is this?"

"It.... was in Achilles' will."

It takes a moment before the daunting chill flushes through Slyn's face. His eyes widen as his hands take the pillow... the heads of snakes that make up his fingers rest into the plush sensation as a rushing forms in his ears.

"...... did he....."

Icia only nods, kneeling as tears race to drop and hit her hands in her lap. The person behind her glows blue in the dark... or moreso, parts of them glow blue.

Slyn's head drifts from side to side a little, as if his neck is losing strength to hold it up. A sick, nauseating, familiar feeling wells up in his stomach as he holds the pillow closer.

He doesn't have words.

There's a moment of silence.... before a very loud, muffled scream almost causes Icia and her guest to startle back. The pillow barely keeps Slyn's scream at a tolerable level.... his voice gives out after a few minutes, and he lowers the pillow, hot tears matching Icia's as they pool down his face.

I didn't even get to say goodbye, is what he wants to say. The words don't present themselves like that. They come out as ".... was he happy to go?"

Icia nods. Slyn can't decide if he feels better or worse about that, the ill feeling inside churning as if trying to break free from his stomach and take over his whole body. He can't remember the last time he felt that pain, despite its familiarity.

The misery is too much for him to be angry. How could he be? Achilles has been wanting this for years, and he finally got it. How could he be mad?

After a moment, Slyn manages to collect himself. Icia hands him a letter.

"In his will, he left you a pillow... and I decided to give one of his blankets as well. I know you don't do well in the cold."

"Don't pretend to care about me and if I'm okay in the cold or not."

"She's not pretending."

Slyn's head snaps up at the unfamiliar voice.... he focuses on the figure behind Icia, a masculine figure with strange legs... they seem to shrink a bit under his natural glare.

"... Icia," he mutters, bitterness returning. "Who is that."

Icia stands, motioning the figure to come closer... Slyn squints in the dark, eyes more then well adjusted but still unable to see some of their details. As he approaches, the plaid pattern of an unbuttoned shirt starts to grow visible, white eyes a stark yet not blinding contrast to the black around him.

".... Antonio, this is Slyn. Slyn, this is Starro, your... younger brother."

The hollow, bitter resent reclaims its stake on Slyn's mind as he makes out whatever details about this straner that he can. The glowing, bluish patches on his body are shaped like stars, he can see that clearly. Starro awkwardly waves, the star in the middle of his hand being easy to track through the absence of light.

"Hi..." Starro mutters. Slyn bites back an expression of disgust, hearing that young, almost feminine voice. If Icia didn't introduce them as such, he never would have even imagined two people so obviously different to be related.

Speaking of which, he can feel her gaze stiffening on him... she's expecting him to say something, and it's a challenge for him to not simply say 'fuck off'.

".... hello," Slyn finally spats. He hopes that this person can hear the hatred and disdain in his voice... which, given the way his eyes drop to the ground and Icia's narrow, certainly was heard.

Icia's sigh is almost just as frustrated.

"I have some business to attend to down here, cleaning up the rocks and glass so you aren't walking or sleeping on all of that stabbing crap."

"You don't need to."

"Oh for gods' sake, Slyn, I know I don't need to, but I want to. You do not deserve these living conditions... and I'm honestly ashamed I've let you live in them for so long."

Slyn mutters under his breath and looks away, arms folded. He bites back a 'thanks' as Icia goes back up the stairs of the dungeon and comes down with a broom and dustpan.

"You two may talk as you please... I only ask that you keep things civil," she says with a cold stare at Slyn before going to one corner of the dungeon. Starro takes a seat on the ground where he is, and says.... nothing.

For what feels like forever, there is no sound except the gentle sweeping of the broom. Slyn's hateful gaze never leaves Starro.

"..... are you... lonely down here?"

"No."

"Got it, got it, um.... you have a nice plant. You seem to take really good care of it"

"........"

The uncomfortable tension rises as Starro stiffens.

".. Come on, man, work with me here, I'm trying to talk with you."

"And I'm trying to not," Slyn hisses through barred teeth. "In case you haven't realized yet, I hate you."

Icia's head snaps up as she starts a harsh correction. "Slyn-"

"Viv, lemme talk to him, it's fine."

"Fine???"

Starro turns towards his sister. "This is our conversation, I can manage it just fine. I promise. Just let me talk for myself this time."

After a short pause, Icia nods and returns her attention to sweeping.

Starro turns back to Slyn, whose expression hasn't changed in the slightest.

"I was kind of expecting that."

"Good, so you aren't completely brainless."

A small dash of red shoots through the pale indigo within Starro's cheeks as Slyn continues.

"I'll say it again. I hate you. I fucking hate you, and I fucking hate your sister. I hate our whole fucking family, but I hate you two the most for replacing me and-"

"Replacing???"

Slyn's bitter yet controlled ranting grows into a harsher snarl.

"Don't act like you don't know- our mother and father gave me up when I was barely 3, and I went to the shittiest orphanage she could find. The one time I look them up and try to find her when I'm 12, what do I see? I see you four. Happy. Thriving. The whole happy-family experience."

"Now wait just a minute-"

"No, kid, you don't get to tell me to wait. I waited in that orphanage 'till I was 16, and then I was out. I waited for our mom to come back for me while you guys had her and our dad. You all had the good family while I was fucking forgotten and thrown out for NO damn reason!!!"

Starro stands, the rest of the indigo fading into a pale red. "Don't you talk about our family like we were perfect, you had no IDEA what we went through!!! And for the record, we didn't even know about you until a few months ago! You can't be mad at US for something our mom did, and we didn't!!!"

Slyn stands as well, raising only slightly above Starro. "I'll be angry at you two all I FUCKING want. I should have been part of your family! I should have had the family meals and parents who celebrated my goals and whatnot, but instead, I got stuck with even MORE women who didn't give a shit about me and only paid attention when I did something wrong!!! I don't care what your mom did, she was supposed to be mine as well!!!"

If it weren't for a serious glare from Starro, Icia would be pulling him back up the stairs by now, muttering about how terrible this idea was. Her legs freeze in place (for once, not literally), however, and she finds herself unable to do anything but watch as Starro steps towards Slyn. Angry tears prick his eyes.

"You don't know the hell that woman put us through," he seethes, stars brightening. "You don't know the hell she put ME and VIV and OUR DAD through. Our mother was an insane Catholic woman who would berate you and hit you for anything that didn't align with her conservative values!

"And it was so much worse after Viv here disappeared, because she was so insistent that her golden child would come home that she took all her anger out on me and our dad, who was too fucking meek to stand up to her. Our mother was an ABUSER, AND SOMETIMES I WISH I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A MOM BECAUSE OF WHAT SHE PUT US THROUGH!!!"

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING SAY YOU WISH YOU DIDN'T HAVE A MOM, I WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING TO HAVE A MOM EVEN IF SHE WAS SHIT, BECAUSE AT LEAST SHE WAS THERE FOR YOU GUYS!!!" Slyn screams, eyes blurry with red and tears.

"YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT OUR FAMILY, I WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING FOR WHAT YOU SAY WE HAD!!!"

Slyn can't remember the last time he felt this angry, as he rears his hand back and prepares for a slap. Icia's eye widens.

"Try it, Slyn. Hit me. I fucking dare you to try."

Starro doesn't flinch. He doesn't move. His voice has lowered to a deathly calm yet threatening tone.... for a moment, Slyn thinks he sees the flickering of a glitch those glowing, white, tear-filled eyes.

His hand shakes...

Come on Slyn, do it, fucking hit him already, he deserves it, go on, hit him, he replaced you, it's all... his... fault....

.... and he falters.

Slyn's head tilts to the ground, tears falling onto the stone below.

"... it's all your fault," he whispers angrily. Starro shakes his head.

"... no. It's her fault."

Slyn staggers back until he feels his hand against the mossy wall, and he sinks down and leans his head against it in a pathetic attempt to hide his tears. Starro follows and sits next to him, crying softly as well.

"... it isn't fair," Slyn mutters. "What kind of a person gives up their child and then goes on to have two more, not even a few years later...?"

Starro just looks down, blue starting to overtake the red of his stars.

".... not a good mother, that's for sure. And she wasn't one, not at all. She hurt us all. She tried turning us into things we weren't, all in the name of love."

"I would have taken it regardless."

Slyn turns to Starro. "All I wanted was to be loved by someone."

Starro looks back at Slyn. "It wasn't love, though. She thought it was.... but it wasn't. It was hatred. It was paranoia."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference."

Starro looks down.

".... not if you know what real love looks like."

Slyn's closes his eyes, trembling as he curls his hands into fists. "She could have shown me what it looked like."

"No, she couldn't. Her delusions and religious ideas warped it all. Her view of love was just as fucked as yours is now. Abuse isn't love, no matter how you justify it."

Starro turns so his back is against the wall, as he stares at the large plant. The memories are painful... it hurts to hear Slyn say how he wishes he had their mother, knowing who she was.

"Beatings... yelling... cursing... I tried everything to escape it. Viv had to protect me sometimes, she was the only one who could really calm Ma down. I was nothing to our mom without Viv."

Icia feels as if she's been stabbed with those words.

"And when she was gone.... everything kind of went down the drain. I tried to be a good son for her. I really did. But everything about me was wrong... my face, my style, my voice, my behavior, my friends...."

He looks back at Slyn. "You wanted a loving mother. You deserved a loving mother. That wasn't what our mom was."

Slyn doesn't respond.

".... I'm... sorry she gave you up. I'm sorry you had to live in that orphanage..... and I wish I could tell you why she did it. I can't, though. I just can't. But... to be honest... I'm kind of glad you didn't have to deal with her. Not having her meant you didn't have the abuse... the yelling... the fights... the stupid church...

"But, we seriously didn't know anything. She probably kept you secret for a reason... probably 'cause I think if we did know, we'd have tried to find you by now. Does it, I dunno... make you feel better to hate us?"

Slyn hesitates before shrugging.

"... you're the closest things to her, I guess."

"We aren't her though... we were fucked over by her, too. Not in the same way that you were, but she kind of fucked us all over. It's not a 'you against us' kinda thing. It's us against her."

Starro looks at Icia, who quickly resumes sweeping and pretending she hasn't been near tears this whole time. He pretends to not notice, redirecting his gaze to Slyn still leaning against the wall. He's stopped crying, but tears and specks of dirt streak his face.

"... can I admit something?"

Slyn's gaze lifts to Starro.

"I was really kind of excited to hear that I had a sibling, when we first learned. I've always wanted a brother."

"You don't want me as your brother, kid," Slyn retorts, turning away. "That's the most ridiculous piece of bullshit I've ever heard, look at me."

"I mean... Viv does, and she had to deal with you first hand. If she likes you enough to still want you in our family, I wanna give you a chance too."

Slyn tries to maintain the disdain in his voice. "That's long overdue. I don't wanna be part of your damn family, especially not with that poor excuse of a mother."

There's a silent moment, and Slyn wonders if he struck a nerve. Not like he cares though... why would he? Right?

"... what if it was just us?"

"... what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, we're... kind of all we have left. You don't have to deal with her."

Starro looks back at Viv again, who's paused to stare at a shard of glass in her hand. She swallows thickly, the forming tears in her eye glistening in the dark and reflecting his blue glow.

"Again, I don't understand what that's supposed to mean."

Starro hugs his legs a little.

"... last time I saw my mom, I was paying for her hospice care at an old nursing home. There's no way she's still alive. And... our father passed a couple years after Vivian disappeared, heart condition."

He stares straight ahead.

"Any grandparents we have probably aren't around anymore... we don't have contact with any of our cousins or aunts or uncles.... it's just us."

A tense, melancholy silence hangs in the air.

"... sorry for your loss."

Starro wipes his eyes a little, the grief coming off as a kind of numb feeling that brings a dark, pale blue to his stars, before he turns to Slyn.

"It's just Viv and I now... but it could be all of us. We can't really give you the feeling of having a mom that you've wanted, obviously, and Viv and I aren't perfect with each other either, we're both still dealing with what our mother did and we have our ups and downs... but it's better than nothing."

"... so..?"

"So, we can be an actual family. The three of us. We can be that healthy family you thought we had, with family dinners, and talks, and whatever. That's what Viv's been wanting to do this whole time with you, after all..."

Slyn's irritation, unbeknownst to him, starts to fade.

".... you realize how fucking cheesy all of that sounds, right?"

Starro shrugs. "I may have watched a tad few found-family movies growing up."

Slyn stares before bringing a hand up to his mouth, stifling what Starro really hopes is a genuine laugh. "Yeah, that makes sense... you know what else you are?" he asks with a possibly real smile.

"What?"

"Stubborn as a damn mule."

Another shrug. "Runs in our blood... from what I've heard, you used to be pretty stubborn, too."

"Used to? This man STILL won't accept that people actually care about him here, even with everything Yume, Raina, and I have been doing," Icia chimes in.

"No one asked you," Slyn retorts with a growing grin. Both Icia and Starro force a laugh in response, though neither particularly dislike the comment, as Slyn turns around and rests his back against the wall. "Besides... I don't need to accept anything I don't think I'm worth."

"You're gonna have to accept that some people like you eventually."

"Yeah? What about the other residents?"

Starro looks away, sucking in air sharply through his teeth.

".... no comment?"

Slyn sighs and rests his chin on his knees. "I really don't understand why you're trying so hard. Why you and Vi- Icia, both are."

"Do you seriously need me to summarize everything I just said before...?" the younger asks. Slyn shrugs.

"Our mom fucked us all over, and our dad let her. Maybe not all in the same ways, but she still fucked us over. She fucked you over by not giving you a family, so the least we can do for you is try and give you one now. Or at least a good support system while you- while all of us- heal. Mainly from her, but also just everything in general."

"... even with who I am?"

"Who you used to be, Slyn," Icia interjects. "It's not you anymore. You've changed and grown a lot, you aren't the abusive king you once were."

Starro nods. "People change, for better and for worse. You got people here who want to see you get better... and I'm willing to bet money that you want to see yourself get better, too."

The silence is deafening, but not nearly as tense as before. Slyn tilts his head back, thinking about their conversation so far. The short screaming match, the tears, the admittance, and the reassuring... all from this one person he knows nothing about.

"..... question. How old are you....?"

Starro falters at the sudden question.

"... um... 25?"

"Huh.... 7 years younger than me and still wiser."

"You're only 32?!" Icia exclaims, once again pausing from her cleaning duties.

"... yeah."

"You said this whole time you were 40."

Starro stifles a laugh. "I can believe that."

"Hey!!"

The laughter of all three echoes through the entirety of the dungeon.

"Uh... yeah. I honestly don't really know why I lied about it."

"I mean..." Starro stretches his legs, adjusting his shirt. "I lied about my age all the time when I was a teen-"

"Antonio!!!!"

"Lo so, lo so, that's why I didn't tell you, Viv, or else you'd never let me hear the end of it. Be glad I'm not telling you why."

"I don't think I want to..."

Slyn chuckles a bit... something sounds oddly genuine about it.

"Lo so, hm?"

"Yeah, it means "I know" in Italian. ... wait, did you live in Italy?"

".... yes? Until I was 17." he nods.

Starro feels that he probably should've realized that. "Sooooo... parli italiano?"

Slyn hesitates. "... um."

Starro's mild excitement disappears. "... you can't speak italian, can you...?" he asks, a little disappointed.

"I never needed to. I wanted to get out of Italy as soon as possible, so I didn't put effort into learning the language aside from basics. The only subject I put in any effort in school was English, and I moved to England once I turned 17."

Starro wrinkles his nonexistent nose a bit. "England?? Really?"

"What, do you think I was going to go to America? The states?"

"Kinda... but like... England? Really?"

"That would explain the accent you had when we first met... you've really lost it over the years," Icia thinks, remembering how he used to speak. It was a slight accent, but noticeable nevertheless.

Slyn shrugs. "In hindsight... I certainly could have gone somewhere else. But at the time, I just wanted to get as far away from Italy as possible."

"Jesus... you really aren't a fan, huh?"

"It's just the memories.... unfortunately, England didn't end up being much better, either. Bad memories were replaced by even worse ones... ones I'd really rather avoid talking about right now."

"That's fair, I get that..."

There's a small, awkward pause.

"... your name is... Starro? Right?"

He nods. "Mhm. Fitting, huh?"

"Mmh..."

Starro looks down at his hands. ".... you can also call me Antonio, though. If you want. It's something just for friends and family."

".... I'll stay with Starro. We're not quite family. Or.. friends."

A little glow of blue seeps in through the tips of Starro's cheek stars, but he shrugs. "I mean, I would consider you both.. but alright, up to you."

"You barely know me. We're family only by blood," Slyn replies. His tone is relatively neutral.

"That doesn't change things for me."

A hint of annoyance grows in Slyn's voice. "You only met me today. We have had one somewhat decent conversation, and that's all it takes for you to consider me a friend? Is it seriously that easy for you?"

Starro tries not to look away or feel embarrassed... he can't tell if this is Slyn trying to shame him for it or not.

"... yes?"

"..... Icia, is this also the way you see me?"

"Yes, it is, actually," she answers, gathering the glass and rubble she's swept into a large pile, gathering it into a large dustpan. "The difference is, I know you more. No, I don't know what your past is like, and no, I don't expect you to care for either of us, especially if you think us to be 'replacements'... but I still know you. I know what entertains you. I know what bores you. I know what you enjoy, and I know some of what you cannot stand."

Icia shakes her hands out, sweeping dust off them. "I remember many of our interactions and bickering, Slyn, even long before 'her'. I have known you for quite some time, just as you have known me."

"... and you're still insistent on me being part of your family."

"Once again, I know you. You will hear it so many times, you are not as terrible as you once were. You deserve good things.... whether you accept it or not. Do you also deserve to atone for your actions? Yes. But do you also deserve to heal and embrace a kinder, healthier life where you are loved now...? Also yes."

Slyn's head hangs low as Icia approaches.

"I know you don't like us whatsoever as if now... but, as Tonio said earlier, it's not you against us. I hope you accept that, one day... because we both want to embrace you as family."

It doesn't make sense, he doesn't understand.

"... why, though....?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Starro chimes in.

"We moreso think of it as... why not? Not like we have other family to consult about this. It isn't like you being a Marino will affect anyone else in a negative way."

"And if it does..?"

"Well...." she shrugs. "We'll cross that bridge when we reach it."

Slyn says nothing for a long, long, long time. Neither do Icia and Starro, as they wait for some response, any response.

".... I would like some time alone, please. To think it all over."

"That's completely understandable. And perfect timing, I just finished cleaning," Icia nods.

"... did... um...."

"..?"

"... did you at least enjoy our conversation....?"

Slyn stares at Starro's hopeful face... it's so interesting to him how such simple eyes can be so expressive, full of almost a childlike hope.

".... yeah. I did."

Starro's stars glow a warm yellow as he beams.... the color reminds Slyn of something surprising. Fireflies.

"We'll let you rest now, Slyn. Do you need anything else?"

Slyn thinks a moment before shaking his head. "I don't believe so.... but um... thank you for visiting today. And.... the pillow, and blanket, and cleaning up down here so no one gets hurt."

Icia's smile is soft and warm. "You're very welcome, Slyn."

She suddenly pauses. "Oh- I almost forgot, I have something for you."

Slyn tilts his head as Icia pulls an old photograph out of her skirt pocket. His eyes widen; its the photograph of him and his mother when he was born.

Icia hands the photo to Slyn, who stares before taking it. "I know you probably don't want this... but I feel you should be able to do whatever you want with it. It's yours, after all."

Slyn immediately turns over the photo, not wanting to look at the picture. He already saw it the first time, he doesn't want to see it again. Instead, he turns it over.

"Benvenuto primogenito, Vincent Marino"

.... Vincent Marino...

The more he reads the name, the more it regains its familiarity until it's no longer just a name. It's his name.

"It's a nice name, I'd say... Vincent Marino. It fits. Vincent, Vivian, and Antonio... Vin, Viv, and Tonio..."

Slyn does not respond.

"We'll leave you be now.... Tonio? Anything else to say?"

"Not that I can think of.... it was really nice meeting you, Slyn, I hope we can talk again sometime soon. Even if you don't like me, I really enjoyed talking to you," Starro says with a smile, standing up.

"I agree. I hope all three of us can talk more in the future... but until then, goodnight Slyn. I hope you sleep well. Thank you for being at least somewhat willing to talk to us."

Icia goes and grabs the broom and dustpan, before walking up the stairs with Starro. The dungeon entrance closes softly behind them... and just like that, Slyn is once again left in solitude with his thoughts.

Normally, after this kind of thing, Slyn would find himself with bitter tears falling down his face, or he'd punch the wall until his snakes are bruised and bloody. This time, however... he feel calm. Tranquil, almost.

He looks down at the photo in his hands, turning it over and staring at the picture. Even through the dark, the outline of his mother causes a hint of anger to swell within him. He still doesn't understand why she left him, or why she had kids after him. He stares at the baby in her arms... such an innocent, unaware, little being, who grew to be abused, and then eventually an abuser. He wishes someone could have scooped that child into their arms and given it the love it deserved.

Slyn wonders if his mother held his siblings in a more loving way when they were born... he almost wishes he could still be mad at Icia and Starro, but they're right. Its not him against them. They didn't know, how could they be at fault for their mother's actions?

The fact they still want him to be their brother, though... it still doesn't make much sense to him. After everything he's done to others, after everything he's done to Icia. How could she be willing to forgive him? Why is she willing to forgive him?

Slyn lies down, resting his head on the pillow. It's been so long since he's laid his head on something soft other than his arm or a patch of overgrown moss. Pulling the blanket over himself, he finally feels truly warm for the first time he can really remember.

Slyn stares at the photo as his eyes grow heavy.

"... Vincent Marino," he whispers. "Marino. I'm a Marino."

For the first time since learning about it, he doesn't entirely hate how that sounds.

Their mother won't ever be my mother, he thinks, shoving the picture under his pillow. And... they won't be my siblings.

Not yet.

But....

He closes his eyes.

I guess it's not so bad to have someone who cares for me. Better late than never, I suppose.

....

Goodbye, Achilles. Thank you for giving me something to sleep with. I'm sorry you aren't here for me to see it.

The dungeon doors opening. Slyn looked up, shielding his eyes from the light. He hadn't moved from the spot Icia left him in, too exhausted and and grieved to try and get familiar with his prison.

A familiar voice pierced the air.

"I'm assuming Icia told you everything."

He bared his teeth, glaring at Achilles' silhouette.

"She didn't need to tell me shit. I saw it all."

"Then you saw how Hexe was finally killed. And how Ramiro was killed along with her."

"SHUT UP. STOP... TALKING ABOUT IT."

There's a moment of silence, only filled by stifled cries from the smaller of the men.

"Look, Slyn. I'm not here to scold you. Icia's already done that, and she'll do it more... so will everyone else. I'm just here to say bye."

Slyn paused.

"... what?"

"Raina's removing everyone's curses. Which means by the time you're freed, if you ever are, I'll be gone."

Achilles' voice was almost grateful, knowing he'd be gone soon. "I just have one question, though.... for years, you made it clear I didn't matter. And then suddenly, you seemed to care these last few weeks.... at least, more than before. Why?"

"None of your fucking business, I don't."

"Are you sure that's how you want this goodbye to go?"

".............. I don't care about you," Slyn whispered, turning away.

Achilles sighed. "I never thought I'd admit this. But you're a really terrible liar when you're miserable. But fine."

"Guess this is goodbye, then. Enjoy rotting for everything you did to the kingdom. I hope you regret it all." He got up and turned to leave.

".... I hope you reunite with your wife and daughter."

Achilles paused. Of course. It was Slyn who heard that conversation with Odette. Of course it was fucking Slyn.

..... but the slight hints of sympathy now made sense at least.

".... Yeah. I can't wait to see them again."

".... Good luck, Slyn. With whatever becomes of you."

Achilles left, and the dungeon closed once again. Slyn curled up on the ground in misery.

[New tags below]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Man... end of an era.

Until Achilles passes, he will be open for asks. Once he does, this blog will mainly be Slyn.

Here are yalls tags until the new pinned post is made:

Asks: #askthefallen

Achilles RP: #thefallenhero

Slyn RP: #slitheringredemption

... what about it‐? What does that mean???

... that's my family name- Mia Marino is my mother.

..........

..... you're KIDDING ME-

NO, IM NOT. THAT- THIS IS MY MOTHER. MIA MARINO. FROM ITALY. IM VIVIANNA MARINO.

.... no- SHUT UP. YOU'RE MY REPLACEMENT?!?!

*Icia stands there, the room progressively growing colder. Slyn looks at Icia, very confused by whats going on but not wanting to interfere.*

...............

*She leans down and picks up the frosty photo.*

Do you want this.

.... no. I don't want to see that bitch's face again.

Good. I'll be keeping this and showing it to our other brother.

*She looks at him coldly.*

I'll be back to talk later. Because this isn't something that any of us are going to sweep under the rug.... especially not me. No matter how much more you may hate me. Because like it or not, we're both victims of our mother in one way or another, and we can't ignore that.

*Icia breaks her legs out of the ice encasing them and storms out, holding her stomach and trying her god awful best to not cry out loud. The dungeon door slams closed.*

*Slyn sits in the cold, all alone. He holds his plant closer.*

(.... I don't get it. There's no way she's my sister. No way. I don't believe it. She can't be. Right...? And there's no way I have a brother too.)

(....... what the fuck did you do to us, Mia....)

that's what I thought you'd say...

she grabs a torch off the wall tossing the photo in it and watching it burn for a moment.

she turns to leave, looks like she's done here...

.... oh you've got to be kidding me-.

.... what.