Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moss pulled themself out of their sleep, breathing heavily.

They sat up and glanced over at the clock.

It was almost 3:30 am.

Moss considered trying to go back to sleep, but they knew they would just have another nightmare. Giving up on sleep, they grabbed their phone, pulled out their headphones, and put on some music.

It was only two or three more hours.

They could last that long.

Chapter Text

it didn't hurt physic4lly, not re4lly, but it still hurt. it hurt like d4rk, gross sludge sliding down the w4lls of their stom4ch to join 4 pool of icky goo. it hurt like someone squeezing their he4rt, not enough to hurt, but enough to be uncomfort4bly tight. it hurt like filling their lungs with cotton so they could b4rely bre4the.

it hurt in 4 w4y th4t m4de them w4nt to bre4k bones.

it hurt in 4 w4y th4t m4de them w4nt to slice through soft flesh.

te4rs slid down their f4ce. they didn't blink. their smile didn't ch4nge.

they st4red 4t nothing, while their soul scre4med.

it hurt like betr4y4l.

th4t w4s when they decided th4t their number one rule would be to trust no one. even if they thought they knew them. bec4use cle4rly, they didn't.

Chapter Text

Your mouth hangs open. You can't help it. Mur arms are covered in scars. Mu's grinning like a maniac.

"when you tr4vel 4round 4s much 4s i do, sc4rs tend to pile up on you," mu says in response to your unasked question. Mur voice is light with amusement.
"four ex4mple," mu continues, pulling up mur sleeve to reveal a slash on mur left shoulder, "i got this from a prison gu4rd who got 4 lil too close four comfort when i w4s esc4ping once."

Across the room, your friend snorts.
"Why am I not surprised to hear that you've been in jail?"

"Were you attacked by a vampire?!" you interject in excitement, pointing to two small scars in mur forearm.

"4ctu4lly, i w4sn't 4tt4cked, but th4t is 4 v4mpire bite. they were kind4 sque4mish 4bout drinking from sentient beings, but they were so dehydr4ted th4t if they didn't drink soon, they would lose it 4nd prob4bly 4tt4ck someone, so they 4greed to t4ke my blood," mu explains, allowing you to run your fingers gently over mur scars.

"What about these ones?" you ask, lightly tracing some slashes near mur elbow. Mu wrinkles mur nose at them.

"good question. i'm 4ctu4lly not sure where those c4me from. prob4bly got 'em in the he4t of b4ttle 4nd didn't notice. or m4ybe i scr4ped 4g4inst something sh4rp in the l4ndslide th4t broke my leg? th4t w4s 4 while 4go, but i dont remember seeing them befour th4t, 4nd i kind4 remember seeing 'em sometime 4fter, so."

"And where did this come from? Huh, that's funny," you say, gently poking a scar near mur watch. You don't notice mur tense as you touch it. "It's still red."

"Red?" your buddy on the couch pipes up.

"Yeah, it's still-"

"Crimson," mu interrupts. "it's. it's Crimson."
Mur voice sounds strange. You try to read mur expression, but mur hair is in mur face, and for once, mur emotions are sealed tight inside mur where you can't feel them.

"Crimson is a shade of red," your friend says, rolling their eyes.

Mu's silent for a moment. Mu pulls mur arm away and puts mur jacket back on, hiding mur scars.

"th4t's enough ogling my sc4rs," mu says, shaking mur hair out of mur face. Mur usual grin is in place, and mur eyes sparkle mischievously as mu asks, "now, who w4nts to he4r 4bout the time i ne4rly burned down 4 hospit4l?"

Chapter Text

The year is 2017. It is early spring, and flowers are spreading pollen everywhere. It gets on the cars, paints sidewalks yellow, floats like a blanket in ponds. It is still quite cool, but Florida being Florida, that will quickly change.
It is early morning, and the birds are just beginning to chirp. Soon, alarms will be ringing, people talking, the sun stretching its rays over the horizon. Now, however, it is that in-between time, where most everything is still, the moon has set, the stars are hidden, and the land is blanketed in a soft shadow.
In a small house, a figure sleeps soundly under her blanket, soon to be awoken by her mother calling her to get ready for school.

The year is 2018, or year 1 post-Undoing. It is early spring, and flowers are spreading pollen everywhere. It covers rusting cars, lands on cracked and broken sidewalks, and floats in stagnant ponds. It is still somewhat cool, but Florida being Florida, that will quickly change.
It is early morning, and a few brave birds are beginning to chirp. Soon, other animals will begin to stir in their beds, or retire to the safety of their homes, and the sun will stretch its rays over the horizon. Now, however, it is that in-between time, where most everything is still, the moon has set, the stars are hidden, and the land is blanketed in a soft shadow.
In a small house, a figure sleeps on her old bed, soon to be awoken by the sunlight filtering in through her tattered curtains. Tear stains mark her cheeks.

It is 2021, or year 4, to the few who manage to keep track. Not many do; it is dangerous to travel to the surface too often, and the people who do are considered brave fools. Of course, the kids love to hear their stories. So they tell and tell and tell, even if the parents disapprove. The only stories the parents seem to approve of are the ones that tell about life before The Great Undoing.
Recently, a story has surfaced of a creature that is almost human, that will appear for a few days, then disappear for months afterwards. It is said to spend those few days tracing patterns from the old, crumbling schools to various houses. Some say that it is a spirit that managed to cling to this plane, and haunts its old life. Some say that it is a monster that feeds on memories of the dead, or trapped spirits.
None know the truth.

The truth is, sometimes, Moss will go to this type of timeline, and wander around the deserted streets. Mu'll take mur old, rusting bike that is now too big for mur, and mu'll bike to school, wander through mur old classrooms. Maybe mu'll lie in bed for a while, staring at the cracked ceiling, wishing mu had never left. Sometimes, mu'll look through mur yearbooks, trying to remember mur friends.
Sometimes, mu fails to remember them.
Mu'll wander to the houses of the friends mu does remember, and sit in their living or bed rooms, remembering old conversations, stupid things they said and laughed at together, and mu'll laugh too, laugh until mu can’t breathe from the sobs wracking mur body, can’t see through the tears clouding mur vision.
Sometimes, mu just sits there, at mur computer, on mur bed, on the couch, anywhere that feels familiar, and try to ignore the emptiness inside mur.
Sometimes, mu wonders why mu did this to murself, and how.

Mu never finds the answer.