Archive of Our Own ^beta

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I will be posting once a day until I run out of snippets I have saved, then we'll see how often I'll find something new to scribble down. Until then, enjoy daily uploads! At least hopefully 💀

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Siffrin - Autophobia ( fear of being abandoned, alone, ignored )

Extra effects; Siffrin - Half-Blind ( blind in left eye )

Siffrin - Traveler from the Island North of Vaugarde. Lost his left eye protecting Bonnie, a child the party came across on their way to Dormont. Siffrin is a short, forgetful person, which has been travelling for the entirety of his life.

He met the party by chance, saving Isabeau from a Sadness, as the man parted with the rest of the party briefly in order to gather firewood. After reaching Dormont, Siffrin makes a wish to the Favor Tree, and quickly finds out the consequences of his actions. He gets stuck in a time loop, forced to re-live the gruesome, painful deaths and horrifying experiences he and his party go through as they venture up the floors of the House.

His sanity quickly deteriorates, though it remains more intact than that of Loop, a self-proclaimed star whom he encounters under the Favor Tree after his first death—being crushed by a giant boulder. Due to him not having his right eye, his depth perception is fucked, and he often bumps into things. After getting imprisoned in the loops, he becomes more anxious, desperate to escape the loop cycle, even going as far as slitting his own throat in order to save time. He also doesn't shy away from self harm, adorning his wrists in "stars", as he calls them- prickling his skin with his own dagger.

He realizes that even after he loops, the scars of his horrible deaths remain on his body, and eventually, his arms and thighs are all covered in "stars", those particular scars being of his own making. Counting the loops, one star for one loop. May become manic when in distress, or have panic attacks.

Is incredibly touch starved and desperate for physical affection, but never got around to revealing that fact to his party on his own, leaving him feeling floaty and unreal. Like a ghost of his former self. Those are just a couple of the effects of the loops. In the end, Siffrin just doesn't want to part with his companions, his friends, his family- wanting them with him so much, to the point of him unknowingly trapping himself in a time loop.

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 bros not having a good time overall

Those two images with the red background are technically unrelated to the AU cuz it was made for another purpose but they also apply trust me 

also I'm super open to suggestions/ideas and ramblings related to this au :3 

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Odile - Acrophobia ( fear of heights )

Odile - Fragile ( she old )

Odile - Researcher of.. something. Due to being an old lady, Odile has a much more fragile body, making up with her powerful craft skills and knowledge.

During battles, her first turn always consists of Analyzing an enemy, in order to work out a tactic against it. She is an Outlander from Ka Bue, a country from across the ocean. She is scared of heights, and that is commonly known throughout the party, being the one thing that they can genuinely get back at her for relentlessly teasing them at times. She is also subconsciously considered a mother figure of the party.

She had seen many, many messed up things throughout her own travels, as well as after joining the others. Because of that, she may have became a bit numb towards violence and overall gruesome displays, which in turn sometimes greatly disturbs the rest of her companions. Still, Odile remains highly protective towards them, especially Bonnie, sternly forbidding them from joining in on actual battles, and instead staying in the back and sometimes helping out with tonics.

The things she wouldn't do in order to keep those she deems dear to her safe. One could easily underestemite her for being just an old lady with a love for books and learning more about the world around her, when in reality, she is ruthless towards those that dare to land a hand on her family.

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We're doing mirabelle next! i'll try to upload at the same time more or less ._. we'll see how that works out

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Mirabelle - Atychiphobia ( fear of failure )

Mirabelle - Anxiety

Mirabelle - The Blessed Housemaiden of House of Dormont. Immune to the Curse of Time Freezing. Unofrtunately, the public is not as fond of her as one may assume, with her being the Savior of Vaugarde.

The public puts immense ammounts of pressure on her, even antagonizing her venomously, claiming that she is not trying hard enough, fast enough to get to the King, as the party ventures through the country. Mirabelle is at constant brink of an anxiety attack, especially while she is around strangers, causing her to develop a light stutter, that gets worse when she is in a stressful situation. While alone with her party, she becomes a lot more open and calmer, so grateful for everyone's support and being there for her.

She picked up the breathing exercise from Siffrin, and uses it regularely. She also cannot forgive herself for Isabeau's sacrifice for her, still having horrible dreams about that day. Other than her phobia of failing to free her country from the King's grasp, she also shows signs of Erotophobia, which is a fear of genitals and sex. Sometimes, Housemaidens weren't seen as just maidens of the House, but also, prostitutes, earning on the side. Being associated with such an oppinion from her youngest years - ever since becoming a Housemaiden, really - she refuses to ever indulge in any of those gross activities.

Also, the constant use of healing craft puts immense toll on her body, causing her to be get craft-exhausted for short periods of time. If she happens to overuse healing craft, it may cause her to nosebleed, cough up blood, inability to use crafts or even loss of consciousness. Overall, Mirabelle does not have it easy.

( Everything. Everything you've ever worked for. It was all in the name of Them- "Your God", as they say. )

( And you believed them. You believed Euphrasie when she said that something bad was happening in The House. She asked you to leave, and just months later, you find out that the King attacked your Home. )

( You moved, you had to do something- YOU were the blessed one, after all. )

( Blessed by the Change God. )

( Blessed by the Change God. )

( BLESSED BY THE CHANGE GOD, AND YET, WHERE ARE THEY NOW? )

( THEY LEFT. THEY LEFT THEY LEFT THEY LEFT THEY LEFT )

( dear god )

( why have you forsaken me? )

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Mira realizing that the so called God she was following all this time has left because of being ashamed of those that follow them.

Tomorrow I'll be showing off Isabeau, and his grand sacrifice :)

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Bonnie - Atelophobia ( fear of being useless )

Bonnie - Traumatized, emotionally unstable, angry outbursts

Bonnie - A pre-teen from the Vaugardian village Bambouche. Bonnie is severely traumatized, their young brain quickly folding under the cruelty and unfairness of this world, and always strives to impress those around them. Their entire village have been frozen in time, the curse swallowing everyone they knew, alongside their older sister Petronille. The only thing they've got left is their hat, oversized, damaged, and yet, very important to them, because it belonged to their sister.

Overcome by anger and grief, they made the impulsive decision to go through the country all on their own, wanting to face The King by themselves. Of course, they were too weak for that, being just a child, and as their exhaustion caught up with them after days of traveling on their own and desperately avoiding Sadnesses, they were eventually forced into a fight with one. It would've killed them, if it wasn't for Siffrin, which noticed them and saved them just in time.

Bonnie feels immense guilt at the sacrifice of Siffrin's eye for their life, and distances themselves from the situation. And even though their childish nature still shines through their numb shell, they will never forgive themself for having another person lose their eye for them. They try to make up the fact of them being utterly useless in combat, with the fact that they can cook very well. They're trying their hardest.

They are also incredibly clumsy, especially when stressed- leading them to getting hurt often, resulting in countless band-aids and bandages on their body. One particularely nasty occurance was that they accidentally knocked a pan off of the stove, causing oil burns across their left arm, left wrist, and chest. They are also emotionally unstable, and consider acting angry to be "strong," and "adult-like," so that's exactly how they act like most of the time, especially towards Siffrin. As time goes on though, they warm up more and more towards the members of the party. And now that their home, their friends, their family is gone- they eventually start considerring the rest of their party as family- even though they won't admit it.

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ISABEAU TOMORROW

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Isabeau - Ophthalmophobia ( fear of being stared at )

Isabeau - Missing an arm

Isabeau - A retired Defender of Jouvente. He capital-C-Changed his body, hoping to become someone that others wouldn't be ashamed of knowing. Lost his right arm months before the party reached Dormont, protecting Mirabelle from a fatal strike coming from a powerful Sadness. Despite his loss, his bubbly and highly supportive personality remains, always caring for his companions.

And even though he does mourn the fact of him most likely never being able to become a clothing designer with just one arm, he does not regret his decision one bit. He's just a stupid Defender, afterall, and Mirabelle is the Chosen one, the one blessed by the Change God, to defeat the King. She is more important than some puny guy that likes bad jokes. Gets phantom pains quite often.

He desperately tries to be the strong, optimistic member of the party, keeping up their morales and spirits, never wanting to let them down. Always hoping that his laughter will light up the room and help everyone forget about everything, if only for a little bit. He also lost his left earring in one of the battles against Sadnesses. Generally he is the person constantly getting hurt for his party, despite the scolding he gets for it regularely.

Due to his phobia, he dislikes crowds and the public, always feeling like he has eyes at the back of his neck. He hates it, and always tries to avoid eye contact while talking to someone. With the party's help though, he's been making progress! The feeling of eyes looking over his body reminds him of all his imperfections, and it makes him spiral, wondering if he is being stared at due to the flaws in his crafted body. It makes him want to Change into someone else.

During his younger years, while he was still a Defender, he got involved into a community of people, which also tried to Change their bodies. Feeling like he highly relates to this, he decided to tag along for a while, only later realizing that the "community" he's been associated with and made friends in, is actually a cult. Specifically the Body Crafters Cult. After his denial subsided, he decided to run, and forever leave his old life behind, both as a Defender, and as a member of a Change Cult. He ran with his head hung in shame.

And yet, he still silently hopes that maybe, just maybe, in an unspecified time in the future, he could make up for the missing earring, and put a bonding one in it's place, if he'd ever dare to confess to Siffrin. He cannot bring himself to do it though, thinking that maybe, even after everything, he may still not be good enough and worthy of being loved. All in all, he still remains just a coward.

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UWU hope you liked it, also tomorrow i'll be posting Loop! then we'll only have the King in the way, and then we're moving on to worldbuilding and mythology/the gods!

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Loop - Agateophobia ( fear of insanity ) (( well isn't that ironic LMAO ))

Loop - Sanity always low.

Loop - An entity encountered after the first loop happened. They claim to be a star that the Universe sent down to Siffrin after he trapped himself in time.

Loop has the same backstory as in canon, the only thing different being some of their characteristics have mutated. For example, they have a tail, sharp claws, they are very tall ( around 7 feet tall ), and they have digitigrade-like legs. Each of the little stars adorning Loop's body, represent one of their own loops, while they were still in their own world. They used to be Siffrin from another timeline, eventually breaking, and making another wish, which in turn trapped them in another Siffrin's world.

Due to the King from their world being a lot more cruler, sadistic, they witnessed things that their psyche could not handle. They witnessed their Housemaiden's still conscious body hitting the floor over and over and over again, with the King's hand holding onto her limb. Continuously slamming her against the cold, tiled floor. Breaking bones and splattering blood all over. They witnessed their little Chef Cooker getting crushed within his palm, leaving Loop covered with the child's blood. They witnessed their Researcher's limbs being torn off. They witnessed his Fighter getting frozen in time due to the King's tears, before getting shattered into a million pieces, like a mere glass statue falling apart.

Loop's Mind Points will always be equal to 0, but at times with pleasant interactions with Siffrin, their Mind Points will occasionally go up a bit temporarily, reaching 5 at max. They throughly believe that they are the one that deserves Siffrin's place, but as the two spend more time together, with Siffrin unaware of Loop's real identity, the cosmic being becomes attached to him, making it impossible for them to go through with the murder attempt on Siffrin, after he's escaped the loops. Due to their sanity( or lack thereof ), they may occasionally fall into manic episodes. It's best to stay out of their way during those times.

can't stop myself from showing this loop design as well, i feel like due to the time spent in their own loops, their hair would be so much more longer than Siffrin's, as well as fully darkless and flowing at the tips. The darkless skin below their chest level, star particles across skin, tail, sharp teeth, and claws remain. THEY'RE ALSO AN INCH TALLER THAN SIFFRIN BECAUSE I SAID SO

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you can tell i'm very passionate about this little fucker

tomorrow we're tackling the King!! ( literally i hope this bitch dies a painful death ) and then we'll move on from character descriptions to other topics. PHEW

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The King - Athazagoraphobia ( fear of forgetting )

The King - completely insane and insanely powerful. On his way to become a New God.

The King—no last name, no middle name, and no real name at all. Simply, The King. Like Siffrin, he was born in the same distant land and stripped of all memories of his home, his name, and his identity. He awoke on the shores of Vaugarde, where he was embraced by the people.

He began a cult dedicated to.. himself, claiming to be the man chosen by The Universe, in order to grant wishes to the mortals. It's safe to say, Vaugardians were eager to worship him, tempted by the possibility of having their wishes granted by a mortal chosen by an Old God. Desperate to avoid losing this new home as he had his old one, he somehow discovered the secrets of Time Craft. His plan? To freeze Vaugarde in time, preserving it in a perfect, unchanging state—safe from harm, forever untouched by the ravages of time.

But The King's ambitions didn’t stop there. Determined to become a New God, he believed that by freezing all of Vaugarde, he would ascend to Enlightenment and Godhood, gaining the power to reclaim his lost home. Yet, as the months passed, that noble goal began to twist. Obsessed with achieving godhood faster, his sanity, already fragile from the loss of his identity and past, crumbled further. He descended into madness, becoming a sadistic, sociopathic maniac willing to do anything to reach his aim.

Throughout Siffrin’s loops, The King is shown reveling in the torment and brutal deaths of anyone who opposes him. He takes twisted pleasure in watching his victims suffer, delighting in their agony before finally ending their lives. His power is formidable; he can eliminate Siffrin's party with a single strike, though Mirabelle's shields can deflect this lethal blow. In addition to his immense strength, The King wields the ability to summon and command two massive hands, which he controls with precise mastery.

In essence, The King has become a deeply broken and malevolent force—warped by his desperation, devoid of empathy, and consumed by his desire for power.

There is one final tale tied to The King—a legend of a man whose hair is darkless, whose name has been lost to time. It is said that he will unite the entire country of Vaugarde, bringing forth a new order and sealing the barrier between the nation and the outside world. By what means? The people of Vaugarde will discover firsthand, as this so-called King, wielding the forbidden power of Time Craft, freezes the nation in time. Forever stagnant. Forever calm. Forever safe.

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we're officially done with the characters!!! Euphrasie's such a side character and i feel like she wouldn't be very different from canon, so we're just leaving her out of the character sheet rant 💀 THE GODS ARE NEXT!!!

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The Universe - A cruel and ancient deity, the Universe is the force that shaped everything we know, setting the world into motion and allowing it to evolve on it's own for eons. Yet, it wasn’t until the rise of humanity that the Universe seemed to truly take notice, manifesting it's presence with a disturbing awareness.

With the advent of human language and consciousness, the Universe began to revel in their struggles, delighting in the hardships it inflicted. It watches as they either endure and grow stronger or succumb to suffering and death. The Universe is a merciless god. Often, The Universe is referred to as 'The Stars' of the world, referencing how Siffrin's country used to worship this particular diety.

Through precise rituals, one can attempt to make a wish to the Universe, but those who do so are often met with a cruel twist. The Universe grants wishes like a shattered mirror, reflecting the desires back at the wisher, but distorted and warped. This practice, known as Wish Craft, offers power, but always at a dreadful cost. Long before humanity existed, the Universe created Craft Energy, a powerful force that shapes reality itself. One of the most significant type of Craft is Time Craft, which governs the flow of time. Another is Wish Craft, which can alter reality but always demands a heavy price.

The Universe also harbors secrets it prefers humans never uncover. Siffrin’s homeland, for reasons unknown, has been completely erased from existence by the Universe. It's language is incomprehensible, causing unbearable headaches and migraines in those who try to understand it. The people of this country have vanished, their existence forgotten by all. Those who managed to escape before the island’s disappearance find themselves bereft of any memory of their past, unable to recall even their names. Any attempt to speak the name of this forgotten land is met with a severe punishment from the Universe—agonizing insanity and, ultimately, death.

The Universe also possesses the power to "Re-write" itself. If anything in the world is linked to the forgotten island or contains any form of error, the Universe corrects it, briefly turning back time to fix what was deemed wrong. In it's cruel and indifferent way, the Universe ensures that the world remains as it wills, with no trace of its mistakes left behind.

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tomorrow i'll be posting about the change god, and about the cults that have came to be because of it :>

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God of Change - Among the most revered deities in Vaugarde, the God of Change represents the ever-shifting nature of existence. However, some Vaugardians have taken this belief to dangerous extremes, becoming fanatically obsessed with the idea of constant transformation.

Over time, this obsession has spread like wildfire across the country, gaining popularity to such an extent that even Isabeau, known to be someone who 'Capital-C Changed', now distances himself from the belief entirely, even going as far as to claim that the Change belief is something completely different to what it used to be a few years ago. In their fervor, many parents have forced their children to undergo drastic changes against their will, believing it to be a sacred duty.

Others, consumed by the need to change constantly, in some cases even daily, each time adopting a new persona. This relentless pursuit of transformation often leads to insanity, as they become overwhelmed by the chaos of countless personalities battling for control.

One particularly disturbing example can be found in Dormont, where a man known to Mirabelle exemplifies the madness that has taken hold. If Siffrin chooses to speak with him before heading to the Clocktower, they will witness the man’s unsettling behavior: with each sentence, he switches tone, language, and attitude, as if he’s a dozen different people trapped in one body. Yet, beneath the turmoil, it's quite clear that the man is still good-hearted and kind, despite everything. He is known as the Maddened One.

The Children of Change; the name surrounding all kinds of Change Cults, which take the concept to an extreme, twisted degree. Examples of the most popular cults known to exist;

The Body Crafters; A cult emerges in the dark corners of Vaugarde, where followers of the God of Change take the concept to an extreme. These individuals use Body Craft to reshape their bodies. They believe that constantly altering their physical forms will bring them closer to divine enlightenment. However, the grotesque results leave them disfigured, with limbs twisted into unnatural shapes, faces mutilated beyond recognition, and bodies often barely functional. Their minds, too, begin to warp, as they lose their sense of identity, becoming trapped in a cycle of endless, horrific transformation.

The Skin Walkers; Some Vaugardians become so obsessed with Change that they seek to embody others completely—by wearing their skins. These fanatics hunt down those they admire or envy, skinning them alive to create a "new self," usually in the circle of other Skin Walkers, brought together to witness the ritual.

They believe that by donning the flesh of another, they can absorb their traits, memories, and personality. The ritual often leaves the victim alive and screaming until death finally claims them. The Skin Walkers then parade through the streets, proudly displaying their new "selves," only to discard them once the flesh begins to rot, seeking a fresh "change."

The Memory Eaters; In their desire to experience every possible life, some Vaugardians develop a twisted ritual where they consume the memories of others. Using forbidden rituals and Crafts, they extract the essence of a person's mind, leaving the victim an empty husk. The Memory Eaters then live out the stolen memories, believing that by experiencing as many lives as possible, they can achieve ultimate enlightenment.

However, the process slowly erodes their sanity, as the cacophony of voices in their head grows louder, each demanding to be the dominant personality. Eventually, they lose control, their minds shattered by the weight of countless lives they can no longer distinguish, becoming crazed, bloodlusting maniacs in search of people they can stole the memories of.

One of such individuals can be encountered on the second floor of the House, somehow having avoided being frozen by the Curse. If a party member ends up being hit by the Memory Eater's 'Mind Steal' Skill, they will become mere husks of their former selves. With no tonics or healing Craft being able to help, the rest of the party will be forced to leave them behind. Shields can reflect this Skill.

The Perfectionists; In some of the more remote regions of Vaugarde, there are rumors of parents who take the concept of Change to a horrifying extreme. Obsessed with creating the "perfect" children, they subject their offspring to dangerous experiments and rituals designed to force rapid, unnatural growth and development.

These children are subjected to forceful use of Body Craft and invasive procedures that twist their bodies and minds. Some become hideous monstrosities, unable to comprehend their own existence, while others are molded into mindless puppets, their free will stripped away in the name of Change.

The Perfectionists' obsession extends beyond their own children. Strangers they deem "imperfect" or "stagnant"—simply meaning anyone content with their natural state, without feeling the need to Change—are often abducted and forced to undergo horrific transformations. The cult members twist their victims' bodies beyond recognition, believing that by reshaping them, they are improving them. Blind to the agony and devastation they cause, the Perfectionists take pride in caring for the broken, dysfunctional creatures they’ve created, completely oblivious to the suffering they've inflicted.

The Cult of Marrige; Deep within the shadowy corners of the world, a cult has arisen, known as the Cult of Marrige. They believe that true Change—the ultimate transformation—can only be achieved through a grotesque ritual they call "Marrige." Despite the name, Marrige is not a bond of love between two beings, but rather a nightmarish fusion, where two souls, bodies, and minds are violently merged into a single, monstrous abomination.

This cult sees Marrige as the highest form of devotion to the God of Change, a symbol of love twisted into something far darker. They believe that by merging two beings into one, they are embracing the most profound and eternal Change, transcending the boundaries of individuality. To them, Marrige is a sacred act, a final, irreversible transformation that elevates the participants to a higher state of existence—or so they claim. In reality, the result is a horrific amalgamation of flesh, mind, and soul, where both beings lose their identity and sanity, becoming one, monstrous entity driven by pain, rage, and madness.

One of such monsters can be encountered on the third floor of the House, and the battle with Marrige is incredibly difficult and horrific, as the disturbed party truly gets to see what lengths the followers of Change can reach to prove to be worthy of the Change God's blessing.

Due to all those terrible twists to the Change Belief, rumors began to spread, of the Change God becoming ashamed and furious with their followers, that have came to such an extent of insanity, just to follow their belief. And so, they left, leaving the human race to fend on it's own, not wanting to associate with the awful Cults that originated from them.

did not have a change god picture leave me alone have a sif

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so yeah turns out that the change god dipped like a little bitch. Woo

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Expressions; In Ka Bue, the concept of the Expressions plays a central role in the spiritual life of its people. Unlike the more centralized religious institutions found in Vaugarde or the Forgotten Island, the religion of Ka Bue is deeply personal and decentralized, with each individual deciding which Expression aligns with their personal values or needs.

Expressions are understood as beings who were once human, but upon death, ascended to a higher state of existence through deeds or virtues that left a profound impact on the world. They are not immortal gods in the traditional sense, but exist in a state between mortality and divinity. Thus cannot be either called Old, nor New Gods, and are also far weaker than them, yet so much more stronger than an ordinary mortal. In their lifetime, these individuals exemplified certain traits so strongly- be it wisdom, bravery, love, or even suffering- that they became avatars of these virtues after death.

Expressions are believed to hear prayers directly and are more likely to intervene personally, though in subtle ways. They don't have the power to change the course of fate entirely but instead influence outcomes that fall within the range of their domains.

While most of the people of Ka Bue believe in the ascension of exceptional individuals to the rank of an Expression, it’s not something anyone can strive toward directly. One cannot declare that they intend to become an Expression after death; instead, it is through their deeds, virtues, and the impact they leave on others that they ascend. If a person lives a life of extraordinary devotion to their ideals or serves their community in a way that transcends normal human efforts, they may become an Expression.

The Hall of Gods; The Hall of Gods is an ethereal realm where the Expressions gather after death of their human body. It is called Ascension. It is less a place of worship and more of a council where these powerful entities oversee the mortal realm. Though they pull strings to influence the world, they can only work within the bounds of their domain. The Hall of Gods is a place of balance, where no single Expression holds absolute power. The mortals who become Expressions do not lose their humanity entirely, and they retain the desires, emotions, and flaws they had in life, making them more approachable yet still somewhat unpredictable in their interactions with the living world.

The worship of Expressions in Ka Bue, while generally seen as a comforting and powerful practice, harbors a much darker, more ominous side. Expressions, though closer to humanity than Gods, are still enigmatic beings with their own sense of justice, morality, and balance. Those who become too greedy, too demanding, or disrespectful to the Expressions often face severe consequences, revealing a side of the religion that few speak about openly.

The Fate of the Greedy;
Those who are seen as too greedy in their prayers — continually asking for more without offering in return, or seeking to exploit the Expressions' powers — can fall victim to a twisted fate. These individuals may start experiencing strange, life-altering punishments that seem to be acts of divine retribution. A man who prays to the Expression of Wealth and Prosperity for endless riches, without consideration for others, might find himself cursed with Midas-like affliction. Everything he touches turns to gold, but his food, his family, even the air he breathes becomes unusable or untouchable, slowly suffocating him in a world of his own greed.

In some cases, those who beg for more power from the Expression of Strength find their bodies unnaturally altered, bulging with grotesque muscle mass until they can no longer control their movements. They become lumbering monstrosities, feared and outcast, left with the strength they so desired but no way to use it meaningfully, condemned to isolation and misery. In other cases, those who desperately desire knowledge and wisdom, obsessively praying to the Expression of Knowledge, may just get what they desire- but with a devastating price. As that very knowledge may often lead to insanity, and eventually- death.

Punishment for Disrespect;
Disrespecting an Expression is the gravest sin in Ka Bue, often followed by swift and terrifying consequences. Mortals who mock or openly defy the Expressions are rarely shown mercy. Legends tell of a scholar who mocked the Expression of Knowledge, believing his own mind was superior to the ancient wisdom of the divine. This scholar woke one morning to find his mind slowly unraveling. Every piece of knowledge he once held dear began to slip away — his ability to read, to write, to speak, even to recognize the faces of loved ones. He eventually wandered, lost and babbling, a shell of his former self, consumed by the very ignorance he scorned.

The Hungry Haunt of the Desperate;
Some particularly grim fates are reserved for those who desperately try to bargain with the Expressions, asking for impossible things like resurrecting the dead or defying the natural order. A woman who prayed day and night to the Expression of Life and Fertility to revive her deceased child was said to have received her wish — but with a terrible twist. The child returned, but not as she remembered. It was a soulless, hollow creature that bore only a resemblance to the one she loved. It followed her everywhere, its lifeless eyes never blinking, never speaking, until she was driven mad by its presence. The story ends with the woman throwing herself into the sea, her child still following her into the depths, never to be seen again.

Rituals of Appeasement;
To avoid such grim fates, the people of Ka Bue perform intricate rituals of appeasement. Offerings are made to the Expressions with the utmost respect, often accompanied by vows of humility and promises to uphold balance. It is said that farmers who pray to the Expression of Harvest must give a portion of their crops back to the land, lest they risk the wrath of the Expression turning their fields barren. Sailors who rely on the Expression of Winds and Tides must avoid greedily hoarding their catches, for those who do are sometimes found adrift at sea, their ships becalmed, surrounded by waters devoid of fish.

The Story of the Stone Emperor;
One of the most infamous cautionary tales involves the Stone Emperor, a ruler who dared to demand immortality from the Expression of Time. The Emperor built temples and made sacrifices to the Expression for years, hoping to achieve eternal life. Instead, the Expression granted him a twisted form of immortality — the ruler’s body was slowly turned to stone, inch by inch, over the course of a decade. By the end, he was a statue, forever frozen in his final moment of desperation, unable to speak, move, or die. It is rumored that the Stone Emperor’s statue still stands today in the ruins of his palace, a warning to all those who seek to defy the natural order. Whether it is just that- a statue of the Stone Emperor that someone made in his image, meant to lecture the public, or the Stone Emperor himself, which turned into a statue- is unknown.

Shadowed Pilgrims;
There are even darker whispers of those who abandon the proper rituals and decide to summon the Expressions through forbidden methods, bypassing the usual prayers and sacrifices. These "shadowed pilgrims" attempt to force the hand of the Expressions, but such acts never go unpunished. Those who have died after the ritual are proclaimed lucky. It’s those that survive to speak of twisted visions, of their bodies and minds being warped beyond recognition, or being stalked by strange, disembodied shadows that steal their breath as they sleep, have it worse.

One story tells of a village that dared to summon the Expression of Death in hopes of gaining control over life itself. What came was not the serene transition they had hoped for, but a shadowy figure that haunted the village for months, slowly draining the life from its inhabitants one by one until only empty shells remained. The village was later found deserted, its houses crumbling, with no signs of life- instead, bones were scattered everywhere, as though they had been ripped from the inside out.

just pretend its siffrin but younger thus his hair is dyed black

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this actually motivated me into writing an entire essay about Odile’s backstory, so expect that to show up one of these days. I love mommy <3333

also i don’t think this differs much from the canon, aside from taking reference to the Hall of Gods- simply didn’t feel like this needed much changing. Also in order to make it work i needed to change the facts up a bit and make it so that Ascended Gods are considered weaker than Old Gods. In canon Fear and Hunger, they’re on the same level in terms of power. But it would be kind of silly, if a diety known to be a representation of Love or Water or literally anything else, would be considered equal to the Universe, which lowkey created reality and can alter it as much as it pleases. So for this au, just keep in mind that little diagram;

Old Gods > New Gods > Expressions > Mortals

Hope that makes sense!

I feel like in terms of the Universe and The Change God, the Expressions would be pretty kind in comparison, simply because they were most likely honorable people while still alive, respecting their fellow humans even after death. Surely, they should be considered more just and fair than the Universe

i’ve got a lot of cool shit written about odile, so i felt like since she’s the best and mommy rules i will expand on the expressions -v- just for mommy odile <333

anyway not sure what i’ll be posting tomorrow, but yall are not ready for some of the Change God Cults encounters 💀 all will be revealed eventually!!!!

Chapter Text

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New Gods; In the reality shaped by the Universe, one is proclaimed a New God after mastering Time Craft- one of the most powerful forces in existence. Something few mortals can even fathom. This singular ability is enough to grant you divine status.

However, a mortal still cannot become an Old God, cannot handle the full potential of Time Craft. Thus, the highest divine status that a mortal can reach, is becoming a New God, capable of controlling only one aspect of time. There are many different types of Time Craft, for example;

Time Slowing Craft - the power of slowing the flow of time.

Time Accelerating Craft - the power of quickening the flow of time.

Time Looping Craft - the power of looping in time.

Time Stopping Craft - the power of stopping the flow of time.

Future Time Craft - the power of traveling to the time of the future.

Past Time Craft - the power of traveling to the time of the past.

And so on. A mortal, becoming a New God can only handle one of them.

The King, somehow, has learned Time Stopping Craft, setting him on the path to godhood. His ultimate goal is to freeze all of Vaugarde in time, achieving full mastery and, in turn, Enlightenment.

Siffrin, however, is a more complicated case. He didn’t master Time Craft; rather, it was forced upon him through the Wish he made. The loops he is trapped in are beyond his control.

Yet, when he reaches his breaking point and transforms into the Big Frin™, he becomes fully capable of controlling his Time Looping Craft abilities, just one step away from ascending to godhood himself. Unknowingly to him, as he nearly used Time Craft to go back in time. Thankfully, he is stopped before that happens.

Odile, with her insatiable hunger for knowledge and challenges, had always pushed herself further, diving deeper into arcane mysteries than most would dare. How she came upon Time Craft remains unclear, but what is known for sure; she found a way to stop Siffrin from resetting the timeline in Act 5, by the means of using Time Stopping Craft. However, her success came at a devastating cost.

Time Craft demands an incredible toll on the body, and Odile, though formidable in will, was still an aging woman. Her frail human body was never meant to withstand the strain. Despite her best efforts to hide it from her companions, by the end of Act 6, the consequences of her actions began to surface. She would stumble unexpectedly, her hands shaking in moments of weakness- something so unlike her sharp, unyielding nature.

Eventually, the truth could no longer be concealed. Weeks after the chaos was over, Odile was forced to reveal to the group the brutal consequences of a mortal attempting to wield godlike powers, her body slowly betraying her. Time Craft was not meant for someone like her, and now, the toll it took was becoming undeniable. She could never become a New God- and it’s not that she wanted to at all. The only reason she took the risk, and the consequences of using such a powerful force, was to stop Siffrin from looping.

Loop, having once been Siffrin, was a fragile soul who had been torn apart and reshaped by the universe’s cruel designs. At the breaking point, Loop had reached a moment of clarity, where mastery over time was within reach- godhood beckoned, the same path the King had followed. Yet, where others saw power and salvation, Loop saw only chains.

Refusing to become like the King, who sought to freeze time and gain ultimate control, or some scum along the lines of the Universe, Loop rejected godhood. In that moment of rejection, they were unmade and remade again- becoming a being not bound by mortal or divine rules.

Loop was not a god, nor a mortal, nor a concept the Universe could categorize. To the Universe, they were a star- radiant, untouchable, and ageless. They retained a fragment of time’s power, able to loop back to life upon death without being imprisoned in eternal cycles. Loop could not age, though could die, yet rise again, free to navigate time’s currents without submission to the Universe’s control.

They were an enigma, defying definition. In their refusal to become a god, Loop became something far more. Untouchable, unshackled, a creature seemingly beyond the Universe’s reach. Broken free from the shackles of the time loop they were trapped in, though at the cost of their old identity, their old life, their old timeline, their old friends. Only seemingly though, as the Universe seems to still immensely enjoy the concept of a being, once mortal, stuck in immortality. Unable to age, to love, to exist among humanity, and instead tasking them with helping another version of their old identity. Taking cruel enjoyment in watching them suffer.

Loop was many things in their life, after all. Main character, a stage director, a sponsor, and corpse. And, the moment they became what they are till this day- an immortal creature, not quite god yet not quite human either- they’ve also gained yet another title.

The Forgotten One.

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ive tried so hard to make it make sense pls tell me it makes sense

the lore truly is something that you need to be incredibly careful with to not create some fucked paradoxes 💀 especially when it comes to lore as rich as funger’s

Chapter Text

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Odile had always been a woman of sharp intellect and even sharper distance. Born into a scholarly family in Ka Bue, she was raised to pursue knowledge, truth, and wisdom above all else. But after her father’s passing, Odile’s faith in the divine shattered. She blamed the Expression for her father's demise, and she swore off prayer and devotion to any deity, turning instead to the power of her own mind and determination.

In the years that followed, Odile became a relentless scholar, traveling far beyond the borders of Ka Bue in search of knowledge and answers that could never betray her the way the Expressions had. Her goal was clear: to understand the world through her own terms, without relying on fickle divine intervention. She threw herself into study, logic, and reason, detaching herself from emotional connections and viewing them as unnecessary distractions from her quest. Attachment, after all, had only ever led to pain.

When Odile first encountered the party, it was by chance. Their goals happened to align- both sides seeking to take down the King who had frozen the country of Vaugarde in time, the nation lost in stagnation. To Odile, this was more than just saving the country which her family had ties to; it was about knowledge. Getting to know her own country. She wanted to learn about Vaugarde, to study its people, history, and traditions, and none of that would be possible if the nation remained trapped in eternal stillness.

Her approach to the party was cold, almost condescending. Her words were sharp, and her demeanor even sharper. She made it clear that this was a purely transactional relationship. They were a means to an end. No more, no less.

Odile was difficult to get close to. She kept her distance, rarely engaging in casual conversation, always calculating and analytical. If someone spoke to her, she answered in curt, clipped tones, often with a tinge of sarcasm or disdain. To her, the party was temporary. Once the king was dethroned and the country saved, she would go her separate way, continuing her journey of solitary knowledge-seeking.

However, as time went on, something shifted. Out of what she told herself was necessity- or perhaps even boredom- Odile began taking notes on the party. At first, these notes were purely observational: their strengths, weaknesses, and any suspicious behaviors that could indicate a threat to her or the mission. Or, a possible betrayal. She treated them like research subjects, gathering data for future use.

But as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Odile found herself writing down more than just tactical information. Her notebook began to fill with details that were, to her frustration, far from suspicious or threatening. She noted birthday dates, favorite foods, personal quirks, and even small, mundane habits. She cataloged fun facts and secrets they’d shared, little pieces of themselves that had slipped through the cracks of her emotional armor.

When she finally realized how much of her notebook had been dedicated to the people she swore she wouldn’t get attached to, Odile’s first instinct was to dump it. She tried to tell herself that these notes were irrelevant, useless. Emotional baggage. She tried throwing the notebook away, but something stopped her. The idea of discarding those personal details felt wrong. Despite her best efforts, she had grown attached.

And oh, how she hated that realization. Getting attached meant making herself vulnerable, something she had vowed never to do again. But the more she fought it, the more she found herself watching the party with a different gaze—not one of cold calculation, but of reluctant affection.

Gradually, Odile began to open up, though it was subtle at first. She started engaging in conversations that weren’t strictly mission-related. She offered advice, even shared bits and pieces of her own life, something she had never done freely before. And, without realizing it, she began to care. The notebook became less about suspicion and more about understanding. She was no longer just cataloging information; she was learning about the people who had, against her will, started to become important to her. It terrified her, but it also warmed something deep inside that she thought had died with her father.

As the bond between Odile and the party grew, she found herself willing to do anything for them, even things that went against her usual pragmatic nature. These strangers had become her family, the first she had allowed herself to love in years. For them, she would break every rule she had made for herself, cross every line she had once believed to be uncrossable. She had built those walls so high, but now, brick by brick, they were crumbling.

Odile, who had once sought to keep her distance, now stood ready to fight for them. She had joined the party to save a country for the sake of knowledge, but in the process, she had found something much more valuable- people she was willing to protect, even at the cost of her.. everything.

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honestly i always thought it was a bit of a shame that in isat we begin the journey.. at it’s very end, essentially. We know for a fact that the party have been traveling together for months, searching for orbs and shit but we never got anything specific, for example about character development that happened pre game or how the party even met. So, i fixed it. Np 👌

Chapter Text

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Odile, being a scholar and one devoted to the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom, has a more structured approach to the Expressions she worships. Her deep understanding of the intricacies of life and the world around her means she seeks guidance from Expressions who reflect aspects of learning, insight, and personal growth. Even at a very young age, she began her own researches. First, she’d busy herself with the simplest of things, such as keeping track of the development and growth of a kitten that decided to make itself at home in her garden, or how long would it take for a flower to fully bloom, and how much nutritioning it would accelerate the process.

Expressions Odile prayed to;

Kaede - Expression of knowledge, wisdom, learning.

Kaede’s guidance ensures that Odile remains open-minded and sharp in her pursuit of truth. Odile often offered quills or pieces of parchment in her name, asking for insight before beginning her cute little researches or decisions.

Ren - Expression of innovation, curiosity, discovery.

Ren’s influence drives Odile’s need to explore not only the world but also the untapped areas of knowledge and understanding. Odile prayed to him when embarking on new intellectual journeys alongside her father, or when she needed the courage to push through her own limitations.

Chisato - Remembrance, memory, perceptivity.

Chisato helps Odile recall forgotten information, ensuring she does not overlook important details in her observations. Odile offered old objects, meaningful to her, which hold dear memories from her past at Chisato’s shrine, particularly when she feels unsure of her memory keeping up with the constant onslaught of information she gains.

Odile had always held a steadfast belief in the Expressions, relying on their wisdom and guidance to navigate her life’s complexities. As a young girl which aspired to be a scholar, she found comfort in the idea that the dead, those who had once been human, could still hear her prayers. The halls of her mind were filled with the teachings of Kaede, Ren, and Chisato, and the shrines in her family home were always adorned with offerings for their favor. Every decision, every significant step, had been made with her faith in the Expressions, and they had never failed her or her family.

Until they did.

Born into a family deeply devoted to the ancient customs of Ka Bue, she grew up surrounded by shrines, incense, and the endless murmur of prayers. Her father, a renowned scholar, had been particularly devout. He had always taught her that the Expressions were more than just distant figures in the Hall of Gods; they were guides, allies, and protectors—beings who could offer wisdom and clarity if you knew how to listen.

His favorite was Kaede, the Expression of Knowledge, a figure her father prayed to with fervor every day. He believed that through his devotion, Kaede would grant him insight and unlock the mysteries of the world. At first, Odile admired him for his dedication. Her father’s teachings had inspired her to pursue her own scholarly path, and she too had offered her prayers to Kaede, seeking the clarity her father so often spoke of.

But then something changed.

Her father’s prayers became more than routine- they became an obsession. He spent hours, sometimes entire days, in front of Kaede’s shrine, muttering prayers and pleas under his breath, his hands shaking as he clutched offerings and incense. It wasn’t enough for him to simply seek knowledge; he demanded it. The thirst for insight consumed him, driving him further and further from reason.

The more he prayed, the more erratic he became. His once brilliant mind, so revered by scholars across Ka Bue, began to unravel. He spoke of visions, of voices he claimed were Kaede’s whispers, promising him the secrets of the universe if he just gave more- more time, more devotion, more of himself.

Odile, a young 17 year old girl at the time, watched helplessly as her father spiralled into madness, feverishly praying to an Expression that never seemed to answer. His health deteriorated as he pushed his body and mind to their limits in pursuit of knowledge that never came. Sleepless nights and starvation became his constant companions, as he refused to eat or rest, believing that his devotion to Kaede would lead to enlightenment.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it led him to his death.

Odile found him one morning, collapsed in front of Kaede’s shrine, his body cold, his lips still mouthing a prayer to the Expression he had worshipped until his final breath. The shrine’s incense burned low, the air thick with the scent of desperation and unfulfilled promises. The Expression of Knowledge had taken everything from him, leaving nothing but a hollow shell of the man she had once admired, and eventually- granting him death.

In her grief, Odile turned her back on the Expressions entirely. She couldn’t forgive Kaede- couldn’t believe that any benevolent being would allow such a thing to happen. Her father had given everything to the Expressions, and in return, he had been driven to madness and death. It was too much for her to bear.

From that day forward, she refused to pray. The once sacred shrines in her home were abandoned, their incense left unlit. The carved symbols of Kaede and the other Expressions became nothing more than cold, lifeless statues in her eyes. To her, they had caused her father’s death, and she would never allow herself to rely on them again.

Odile didn’t pray after that day. The once-beloved shrines in her home were left to gather dust, their incense long unlit. In her heart, she believed the Expressions had failed her, and in her bitterness, she no longer sought their guidance. To her, they were no longer the guardians of wisdom and insight- they were distant and indifferent, just like the Change God she had so often heard of but never prayed to.

Years passed, and Odile found herself wandering, a scholar without a goal, without belief. Eventually, she joined a party of adventurers, despite her initial hesitation to become close to anyone again. The wounds of the past betrayal were still fresh, but the party was persistent, and slowly, her walls began to crack. She had always been guarded, keeping her distance from others, but the camaraderie of the group, their shared struggles, and their willingness to protect one another slowly eroded the barriers she had built.

They laughed together, fought alongside each other, and, over time, something within Odile shifted. There was Siffrin, quiet yet full of those terrible puns, forgetful yet protective over the party. There was Isabeau, strong and kind, like a pillar that never wavered, despite the loss of an arm. There was Mirabelle, shy and kind, the blessed Housemaiden which decided to risk everything in order to save her beloved country. And of course there was Bonnie, energetic and culinarily talented, a child the party took in after they have been forced to run from their village due to the King’s curse. Each of them brought something into her life that she hadn’t realized she was missing.

Family.

It was during one of their journeys, as they huddled around a campfire under the starry skies, that Odile felt the tug of something long dormant within her. She watched them, her allies. Colleagues, at best- laughing together, sharing stories, and she realized how much she had come to care for them. Despite her best efforts to remain detached, they had become her.. family.

That night, when everyone had gone to sleep in their shared tents, Odile remained by the fire, staring into the flickering flames. The warmth of the flames mirrored the warmth growing in her chest, and for the first time in years, she felt the urge to pray. She wrestled with it, unsure if she could truly allow herself to open up again. The memory of her unanswered prayers still haunted her, but as she sat there, watching over her sleeping companions, the need to protect them overwhelmed her doubts. They’re good people. They deserve this.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she knelt beside the fire, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them together. It had been so long since she had spoken to the Expressions, and the silence that followed her last prayer still echoed in her mind. But this time, her prayer wasn’t for herself—it was for them.

She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her vulnerability in that moment. It wasn’t easy for her to ask for help, not after everything that had happened, but somehow, in the quiet of the night, with the warmth of her companions so close, it felt right.

- Expression of Family, love, and connection.

Shimei’s quiet, nurturing presence hopes to help Odile heal the wounds she once blamed on the Expressions. Under Shimei’s watchful care, the bonds within Odile's found family would grow unbreakable, destined to thrive and support each other until the end of time.

As she finished, a calmness settled over her, and for the first time in years, she felt a sense of peace in the context of praying. It wasn’t an overwhelming, divine revelation that her father had hoped for. It wasn’t the certainty she once had in the Expressions. But it was something- something warm, like a gentle reassurance in her chest.

Odile looked up at the stars, the flames crackling softly beside her, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to hope again.

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ok thats enough wholesome now we can go back to misery :D

Chapter Text

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Odile sat in her bed at the inn, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her limbs. It wasn’t just physical- she was tired in a way that felt bone-deep, the kind of weariness that no amount of sleep could fix. Even now, weeks after the battle with the King, weeks after the loops, weeks after the world had seemingly returned to peace, she found herself struggling with the aftermath.

The effects of Time Craft were subtle at first, easy to brush off. A stumble here, a tremor in her hand there. But it was getting worse. The dizzy spells lasted longer, her vision blurred more frequently, and the exhaustion was unshakable. And those were only the actual physical, scientifically explainable ones. Let’s not forget all the other, less logical sounding symptoms- "time freezing(?)" paralysis happening at random, frustratingly messed up time tables, and don’t get her started on the fear of time, that seemed to appear completely out of nowhere. Although as days, weeks passed, she started to become aware of the reason behind that phobia, and why it seemed to be becoming more intense as time went on.

It was like an internal clock. Counting down time. Days, hours, minutes, seconds, until it reached zero.

She hadn’t told the others; there was no point in worrying them. They deserved peace, not the burden of her slow decline.

She told herself she had time. At least a little more. But recently, she wasn’t so sure, as the deep-rooted fear began to gnaw at her more and more.

She wasn’t afraid of dying. No, no. She was afraid of what she would be losing in the process.

How would the others manage with it? Which paths would they go down? Who would they become in the future? She wanted to see Bonnie grow up so badly- and yet, with how this.. condition of hers spiralled down so much just within the span of a few weeks-

She doesn’t think she’d even be making it to their next birthday.

As Odile lay in her bed, under the guise of feeling tired, she knew she had to tell someone. Keeping this to herself was becoming unbearable, and Siffrin, of all people, deserved to know the truth. He’s went through so much, after all- and all of that was for them. For their family. Out of all of them, Siffrin should be the first one to know in advance.

When the Traveler in question knocked softly on her door, she called him in. The rest of the party was outside, enjoying the calm of the village. She has told him earlier to meet her, for a quick talk. She hadn’t told anyone she wanted to speak with him alone, but he knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the room. His gaze flicked from her, to the unmade bed, her messy hair, usually kept in a bun and which was now loosely falling over her shoulders, the tired eyes.. then back to her, eyes narrowing in quiet concern.

"Odile," he started, his voice cautious, "are you okay?"

She hesitated for a moment, then gestured for him to sit beside her. He complied, perching at the edge of the bed. Odile was silent, gathering her thoughts, before finally speaking, her voice calm, almost clinical.

"I’ve been thinking about time," she began, her eyes not meeting his. Surely, with the context of Siffrin’s entire deal with Time Craft and time looping, this wasn’t a nice thing to hear.

Siffrin’s expression faltered, but he tried to hide it behind a carefully neutral facade. She noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly in his lap, the way his mouth tightened at the corners. He did not interrupt her, though- of course he didn’t. He never did.

"..Surely, you must remember. During your last time loop, I decided to use Time Craft. In order to stop you from looping.” She could see the twitch in Siffrin’s posture, but that did not stop her from continuing. “It was necessary, and I would do it again. A thousand times over, for any of you. But I think... I think it’s starting to catch up to me."

Siffrin’s mask cracked then. His eye widened in panic, a sharp inhale breaking the silence between them, as his head whipped over to look at her. "Odile-” His voice was small, confusion and soft denial taking over. He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself together, but the fear was evident.

Noticing his struggle, Odile softened, her usual sharpness dulling into something gentler. "Siffrin," she murmured, her hand resting lightly on the book at her bedside table. She picked it up and, with a small, tired smirk that was so characteristic for her, handed it to him. "I’ve been keeping notes. Little things about all of you. It started long, long before we even reached Dormont. All categorized, of course.”

She said with that same smirk, trying to keep the mood light, though the weight of her words was far from it. "I’ve categorized everyone pretty thoroughly by now," she said, though her smirk faltered as her eyes found Siffrin’s again. "If something happens to me... I want you to keep it. To keep our family together. To make a Familytale." They all knew about Siffrin’s awful memory problems. It was most likely that he would make the best use for it. Plus, a familytale sounded.. right. It sounded right. She's already wrote her part- now it was up to the others to write some of their own.

Siffrin’s facade was crumbling faster now, and Odile could see it in the way his lip trembled, the way he shut his eye tightly, as if willing himself not to break down. Her heart ached at the sight, but she couldn’t lie to him. She wouldn’t. Not anymore.

She reached out, her hand a bit unsteady, and ruffled his hair, the gesture she was known for. "Oh, Siffrin," she sighed softly, trying to offer some comfort, "Don’t worry too much, alright? We both know that doesn’t seem to work out very well for you,” she raised a brow. No amount of jokes or head pats would be able to make this moment seem.. pleasant, but she figured that Siffrin might need it.

“Don’t tell the others. I don’t want them treating me like I’m already gone. Let’s just... enjoy the time we have left, however long or short that might be."

Siffrin leaned into her touch, his breath shaky. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but Odile could feel the tension radiating off him. His fingers twitched in his lap again, more noticeably now. And then, quietly, heartbreakingly, he spoke.

"Don’t leave," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Please, Odile. Don’t leave. I can’t.. i can’t do it all again.”

Do it again.

Odile stared at him. Surely, he doesn’t mean..

Odile flinched harshly when the realization washed over her- a cold, shivering wave of anxiety that left her heart pounding in her chest. The mere suggestion of Siffrin trapping himself in another time loop, of him making another wish just to keep her alive- just to keep them all together- it shook her to her very core.

Without thinking, she grabbed his shoulders, her grip firm. Siffrin jumped, startled by the sudden movement, but Odile didn’t let go. "No," she said, her voice sharp, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You will not use Time Craft again. You will not make another wish. I forbid it."

Siffrin stared at her, wide-eyed and shaken, but Odile’s expression softened as she continued. “Promise me, Siffrin. Promise me you’ll move on. That you’ll let me go. You need to be there for Mirabelle, for Isabeau... for Boniface, when it happens. They’ll need you. You’re strong, Siffrin. Stronger than any of us. You need to keep them together.”

He hesitated, his lip trembling as he struggled to find his voice. She could see so many emotions on his typically calm and soft facade, ranging from sadness to desperation to fear, as he clutches the book tightly to his chest. He could see Odile’s face. The kind of face that meant she had put her foot down, and there’s absolutely nothing Siffrin can change about it.

After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly, though his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “I... I promise,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The words pierced through her, bringing both relief and despair alike, and for the first time in a long while, Odile felt that ache in her chest- something she recalled feeling when she had found her father has passed. Ironic, considering that she would be the one who passes. She swallowed hard around that tightness, before taking in a deep breath.

In, and out. It seems like Siffrin brushes off on all of them.

She slowly released his shoulders, calming down slightly upon hearing the other’s promise.

“..good,” was all that she could say, wincing slightly as she stopped her hand from traveling up to her chest- alright, maybe it was not emotional pain anymore- stress sure didn’t seem to be aiding her. Siffrin sniffled, moving a hand up to rub his face harshly, and Odile turned her head to the side to look at him again. He was holding her book so tightly- all the information written in it surely meaning a whole world to him.

Odile sighed. She already told him the truth- none of them can be sure when exactly death decides to claim her. It is best to get rid of all of those walls- all those walls that she had carefully built around herself over her entire lifespan. Hesitantly at first, her arm went around the shorter, before wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him against her side in a small, awkward embrace. It was never Odile’s fort- physical contact. But Siffrin definitely needed it right now.

"I’m not going anywhere just yet," she promised softly. "Not until it’s time." She hummed thoughtfully, staring forward at the opposite wall, holding the small ball of anxiety against her side.

Siffrin’s free hand reached out instantly, gripping onto her shirt, his small frame trembling slightly as he fought to keep it together. Odile let out a slow breath, her voice gentle now as she added, "Meeting all of you... it changed my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not even for more time."

They sat there like that, in quiet understanding, for what felt like hours- thought it was most likely just Odile’s disturbed perception of time. Siffrin held on as if letting go would make her disappear, and Odile, despite the ticking clock in the back of her mind, felt.. strangely light. Content, almost. This path that she went down.. had she not, she would’ve most likely been stuck in her own world of research, busy, and, deep down- miserable. Pointless.

This path that she went down- it made her realize. Life, is not, in fact, about knowledge, or trying to understand the world, like her father had thought. If anything, it only plays a very small factor. What really matters is the people. The family.

And Odile, just so happened to become a part of one, and because of that, she will die, content.

NO MORE WHOLESOME WE GO H A R D MUAHAHAH i actually realized i never posted "Odile's Consequences" (OR DID I? I FORGOR) which describes exactly what the consequences of using Time Craft are for her, so uhhh MAYBE LATER OOP

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Chapter Text

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The situation goes south, very quickly. Just before Siffrin speaks with the Head Housemaiden, Odile confronts him about his increasingly strange behavior. Unlike in canon ISAT, her suspicions have taken a different turn. All the clues point to one thing; Siffrin must be reliving the same events. The only explanation is that Siffrin is somehow caught in a time loop.

"..Did you do it on purpose, Siffrin? Are you doing this on purpose? Keeping yourself trapped in time?" Her voice is sharp, her eyes cutting through him. "Did we die against the King? Or... maybe..." She pauses, crossing her arms as uncertainty flickers across her face. She hesitates to voice such an accusation, but she pushes forward.

"Are you trying to become a God, Siffrin? Is that what this is? Is this..." She makes a movement with a hand, motioning to the world around them. "..Is this what you wanted?"

The accusation lands hard, and after being forced to relive the horrific deaths of his companions and the cruelty of this world, Siffrin snaps. He lets out a bitter, erratic laugh, covering his face with his hands as his knees threaten to bend, barely holding him up. The words hit like a physical blow. Siffrin staggered, barely able to hold himself together. All the looping, the deaths, the endless suffering- being accused of orchestrating it was too much. Seconds from breaking down entirely, he lashes out at her. Their other companions watch in stunned silence, confusion quickly replaced by fear as Siffrin spirals. He regrets everything- the wish, his choices, his fault.

Odile stands frozen, her sharp eyes now wide with shock. His calm, collected mask has shattered with just one accusation. She tries to calm him, to reason with him, but her words fall flat. Siffrin spirals further, his voice becoming a mess of sobs and confessions, the horrific truth spilling from his lips in a flood, disturbing his party members. The world around them warps, distorts- Odile can feel it. Time itself is unraveling. Siffrin’s despair is tearing reality apart.

"I don’t want your help!" he shouts, his voice broken. "No one can help me. If you knew the truth, you'd all hate me. I don’t want you to hate me," The smell of burnt sugar fills the air.

Is this the Universe’s cruel joke? To make his friends believe he's the one behind their suffering?

Before anyone can react, time rewinds. The world resets to the moment before Odile confronts him. With a shaky, forced smile, Siffrin brushes her off, saying they’ll talk after they leave the House.

But deep down, he knows they won’t.

- - -

 once again the link to the animatic portraying this event! warning blood, if this entire work hadn't enough of it lmao https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gFUWoMo5s4

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin woke up groggy, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the branches of the Favor Tree. His head felt heavy, and for a moment, everything around him seemed to blur in and out of focus. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the drowsiness.

“How did I fall asleep here…?” he muttered to himself, pushing off the rough bark he had leaned against. The familiar branches of the Favor Tree stretched high above him, its roots curling protectively around the soft, grassy area. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as a wave of tiredness lingered in his muscles.

He couldn’t rest. He shouldn’t. He needs to break out of the loops. Getting to his feet, Siffrin stretched, glancing down the path. Usually, Isabeau would be lounging nearby, probably lost in thought, staring off into the clouds. But today, there was no sign of him.

Strange.

He shrugged, dismissing the thought as he dusted himself off. A sense of restlessness gnawed at him, like something was off but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Still, he started down the path toward Dormont, eager to reunite with the party. They had plans, didn’t they?

As he wandered into town, Siffrin could feel eyes on him. People turned as he passed, their gazes lingering a little too long. His brow furrowed, discomfort prickling at the back of his mind, but he kept moving, brushing off the sensation. He hadn’t done anything to draw attention, had he?
And then, in the distance, he spotted them. His party.

An unexplainable wave of relief and uncontainable happiness washed over him. He hadn’t seen them in ages! Or at least, it felt that way. Mirabelle, Odile, Isabeau, Bonnie… all standing together, chatting. Without thinking, a grin spread across his face, and he broke into a skip, practically bouncing toward them.

"Hey!" Siffrin called out, excitement bubbling in his chest. He was so glad to see them. He ran straight to Mirabelle and without hesitation, threw his arms around her in a tight hug. He wasn’t sure where that sudden wave of clinginess came from, but it felt so nice to hug them! He was always holding back. “I missed you all! Are we ready for tomorrow? We’ve got to take down the King, right?”

There was silence.

Siffrin blinked, hesitantly leaning back to catch a glimpse of the Housemaiden’s face, confusion gnawing at him at the lack of reaction from his companions. Mirabelle didn’t return his hug, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. Slowly, she stepped back, her brows furrowing as she looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking between the others. Odile’s face was unreadable, but her posture was tense. Isabeau’s usual warm smile was missing, replaced by a soft frown, his hand resting lightly on his hip. Even Bonnie, with their innocent and blunt nature, seemed hesitant, their eyes narrowing as they sized him up.

Then, in a small, sharp voice that they were known for, Bonnie asked, “Who are you?”

Siffrin froze. His heart skipped a beat, confusion crashing over him like cold water.

What

What did they say?

“W-What? What do you mean?”

Odile stepped forward, her stance subtly defensive, as if preparing for an eventual threat. She glanced to Mirabelle briefly before returning right back to Siffrin. “Mirabelle, Do you know this.. person?” She asked, hesitating with the end of her sentence, as if unsure if it was appropriate to even call him a
person.

Siffrin could feel his heart squeeze.

Mirabelle shook her head slowly, apologetically, her hands clasping together in front of her chest. “I.. I-I’m sorry- I don’t think..” She bit her lip anxiously. “N-no. I don’t.”

The world around Siffrin began to blur, and an uneasy weight settled in his chest. “..ah. I-Is that a prank? What are you talking about? It’s me! I’m Siffrin!” His voice cracked with a rising edge of panic. Anxiety clawed its way up his throat as he looked from one confused face to another.

Isabeau frowned, his expression soft but concerned. “Sif? Wasn’t Sif just taking a nap back at the meadow?” He glanced back at the others. “I didn’t even see him leave.”

Mirabelle gasped, turning toward the meadow in the distance. “I didn’t either! He was still there when I checked earlier…”

Siffrin blinked rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at himself and-

He finally realized.

The skin on his arms, once light, was now dark and shimmering, like the vastness of a night sky littered with stars. His hands were large snd clawed, sharp and sleek. A long tail swished behind him, and his legs were bent, digitigrade like some creature. His form was alien, lightless, and unfamiliar.

The realization hit them like a wall of bricks. They weren’t Siffrin. Not anymore.

Panic surged through their body, and before they could stop themself, they stumbled back, the light of their head and tail pulsing erratically. Their breaths came in short, rapid gasps as they looked at the party- their faces painfully familiar in the worst way possible. How had they forgotten? How had they convinced themself that they were still Siffrin, that this world was still theirs?

“Loop?”

Just then, another voice called from the distance, quiet but confused, and yet ripping through air like baldes.

Siffrin turned sharply, their eyes widening as they saw themself- another Siffrin, standing at the edge of the meadow, looking just as shocked to see them.

I’m not Siffrin.

The truth sank in, overwhelming and cold. The party’s eyes widened, confusion morphing into something more dangerous- caution. Odile stepped forward, this time placing herself fully between Siffrin- no, Loop- and the others. Her eyes narrowed as she addressed the real Siffrin. “Do you know them?”

Loop’s light flared uncontrollably, their entire form trembling with the weight of the realization. This wasn’t their world. This wasn’t their party. Nothing was theirs anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

They backed away, their mind reeling, panic coursing through every nerve. Their breaths grew shallow, frantic, as if the very air around them was closing in. Their chest felt like it was caving in, the pressure unbearable.

“No. Nononononono-” Loop stammered, their voice breaking.

The light emanating from their body grew brighter and brighter, crackling with energy as their panic consumed them. “No!! No, I had them back! I almost had them back!!” Their voice rose to a near scream, the weight of their confusion and grief too much to bear, as the air became thick with the scent of burnt sugar.

The Universe creates cruel performances.

Before anyone could say anything, before Siffrin could even step forward to speak, Loop's form fractured, the light collapsing inward. The world seemed to warp around them, the ground beneath his feet spinning, twisting, and then-

Time looped back.

Siffrin woke up in the meadow.

He is sure of it. He was not the one who caused this rewind.

Loop was returned to their little place under the Favor Tree. Their prison. Their grave.

Their light was bright and flickering. Their chest still heaved from the panic of moments ago, the rush of fear and confusion clinging to their every thought. The realization that they were not theirs anymore had rattled them to the core, but there was no escaping it now.

They ran their claws through the harsh bark of the root they sat on, trying to steady their breathing, to slow the racing thoughts. This world, the people they thought they belonged to, it was all slipping away like sand through their fingers. It did a long time ago.

Loop knew Siffrin would come soon. He always did. He would ask questions- want to know what happened. Why they suddenly left their spot at the Favor Tree. Why was his family looking so distressed to see them. What did they do, what did they say? To make them so scared?

Loop couldn’t face him. Not now. Not with the lingering ache of knowing that there was no place for them among those familiar faces. Not with the knowledge that, no matter how many loops they lived through, they’d always be stuck, always in between. Always away from home, their home, their world, which they destroyed.

A soft sound echoed through the air- a faint rustle of footsteps. Siffrin was coming. And sooner than usual.

Loop tensed, their claws digging deeper into the bark. They couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t. Siffrin could not know they used to be him- Not now. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.

As Siffrin’s figure appeared before the Favor Tree, Loop’s light faded into a barely shimmering glow. They made the decision quickly, quietly, retreating into the shadows, seemingly melting away into the warm summer air. They didn’t disappear, not completely- they could still see Siffrin searching, his eyes scanning the spot where they had been. Where they had always been.

But Loop didn’t move to reappear. They couldn’t bring themselves to.

Not today.

Maybe not ever.

- - -

HA!!!! PLAYED LIKE A DUM DUM!!! DID YOU SEE THE TWIST COMING?????

Chapter Text

- - -

Each loop stretched longer than the last in Siffrin’s mind, a ceaseless repetition of death, anguish, and futile attempts to escape. At first, the horrors of his friends' deaths would shatter him every time, driving him to desperation, clawing for a solution that never came. He’d wept and scream and beg, but the solution never came. But as the loops continued, the pain dulled, slowly replaced by an unsettling numbness. He had seen his friends die in so many ways. Each more painful than the last. Each death etched itself into his memory, but none of them held the sharp sting of grief anymore. Only a hollow echo remained, leaving room for something darker to fester.

Siffrin knew something was wrong when, instead of the usual jolt of fear at seeing Isabeau reach for his shoulder, the flicker of an intrusive thought crept into his mind, sounding sickly sweet and cheery.

If I rip off his arm, he won’t be doing that blinding annoying hand movement anymore!

The thought slithered in without warning. It wasn’t rage, not even frustration anymore. It was mechanical, like something winding tightly in his brain, coated in that sick layer of sweetness. Each time Isabeau made that small, aborted gesture- the one where he almost touched Siffrin’s shoulder but then stopped, hand twitching back- the urge flared. Siffrin's fingers would twitch, curling as though they were already sinking into Isabeau’s remaining wrist. He would imagine the sensation of tearing skin, tendons snapping as he wrenched the remaining arm from Isabeau’s body. Then there would be no hand movement. No hesitation. No more reaching for him at all.

Siffrin’s stomach twisted with revulsion, but the thought persisted every time they spoke under the Favor Tree. The loops were warping him. He felt it creeping in, the exhaustion, the mental cracks that widened with each passing death, each reset.

The thoughts didn’t stop at Isabeau.

Each time they ascended the stairs of The House, reaching the top after defeating the King, Siffrin would see Odile flinch as the realization of being dozens upon dozen of meters above the ground settled in. Her fear of heights was always palpable- hands trembling, eyes refusing to look down, feet shifting uncomfortably on the roof’s floor. She was strong, always masking her fear with biting words or sarcastic amusement. But Siffrin knew. He could see the panic behind her eyes, even if she tried to hide it.

And each time, that same dark thought curled around his mind like smoke:

Push her. Just a small shove. It’d be so easy. She won’t even have the time to scream.

He would imagine it. The way her eyes would widen in surprise, her mouth opening in a silent scream as she plummeted. The moment she hit the ground- her body broken, motionless- flashed vividly in his head. Over and over. Siffrin would feel his hands shake as they stood at the roof together, and he would grit his teeth, forcing his body to stay still, to not give in to the horrible, destructive urge.

Mirabelle was no different. She was the first to die in many loops, her small frame- despite driven by determination and blessing- often giving out under the intense use of Healing Craft. It should have hurt more to see her like this. It should have caused more despair. But now, whenever she stood beside him, chatting brightly or offering a smile, he could only think of how easily he could end it himself.

Crush her skull. The thought came again, uninvited. It would be painless. Quick.

He would do it with his hands. The weight of her head would be so light, her skull so fragile. His fingers twitched with the phantom sensation of her bones cracking under pressure, her body crumpling before she even had time to scream. The image was there- clear, vivid- and the worst part was that, after a while, it didn’t horrify him the way it used to.

Then there was Bonnie. Curious, little Bonnie, who always hugged him like he was some sort of protector. Each time they wrapped their small arms around him, clinging to him like he was their anchor, the thought would strike, unbidden:

Squeeze. Tight. Tighter. Until everything inside them breaks.

Siffrin’s heart would race, his breathing would grow shallow, and he’d freeze in place, stiff in Bonnie’s arms, terrified of what he might do if he gave in to the impulse. The urge to wrap his arms around their frail body, to feel their ribs snap under his fingers- it made him sick. But it was there, lurking in the back of his mind every time Bonnie came close. Every time they hugged him, and every time he hugged back. And it was getting harder to ignore.

And then there was Loop.

Siffrin’s conversations with them had always been strange, but comforting in a way. Loop was constant. They were always under the Favor Tree, always waiting, always talking to him as though they understood everything. Always remembering. But even Loop couldn’t escape the darkness twisting inside Siffrin’s thoughts. Each time they poked him to pull him out of his spiraling mind, to bring him back to the conversation, the urge would strike.

Stab them. Shatter them into pieces.

Siffrin imagined it, the sound of his knife slicing through Loop’s body, the way their form would splinter into shards of stardust and glass. He would watch as their body collapsed into nothing, scattered across the ground in millions of glittering fragments.

The first time the thought came, he recoiled, horrified by the very idea of hurting Loop. But by now, the thought was a constant, whispering in the back of his mind whenever they were near. It would be so easy. So simple. Just one stab, then another, again and again, and then Loop would no longer poke and prod at him, no longer try to make him feel real.

But Loop- Loop knew. They always knew.

One day, after Siffrin had spaced out, lost in the dark spiral of his own thoughts, Loop poked him again. Siffrin flinched, and his hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of his dagger, the movement hidden underneath his cloak, his eyes dark and wild with the violent thought. Loop didn’t move away. They didn’t react in fear or confusion. Instead, they looked at him with knowing eyes.

“That’s okay, Stardust,” Loop said, for once their tone lacking their usual, careful cheerfulness they always put forth, their voice steady and unjudging. “I know you don’t mean it.”

Siffrin’s breath caught in his throat. He froze, the dagger still in his grip but unmoving. The tension in his muscles coiled tight, as though the urge to lash out was fighting against the part of him that still held on to his sanity. Loop’s calm gaze seemed to see right through him, to the core of his torment, and the words they spoke were like a balm and a blade all at once.

“I know you don’t mean it.”

The reassurance- so simple- something inside Siffrin snapped. His grip loosened, and he let go of the dagger, his hands trembling as the weight of his thoughts came crashing down on him. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to hurt them. But the thoughts- the urges- they wouldn’t stop.

He started avoiding everyone after that. Every touch, every interaction. He kept his distance, terrified of what his mind would make him do if he got too close. Every trip to the gardening room felt like an anxiety rush. The thoughts had wormed their way in, twisting around his sanity like vines, choking him from the inside. Every loop was a battle- not just against the monsters and the horrors of The House, but against himself.

And each time he tried to ignore the intrusive thoughts, they grew a little stronger. A little darker. A little closer to reality.

Siffrin didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. The loops were endless, and the thoughts never stopped. In fact, they’ve gotten worse, as the endless cycle of looping slowly strips Siffrin of his sanity. It was crumbling, piece by piece, and he could feel the darkness creeping closer with every step he took.

- - -

yaaay

tomorrow ill try tackling a bit about mirabelle :D

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin found Mirabelle sitting quietly in her usual place, on the bench which was placed on the side of the path. Her usually bright expression dulled with a faraway look in her eyes, and she seemed to be very occupied by her papers. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the area, but despite the peaceful scene, something about her posture seemed off. He approached with a light step, greeting her with his usual calm tone.

"Hey Mira," he said, sliding onto the bench beside her.

Mirabelle looked up, blinking as though startled out of her thoughts. She managed a small smile but didn’t say much.

Siffrin leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the bench, and gave her a sidelong glance. “So, which one will you choose?”

The other stared at him, a confused smile on her lips. “Hm? Sorry?”

He nodded toward the small stack of papers in her lap. The neat little bundle of bonding papers- forms for potential dates, people she could choose to start a relationship with. Each paper had a profile, meant to help her decide who might be a suitable match.
She stared at them, confusion deepening for a moment before realization struck. Her eyes went wide, and all hell broke loose as she jumped up from the bench to stand, clearly taken aback.

“WHAT”
“HOW”
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW”
“ANSWER ME!!!!” Mirabelle demanded, her hand on her rapier.

Siffrin flinched, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her behavior and volume as he raised his hands in defense.

“Y-You’re choosing someone for something, right!?” He sputtered out nervously. “It seems important!!” He gave a nervous smile, trying to calm his racing heart. “Maybe I could help??”

Mirabelle’s shoulders remained tense, her breath unsteady. She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether he was telling the truth, before finally settling back against the bench, her posture slumping. “..hm. I.. I suppose you must have more experience than I do..”

Not really!!! Siffrin thought, slightly panicky, going wide eyed, anxious little dumb smile on his face.

But Mirabelle looked serious. “Alright. I would like your help, if you’ll give it.” She looked at him hopefully, yet with that seriousness remaining. Siffrin gulped, calming down slightly as he offered a kind smile.

“Sure, Mira.”

And just like that, the woman began anxiously showing him profile after profile, asking for his opinion. The more they went through though, the more Siffrin could see the uneasiness and frustration in her features, becoming more obvious as minutes passed. He frowned softly at some point, leaning forward slightly in order to see her better.

“What’s wrong, Mira? You look.. sad.” He pointed out.

She sighed deeply, clutching the papers in her lap. “I don’t know who to pick,” she admitted quietly, her fingers trembling as they held the stack. “I don’t… I don’t think I want to pick anyone.”

Siffrin’s frown deepened, glancing at the names on the papers. “Then why are you doing this? Why would you even consider it if you’re not interested?”
Mirabelle went silent, allowing the papers to rest in her lap before her hands went around her shoulders, hugging herself subconsciously. “I’ve been thinking a lot, Siffrin. About… my future. About my beliefs.”
Siffrin’s lip curled into a subtle snarl, though he kept his eyes focused on her. The mere thought of the Change God stirred a deep sense of disgust within him, but he held his tongue for the moment, wanting to hear her out fully.

She took a deep breath before speaking again. “I feel like I’m supposed to change. Like… I need to do things I don’t want to, for the sake of my faith. It’s what I’ve been taught, you know? That change is essential. That without it, I’m… stagnant. I don’t represent it properly. But the more I think about it, the more it makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”
Siffrin shifted uncomfortably, already sensing that this conversation was heading into difficult territory. Religion, especially Mirabelle’s faith in the Change God, had always been a touchy subject, with how much corruption originated from the belief. But he nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“What kind of changes?” he asked cautiously.
Mirabelle hesitated, her hands twisting in her lap. “For starters, I’m supposed to find a partner. Settle down, start a new life. After we beat the King tomorrow. That’s what the elders always tell me- it’s part of the natural order of things, part of evolving. But… I don’t want that. I don’t want to be in a relationship just for the sake of it. It feels so… wrong.”

She paused, her expression tightening with anxiety. “..and.. just the mere thought of.. finding a partner- and- *doing* things- things I’d never, *ever* want to do! It’s.. it’s terrifying.” She gulped, her words immediately causing Siffrin to stiffen up. Oh no, *no no no.* A part of him wants to laugh- he wants to say that he relates, that he has gone through.. exactly what she’s referencing, but.. he’s not as strong as Mira. He can’t bring himself to talk about it. It’s too shameful. So, he opted to just listening carefully as Mirabelle continued.

“And then there’s the matter of changing myself. My therapist back at the House, before I left- he suggested something called Mind Cleansing Craft. He said it would help with my anxiety, make me calmer, more content. He said it would be the most thorough kind of change I could make..”
Siffrin’s blood ran cold. He could feel his pulse quicken, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants underneath his cloak.

“He said it’s not a dangerous procedure,” Mirabelle continued, her voice soft and trembling. “But when I asked more about it, he described it like this… this horrible thing! It’s like- T-they go into your mind and sever parts of you.. Cut away the bits that make you anxious, the bits that make you question. And once it’s done, you’re… content, I guess. But the thought of it…”

Siffrin couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop,” he blurted out, voice sharp with alarm. “Just… stop.”

Mirabelle flinched, startled by his sudden outburst, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of her going through something so grotesque.

“You don’t need that,” he said, more desperately than he intended. His blood boiled in his veins, his hands clenched into fists at the mere thought of a therapist.. suggesting something like this!

“You don’t need to change like that, Mira. That’s not… that’s not change. That’s erasing who you are. You can’t let them take that from you.” Her identity. Who she was- it would all disappear forever. Forgotten by her. Wiped clean from her mind and memories. And Siffrin- Siffrin out of all people, should know. It’s unbearable.

Mirabelle blinked, her wide eyes reflecting confusion and vulnerability. “But… my faith-”

“Forget your faith for a second!” Siffrin snapped, his voice rising. “You don’t want this. You said it yourself- you don’t want to be in a relationship just to please some idea of change, and surely you don’t want them messing with your mind. You… you don’t have to do this.”

She looked away, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. “But it’s what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. “It’s what they say will make me better. Proper. As a Housemaiden.”

Siffrin shook his head furiously. “Better for who? The Change God? The people who think you’re supposed to fit into something they’ve decided for you? You’re already perfect the way you are, Mira. You don’t need to ‘change’ for anyone.”

His voice softened, filled with raw emotion. “Look, I.. I’m not exactly the best fit for such conversations- because, I’m not from Vaugarde, and I don’t follow it’s belief. But the way I see it- change isn’t something you do because someone tells you it’s necessary. It’s something you do because you want to. Because there’s something about yourself you want to improve, something that makes you feel better. But if you’re happy with who you are- then why should you have to change? Why should you go through something that’ll strip you of your personality, your spark, just because some belief demands it?”

Mirabelle was silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the ground. Siffrin could see the conflict written all over her face, the war between her loyalty to her faith and her desire to stay true to herself.

“And you don’t need to find a partner,” he added, shifting uncomfortably as the next part of his thoughts pushed their way to the surface. “You don’t need to get into a relationship where you’re… forced to do things you don’t want to do.”

Her eyes lifted to his, curious but gentle. “You mean…?”

Siffrin swallowed hard, feeling his face flush slightly. He shifted again, the words feeling heavy and awkward in his mouth. “I don’t… want to do things either,” he admitted quietly, referencing the expectations that came with relationships, the things neither of them seemed keen on acknowledging aloud. Mirabelle stared at him for a couple of seconds. “Huh? Why not..?” She asks quietly.

Siffrin’s eye narrowed nervously, as he gave a hesitant smile. “It’s weird, right?” He answered honestly.

For a moment, they both sat in a kind of shared silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

“Yeah..” Then, slowly, Mirabelle’s expression began to shift, as realization came upon her. She looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and something like relief washed over her features. Without warning, she went to hold both of Siffrin’s hands within hers, causing him to jump a little.

“Yeah! Yeah!! It’s just weird! And gross! And awful!!! I don’t want that at all!!!” She nearly shouted, as a relieved smile made it’s way on her face, as she let out a shaky laugh- likely trying to relieve tension.

“Oh, Siffrin! Siffrin!! You mean it? You really mean it? You understand?” Siffrin could immediately feel the stage brightening with the force of her smile, and he found himself returning it.

“Yeah, of course!”

“And you really think… I don’t need to change?” she asked, her voice filled with an almost childlike hope. Siffrin nodded firmly.

“Yeah. You’re fine just the way you are. We all love you the way you are, Mira. You don’t need to change for anyone- not for your faith, not for opinions, not for anyone. Just be you.”

Mirabelle’s eyes crinkled with unshed tears, and she let out another small giggle, moving a hand up to rub her eyes. “Oh, haha.. oh, what a relief!” She sniffled softly. “To know that someone.. someone understands..” Siffrin’s heart melted. In this moment, he was not stuck in a time loop, forced to die or watch his friends die over and over again. He was just hanging out with Mirabelle, helping her get out of her dark thoughts.

“You don’t need to change, Mira.” He would say it as many times as it took. She smiled, replying with such relief and happiness that it made Siffrin’s heart squeeze.

“I don’t need to change!” Siffrin let out a quiet sigh of relief, glad that she was finally seeing things the way he did. She seemed so happy, just with the fact that someone thought that she was already enough- she didn’t need to do anything against her will, and especially not to please the public- or a God that didn’t even care enough to stay.

“You don’t,” he said gently. “And you definitely don’t need to put yourself through something like Mind Cleansing Craft. That’s not a solution- that’s just… horrifying.”

Mirabelle shuddered at the mention of it, but she nodded feverishly. “Y-Yeah! You’re right, Siffrin. That was.. that was silly of me, wasn’t it? To think that..” she smiled, gently squeezing the other’s hands as she held them.

Siffrin smiled, feeling the tension between them dissolve. He was grateful that she had listened, that she had trusted him enough to share her worries and, more importantly, to take his advice to heart.

As the two sat there, side by side, the sun fading from view slowly, they found a new understanding of each other. In that moment, they weren’t just companions- they were two people bound by their shared struggles and the relief of knowing they didn’t have to face them alone. They were family.

- - -

not me making a lobotomy equivalent in a gay ass RPG game fanfic 💀 and yeah in case you’d like the actual context- the Mind Cleansing Craft thing is indeed inspired by Lobotomy. How fucked up is that

Chapter Text

- - -

The sun hung high over Dormont, as Siffrin wandered through the town. The stylish one, a certain citizen, had caught his eye earlier, beckoning him over with that usual playful gleam in her eyes. He had half a mind to ignore it- he had plans with everyone after all- hangouts needing completion- but something in her expression had changed. When he approached, she began to talk, and not just the usual script he got so used to hearing. Something new? Something new. Something new something new something NEW!

"She’s adorable, you know," the stylish one said, moving her hands up to cup her face, letting out a quiet squeal as her cheeks flushed. "Mirabelle.. there's something about her that draws people in. I’ve always admired her, the way she carries herself, even if she doesn't always see her own charm!"

Siffrin tilted his head. That seemed relatively in character. What’s with the script changing then? What’s with the necessity to say the same thing in a different manner?

"Mira?" he asked, feigning having talked to the woman for the first time.

"Yeah, she’s great. But you’re not really the type to sit around admiring someone from afar, are you?"

Her grin was bubbly, the usual bravado in her voice did not waver. “Maybe I am! Maybe I’m not! But... maybe she deserves to know that people see her, you know? See her as more than just the awkward girl she thinks she is.”
Siffrin felt a pang in his chest. Mirabelle was confident in so many ways, but he knew there were moments where she doubted herself. They all had their insecurities. He glanced at the stylish one again, and an idea took root in his mind.

“Would you want to… you know… tell her? In person, I mean.”

The stylish one blinked, surprised by his offer. “You’re serious?”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Plus, I think a distraction from tomorrow would be good for her,”

And so, the plan was set. Together, Siffrin and the stylish one prepared a small, quaint spot for a date just a few minutes’ walk outside Dormont. The place they chose was a hidden meadow, surrounded by thick, twisting trees that gave it a sense of privacy. The air smelled fresh, the leaves creating a soft bed for a perfect evening.

Siffrin couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at how it turned out. It would be perfect for Mirabelle, somewhere she could relax and be herself. Realize that she didn’t need to get into unnecessary assumptions, or change for anyone. She was already loved just as she is. She doesn’t need to change, if she doesn’t want to. Especially for the sake of some God that does not even care enough to stay.

Siffrin’s lip quirked up in a slight snarl at the mere thought of the deity.

As the preparations finished, Siffrin made his way back to fetch Mirabelle. She greeted him with her usual soft smile, but the surprise was clear on her face when he asked her to follow him without much of an explanation.

“Siffrin, what’s going on?” she asked, hesitating at first but trusting him enough to follow along without further question. She still pouted, puffing her cheeks in an attempt of giving the shorter her best expression of frustration. It fell flat. “You better not be teasing me again, Siffrin.”

He just flashed a grin, keeping his voice light. “Wouldn’t dare to! You’ll see soon enough. Just trust me, alright?”

The walk to the date place was peaceful, the evening settling into a comfortable quiet, but Siffrin could feel a strange weight in his chest. It was almost as if something was warning him, something deep in his gut, but he pushed the thought aside. He was doing this for Mirabelle. Since when did the Universe care enough to give him warning signs? He’s be more inclined to listen to a sign in the form of a black cat crossing the road before him, rather than the Universe giving him gut feelings.

When they reached the meadow, her eyes widened in surprise at the setup—the blankets laid out, the small lanterns glowing softly, and the cozy atmosphere they had created. Siffrin smiled at her stunned expression.

"Enjoy the night, Mira. I think you deserve a little distraction from the important things, don’t you?” He smiled, glancing over to the stylish one, seeming to be nearly bouncing where she stood out of excitement.

Mirabelle, still confused, glanced between him and the woman, her cheeks flushed. “Siffrin, wait! what-?”

But he was already walking away. He didn’t want to intrude. He had other hangouts to attend to anyway. It was all in good hands, he thought. The stylish one admired her. It would be good for Mirabelle to hear it from someone other than him. Not that she would remember it. It seemed like a good bet though. Leaving Mira to have her development on her own and learn her skill while he completed the other’s hangouts. Saving time.

However, as the afternoon wore on, something began to gnaw at him. He waited patiently at the picnic under the stars, expecting Mirabelle to show up any moment. The others had already gathered, but Mirabelle’s absence started to prick at him.
A heavy, sinking feeling settled in his stomach when she didn’t arrive.

Maybe he should’ve listened to the sign.

“I’m going to go look around for Mira,” Siffrin said, excusing himself from the gathering. “I’ll be right back.”

As he retraced his steps towards the date place, an inexplicable sense of dread filled him. His heart pounded louder with each step, his pace quickening as the unsettling feeling grew stronger. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones.

He should’ve listened to the sign.

By the time he reached the place, he was practically running.

And when he finally burst through the trees and into the clearing, he froze.

Mirabelle lay lifeless on the bed of leaves they had prepared, her face contorted in unbearable fear. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. His entire world narrowed in on the scene in front of him. And there, sitting beside her corpse, was the stylish one, clutching a bloodied knife, preparing to skin her. Her expression was serene, adoring, almost affectionate as she carefully eyed Mirabelle's skin, detached from the horror of the act she was about to commit. She almost looked.. tender, in the way she looked at her. As if completely disconnected from the world. From what she has done. From who she was.

A Skin Walker.

The word crashed through his mind, bringing with it a blinding surge of fury.

Before Siffrin could even think, he was already moving. His body acted on instinct, fueled by rage and pure, unfiltered adrenaline. He lunged at the stylish one, tackling her to the ground, causing her to yelp in surprise as if she was suddenly snapped out of whatever state she was in. Siffrin’s hand found the knife she had discarded as he stabbed her. Once. Twice. Again.

It wasn’t enough.

He kept stabbing. Stabbing until she is dead. Stabbing until the static in his mind clears, and his cloak is soaked in her blood. Stabbing until the suffocating scent of burnt sugar overwhelms his senses. Stabbing until he feels a tug on his stomach, which will send him back into the meadow.

The sound of her dying breaths blended with the noise in his head, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop until there was nothing left of her but a mangled, lifeless form.

When his vision finally cleared, when the rush of adrenaline faded, Siffrin realized what he had done. The stylish one was dead, her body limp beneath him, her blood soaking the ground. He stared down at her, breathing heavily, his heart still racing, but the only thing he could think of was Mirabelle.

He turned to her, dread gripping his heart again, but before he could even reach for her, he felt a sharp tug on his stomach. It yanked him violently, pulling him back through the static, through the darkness, through the time.

“-frin! Siffrin!”

“Siffrin?”

When he opened his eyes, he was back. Back in the meadow. Back before any of it had happened.

Mirabelle was there, alive and well, her worried voice calling out to him from above.

“Are you awake? Siffrin, what’s wrong? You’re so pale!” she asked, crouching down beside him, her face a mix of worry and confusion, hands half extended towards him, hesitant to touch. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt like he was drowning, like the weight of what he had just seen, what he had just done, was crushing him. His stomach churned, threatening to empty itself, but there was nothing left inside him. He hadn’t eaten in several loops.

Mirabelle’s voice was distant, muffled. He forced himself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. His voice was shaky, practiced, and hollow. He didn’t even make an attempt to move from his spot.

“Sorry, Mira,” he managed to say, the fake closed-eye smile stretching across his face like a mask. “Just had a bad dream.”

Mirabelle’s concern only deepened, but she didn’t press further, her hand resting gently on his arm in a comforting manner as she hesitantly shared her idea about the sleepover. He couldn’t bear to look at her, not after what he had seen.

He doesn’t want to close his eyes, desperate to follow the script, desperate for the script to continue like it always does. He doesn’t want it to change anymore. He doesn’t, not when the Universe punishes him with such horrifying results.
He can’t bring himself to look at her face. Not when all he sees, is the same look of terror she had as her admirer stabbed her to death.

- - -

welp this picture fits now actually, even if it was made for another purpose. but well i'm lazy, so no new doodle today teehee

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin stood before the Change God’s statue, his thoughts elsewhere, his fingers clenched together in mock prayer. Next to him, Mirabelle was bowing her head, eyes closed, a deep breath escaping her. The rest of the party was silent baside them, the tension palpable. Mirabelle had insisted they all pray together before their final battle with the King, hoping to gain some semblance of blessing from the God she had devoted herself to. And so, as in every other loop, they prayed. Even though Siffrin wasn't one for these kinds of rituals, he knelt for Mirabelle's sake. He could feel her unease, even in the stillness.

Suddenly, there was a shift- an odd pull, like the world being twisted and bent, and before either of them could react, the space around them vanished. Siffrin’s heart lurched as everything became white- a pure, glowing void of endless nothingness.
"WAH!!!" Mirabelle gasped beside him, eyes darting open, as she glanced around, her hands trembling as she clasped them together anxiously.

"Huh!? What!? Where-" she stammered, standing quickly, her body tense.

Siffrin stood as well, his hand already gripping the hilt of his dagger, as if instinctively ready for a threat. "I don't know. Stay close."

And then, the space before them shimmered. Siffrin turned towards it immediately, before moving himself between the Housemaiden and the light.

"Something's there, Mira!" He narrowed his eyes, as slowly, a figure materialized out of the void. Tall, radiant, and otherworldly. Too familiar, and bringing a bitter taste in his mouth. Why was she here? Why was she-?

"Th.. The Head Housemaiden..?" Mirabelle stammered behind him, as he shifted where he stood- what was happening? This wasn't according to script. She's frozen. She's frozen up ahead on the third floor, right behind the room they're always fighting the King- so how is she here!?

The figure is silent, staring at the two of them with, what one could assume was surprise. Then, as if in a flash- it's shape changed.

Siffrin and Mirabelle jumped a foot in the air when a loud buzzer sound cut them off- and- and- the figure in front of them was now Bonnie!!! What was happening!!!

"mirabelle!!! i can't believe u can't recognize me ;w;" It spoke with Bonnie's face, Bonnie's tone, Bonnie's voice.

"Th-they changed shapes!?" Mirabelle yelped beside him, clearly also struggling to grasp the situation. A flick of a form, and it was someone else again.

"yea! i did! don't u know who i am??? :D" Isa's cheerful, excited voice went through the air, as Siffrin gulped. Surely, not. This couldn't be who he thought it was. No, not them. He does NOT want to be meeting them.

"..Someone.. who changes shapes.." Mirabelle whispered, hands clasped together tightly, before gasping. "No.. this can't be!? You're-!!" The body flicks again, becoming their sharp-tongued Researcher, giving them her best, snarky smirk.

"aaand she got it!!! =O it's me" She spoke, and yet, it felt so wrong wrong wrong, the voice too high, the tone too cheerful.

"THE CHANGE GOD!! ^^" Mirabelle grinnen to him as this thing took her face, and Siffrin turned his head sharply to the side. God damn it.

Before either of them could reply though, Siffrin was cut off by a harsh wail from his side. Startled once more, he flinched and turned towards the Housemaiden, as she covered her face, letting out sobs as tears escaped her eyes. SHE'S CRYING!!! WHY IS SHE CRYING!?

Surprisingly, the Change God seemed just as startled as him, flicking back into the Head Housemaiden, as the tall woman mirrored her beloved Housemaiden's gesture, clasping her hands together.

"oh no oh no oh no!!! <:0 i didnt mean to make u cry!!! i messed up D':" They said, as Siffrin sputtered, looking between the God and his friend, not quite sure what to do in this situation. Should he try and comfort her!? But what if the Change God is planning something? What if they're a threat? They've dragged both of them here for a reason, right!? The absurdity of this situation was getting to him, making him frustrated.

"Oh..! Change God.. I'm.. I'm so sorry!!!" Mirabelle whimpered, looking up to her God with tear-filled eyes.

"sorry? but for what? -o-" The Researche's indifferent tone goes through the void, as Mirabelle moved a hand up to wipe her eyes softly.

"For so many things!!! For being useless, for not being willing to change enough, for lying and making everone believe you blessed me, for-" She rambled, her voice wavering as she tried to keep it together, true sorrow in her voice. Siffrin frowned, before glancing over to the Change God with a glare. She shouldn't apologize- not to someone like them. Them, who left them all to rot.

"oh that! i dont care UwU its fine dont worry about it" Bonnie's innocent, blunt voice goes through them like a bullet. "i dont really care about the mortals anymore so its fine! >:I"

The room is silent.

Siffrin is not all that surprised, but as he glances over to Mirabelle, he can see the confusion and bewilderment mixed together on her face. She doesn't get it yet. But he does. All the Gods ever do is play with their fate.

Stars, he hates this.

He really doesn't like the fact that she has to have those rumors confirmed in such circumstances.

Then, they changed again. But instead of hiding behind one of his friend's faces, they became.. something else. Something new.

Their body was cracked, covered in growths—vines, flowers, and moss sprouting from the fractures, as if life itself was seeping from the damage. They looked ethereal yet broken, vibrant yet decayed. They spread their arms wide, as if presenting themselves with pride, their tone too light for the seriousness of their presence.

"like i said i dont really care about humans >:(" The god waved a hand dismissively, vines rustling around their cracked frame. "yeah those nasty mortals!! most of them at least >:O so wrapped up in what they think we care about -._-. i left the mortal realm a long time ago ._. Do you really think i care about what humans do in my name anymore? You’ve spread corruption, twisted my words, my purpose… this whole world of yours is such a crabhole o_o" They sighed dramatically, like an actor in a play delivering a tired line.

Mirabelle's eyes widened, her breath hitching in disbelief. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice small and fragile.

The god chuckled lightly. "Just look at me! :v" They gestured to their own body- the cracks, the plants growing out of them like some abandoned ruin. "this is what ur kind has done to me >:U Your devotion, your so-called faith- look what it’s become >:0 You think I want to involve myself in the petty affairs of mortals anymore? -_-"

Siffrin could feel his blood boil, just by listening to them, being in their presence, and he was sure that it was apparent on his face. Mirabelle was stunned into silence, staring at the God in horror. The being she had followed, prayed to, devoted her life to- was this truly them? Her lips trembled as she struggled to find her voice again.

"I... I thought..." she began shakily, but then her voice changed, becoming lower, firmer. "..I thought you were supposed to be our God. Someone we could rely on, believe in. All this time.. I was hoping that all those rumors about you having left were false.. And now you’re saying you don’t care? After all the people who have died in your name!?" She clenched her fists, her teeth grinding as she straightened up, her whole body trembling with anger.

It's silent for several seconds.

The God watched her, curious and amused. "i see -v- well you have a right to be angry i guess <:3" They said, as if this conversation was just.. discussion of tomorrow's weather. They tilted their head, vines swaying as they offered a breezy smile. Siffrin felt the want to lunge forward and shatter that head of theirs.

Mirabelle’s anger boiled over, her voice rising in a teary outburst. "You... you're an awful God! You've abandoned us! So many people have died, and you just walked away!" She screamed, startling both Siffrin and the Change God, her voice breaking. "How could you?!"

The god stared at her, silent for a moment. "aw housemaiden mirabelle ;( oh well i suppose you deserved to know the truth @-@" They hummed, "its okay tho!! :0 even if you dont like me, ill still be rooting for u :3" They said, seemingly completely oblivious to Mirabelle's state- trembling in anger, tears streaming down her face. Siffrin's expression softened slightly, as he looked at her, standing beside him on shaky legs. He reached out hesitantely, his hand shaky, wanting to reach out, to provide some sort of comfort, some sort of reassurance-

"alright thats it! that was your god call!!! :U good luck mirabelle!!! im rooting for u!!! i love u!!! bye!!! :D" Before Mirabelle could scream another word, there was a soft snap of their fingers, and she vanished, leaving only Siffrin standing before the God, his hand still outstretched slightly towards the Housemaiden that wasn't there anymore.

"and YOU!!!!!!! siffrin no middle names no last name @v@" Bonnie's mocking tone sounded as the Change God pointed at Siffrin, which made their head turn slowly to look at them, eyes narrowing in boiling anger underneath.

"i also have a few words to say to YOU!!! B-O" One flick, and Siffrin flinches softly, as a soft glow suddenly starts eminating from the Change God's- no, Loop's head. They're Loop now. Great. "and those words are..."

The entire world dims then, causing the Traveler to gasp softly. His hands went up to cover his ears instinctively, eyes widening as the world seems to close in on him- meeting the Change God's anger first hand.

"I HAVE SEEN IT ALL." No trace of that cheerful tone anymore. Instead, their voice is distorted, and as Siffrin dares to peek up from under their hat, Loop's empty eyes stare right back at him.

"PITIFUL TRAVELER, WALKING THROUGH TIME... GOING AGAINST THE VERY NATURE OF THIS WORLD. THIS RIDICULOUS, NEVER ENDING PLAY... IT GOES AGAINST EVERYTHING I STAND FOR." Each word, every single sentence drills straight into Siffrin's head, causing him to gasp as he shuts his eyes. It can't quite compare to the wrath of the Universe- of the crumbling insanity and pain in every definition you could imagine upon saying a name- a forbidden word- but it's close. The Change God however, seems little to no moved by his struggles.

"I AM THE CHANGE GOD. MY DOMAIN IS THE FUTURE ITSELF, THE POSSIBILITY OF IT! AND THIS.. IS THIS WHAT I HAVE NOW? DORMONT, REPEATING! DORMONT, UNCHANGING! STAGNATING! A CRIME AGAINST LIFE ITSELF!!!" The pitch of their voice changes rapidly, going from low bas to high pitched screeching, each one causing him to whimper as his legs give out under him. So loud, so loud, so loud!!

"But I DON'T want to be here!!" He shouts, keeping his eyes shut tight, as he tries to breathe- the air around him seeming to shift between the biting cold and suffocating heat wave, causing his lungs to burn. If he could change it, he would!! He wouldn't be here right now!! He isn't here on his own will! Isn't here because he wants to! He doesn't want to keep dying, keep re-living failures and deaths of his friends!! He- He-

The Change God's distorted giggle cuts him off, the sound alike nails scraping a chalk board.

"YOU MISUNDERSTAND. THE EVENTS UNFOLDING RIGHT NOW MAY GO AGAINST MY VERY NATURE... BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I'M NOT ENJOYING MYSELF IMMENSELY. THIS POCKET OF TIME MAY BE REWINDING, BUT YOU ARE NOT." Siffrin's eye opens slightly, as he stares forward, confusion and pain alike gnawing at him, as despite the discomfort, he forces his head to move up slightly, just to look up at the God.

"IN THIS BUBBLE, WHERE EVERYTHING STAYS THE EXACT SAME.. HOW WILL YOU BRING ABOUT CHANGE? HOW WILL YOU, CHANGE? I..." And then, everything changes once more. The terrifying, shaky, forever-changing atmosphere seemingly evaporates, and everything returns to it's earlier, peaceful, blank, white void.

"i just cant wait to see more!! :0000" The Change God exclaims, causing Siffrin to flinch, the deity's voice echoing through their skull painfully, yet not as much as before.

"even tho youve caused me quite the headache i cant exactly hate you .-. oh youve actually been the most interesting part about this whole mess! youre the only reason i still exist @O@" They gasp dramatically, taking the face of the Housemaiden. Siffrin blinks, staring at the Change God for a couple of seconds, clearly trying to grasp what they're tryign to say. No. Surely, not.

He's the only reason they still exist?

"Youre the only one who actually changes! and as long as change exists within the bounds of vaugarde i will be just fine uwu PLUS this is so funny to watch u know XD character development if you will *0*"

Siffrin’s eye twitched. His hands shook, and before he could stop himself, his hand found his dagger once more, as he got back up to his feet, shouting. "What!? You think this is development?! You think my suffering is some sort of progress?! You think me dying over and over again, and watching my friends die is some sort of a SHOW!?" He screamed, and he couldn't hold himself back anymore. He launged forward, swinging in the air with his dagger, aiming for the neck.

"YOU SCUM!!!" Before he could even finish his sentence, before the blade could reach them, the Change God’s face twisted into an unnatural smile, and with a wave of their hand, Siffrin was gone.

He stumbled as he was thrown back into the real world, his foot catching the crumbled stone of the Change God’s statue. The force of his fall shattered what remained of it.

Mirabelle gasped, rushing forward. "Siffrin!" she cried, helping him up, her hands trembling.

Odile, Bonnie, and Isabeau, already at their side, their voices overlapping in concern. "HEY!!!" Bonnie shrieked, as they looked Mirabelle and Siffrin up and down.

"Mira, Sif!!! Are you two okay??" Isabeau asked, a hand reaching out to steady Siffrin- but it backed out before it could land. Blinding-

"What.. what happened?" Mirabelle's soft voice cut off his thought process, and it took him a moment to realize that the Housemaiden is still crying, and she doesn't seem all that aware of it either. She can't help it.

"I don't know, you both started looking weird! Like.. like you were about to faint, or something!!!" Isabeau tried to explain, as Bonnie firmly hugged Mirabelle's waist, looking up at her with concern.

"BELLE! YOU'RE CRYING!" They frowned.

"Are you both okay? Can you stand up?" The Researcher's perfectly calm, calculating tone cut through the air, but despite her being stoic, it was clear that she was also quite confused. Mirabelle sniffled softly, moving a hand up to wipe the tears away.

"..Y-Yes, I'm.. I'm okay.. I don't.. I don't know what happened but.. I just.. m-my chest hurts.." She whispers, and Siffrin's expressions darkens. "L-Like I just.. experienced something awful..!" She sighs, frustrated.

"Huh??" Bonnie blinked, confused.

"..I don't remember it anymore, though.." Of course she wouldn't. A part of Siffrin is grateful for that. She doesn't need to worry about it.

Whatever was said next, Siffrin was not listening. He barely registered the worried faces around him. He thought of the God, their smug smile, their callous words. His heart pounded, and all he felt was venomous hatred curling in his chest like a fire that refused to burn out.

- - -

WOOO I HATE THIS FUCKER! :D

Chapter Text

- - -

Mirabelle’s story begins in the serene yet bustling town of Dormont, where she was born and raised as an orphan. The House of Change, a revered institution in Vaugarde, took her in when she was just a toddler, and it was there that she was introduced to the structure, care, and education that would shape her into who she would become. Dormont was known for its devotion to the God of Change- as was any other House in Vaugarde, and within its sacred walls, young Mirabelle was nurtured by the other Housemaidens.

At the helm of this House was Euphrasie, the newly appointed Head Housemaiden, who was both compassionate and kind in her care for the students. Despite her high rank, Euphrasie held a special fondness for Mirabelle, who stood out with her shy, kind nature. Mirabelle was always eager to help others, her wide eyes glistening with warmth and innocence. She was a quiet girl, often seen with her nose buried in a book or working diligently in her classes. Euphrasie, noticing Mirabelle’s potential, took her under her wing. Mirabelle, in turn, admired Euphrasie deeply, seeing her as more than a mentor. She was, in every sense, a mother figure- the person Mirabelle looked up to the most in the world.

The House of Change was a place of learning and discipline, and for Mirabelle, it became her sanctuary. The Head Housemaiden encouraged her to pursue various classes, shaping her into a versatile student. Mirabelle studied crafts, history, healing, and many other things. Her talent for learning seemed boundless, and her teachers praised her, yet Mirabelle’s anxiety grew with every step she took toward success. As the years passed, her anxiety deepened, and she was soon diagnosed with crippling anxiety disorder. She was prescribed medication to manage her symptoms, and although it helped, Mirabelle found herself in therapy as well. Her sessions went well for a time, but eventually, her therapist suggested methods that terrified her- mind-altering techniques that sounded as though they would change who she was. The thought of losing herself terrified her even more than her anxiety did, and so she stopped attending therapy.

Rumors were another thing that plagued her time at the House. Dormont’s Housemaidens were often subject to false accusations- that they were not simply scholars or maidens but prostitutes, earning money on the side during their education. These baseless rumors began to spread, and Mirabelle, innocent and unprepared, was not immune to them. The whispers wormed their way into her mind, and the disgust she felt over such accusations festered. She couldn’t bear the thought of people assuming such horrible things about her and the other housemaidens. Over time, this compounded into a deep-rooted fear of sex, known as Erotophobia. It wasn’t something that controlled her day-to-day life, but it added another layer of anxiety and discomfort to an already fragile psyche.

Despite these challenges, Mirabelle thrived in her studies. She made friends, learned new skills, and became a cherished member of the House. Her life was peaceful, as much as it could be, until her early twenties- when everything changed.
One gloomy Sunday afternoon, a formal message arrived from Euphrasie, summoning Mirabelle to her office. Mirabelle’s anxiety immediately spiked. Euphrasie had never summoned her so formally before. Something felt wrong. She dressed carefully, ensuring she was presentable and wouldn’t be late, but her heart raced as she made her way to Euphrasie’s office.

When Mirabelle entered the room, Euphrasie didn’t greet her with a smile, as she usually did. Instead, the Head Housemaiden wore a soft frown, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and concern. The sight of it sent a cold wave of dread washing over Mirabelle.

“Mirabelle, please, sit down,” Euphrasie said, her voice gentle, and soft, and yet.. sad.

Mirabelle sat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, trying to suppress the shaking. Her heart pounded as she waited for Euphrasie to speak.

“I’ve always been fond of you,” Euphrasie began, her tone filled with affection. “You’ve been my favorite student for many years, but... I’m afraid I must let you go.”

The words hit Mirabelle like a punch to the stomach. Her hands shook even more, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she hung her head, unable to meet Euphrasie’s eyes. What had she done wrong? Why was she being dismissed?

“I... I’m sorry,” Mirabelle whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t help it. The tears fell, unbidden and unstoppable. “I’m so sorry...”

Euphrasie startled. Realizing that the young woman misunderstood, she got up from her chair, and made her way over her desk to kneel on Mirabelle's side, gently taking her trembling hands in her own. “Oh! No no, please, you misunderstand,” she said softly, “You’ve done nothing wrong, Mirabelle. This isn’t about anything you’ve done. I need you to understand that.”

Mirabelle looked up, her tear-streaked face full of confusion. Euphrasie sighed, her expression softening even more as she continued.

“Something is coming,” Euphrasie said quietly. “I can feel it. Something terrible is going to happen to Dormont. To Vaugarde. I don’t know when, but it will be soon. I have to send you away before it does.”

Mirabelle’s mind whirled, trying to process the words. “W-What do you mean..? What’s going to happen??”

“I don’t know for certain,” Euphrasie admitted, her voice laced with worry. “But I have suspicions. I have noticed strange things happening here- groups of people forming, acting oddly. I am worried... worried that Change Cults might be forming within our walls.”

Mirabelle’s blood ran cold. Change cults? Here? It was unthinkable. Euphrasie’s expression grew determined, and she cupped Mirabelle’s face in her hands, forcing the younger woman to meet her gaze.

“You need to leave, Mirabelle. Run as far away as you can, to Corbeaux. It will be safe there, for now. But when the time comes- when you hear that Dormont is in danger, that Vaugarde is in danger- you must come back. You are the one who can save us.” Mirabelle’s heart raced as Euphrasie spoke, her words a strange mix of prophecy and command. “But... I-I can’t just leave!” Mirabelle protested, her voice breaking. “I need to be here if s-something happens! I-I can't just-!”

Euphrasie shook her head firmly, standing up and turning away. "No, please.. no excuses." She sighed, moving a hand up to rub the bridge of her nose, clearly worried sick. "..please.. Housemaiden Mirabelle. You have to trust me."

Trust Euphrasie? Of course, Mirabelle trusted her with everything! But still... something inside her felt broken. With tears in her eyes, Mirabelle nodded reluctantly, though her heart screamed in protest.

The next day, Mirabelle packed her belongings, said goodbye to Claude and her other fellow housemaidens, and left Dormont, the town she had called home her entire life. She fled to the city Euphrasie had mentioned, Corbeaux- trying to settle into a new life, all while the dread gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

Months passed, and just as she began to find her footing, the news came. Vaugarde had fallen under the rule of an evil king, and Dormont- the heart of her homeland- was frozen in time. Cursed by The King. And the curse was spreading- spreading until it covers the entirety of Vaugarde. The realization that Euphrasie had been right all along sent Mirabelle reeling. She couldn’t believe it. Panic set in, and without a second thought, she set out to return to Dormont, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

As Mirabelle journeyed back, a new fear took root in her heart- a fear of failure. What if she wasn’t strong enough to face The King? What if Euphrasie had been wrong about her? The pressure was unbearable, and to make matters worse, people she met along the way recognized her as the Savior. They blamed her for not acting sooner, for the deaths of their loved ones via the curse or Sadnesses, for the spread of the curse.

She tried to push herself harder, moving from town to town, barely eating or sleeping, always chasing the next lead on how to save her home. But by the time she reached the fifth largest city in Vaugarde, in search for the first orb, Mirabelle was a shell of the bubbly, kind-hearted girl she once was. Anxiety consumed her, and she trembled under the weight of her fears.

But it was in that very city that she met someone who would change her life- a Defender from the city of Jouvente, who would become her first ally, her support, and the shoulder she could lean on when the weight of the world became too much.

And from that moment on, Mirabelle’s journey truly began.

- - -

OK!!! HERE!!!! IDK WHAT NEXT BUT EXPECT MORE DIVING DEEPER PROBABLY

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( You don’t even know what you want. )

( You don’t feel desire the way others talk about it- like it’s supposed to be this burning thing, this yearning, but you don’t have that. You never have. But then why do you crave it so much? )

( It doesn’t make sense. You don’t want anyone to touch you, but you dream of being held. You dream of it every night- the comfort of being close to someone, just existing near them, but the second it happens.. you flinch. Every time. )

( Why does it have to feel like this? )

( It’s the body- *your* body- it’s wrong. That must be it. It doesn’t feel right. You don’t like it, never have, and you know if someone else touches it, they’ll feel that too. They’ll know. They’ll see how gross it is, how they'd rather touch anything else. )

( And even if you let someone close- what if they hate it? What if they hate you? What if you disgust them? )

( You'd rather not do anything, then. You don't want to face that. Better to avoid it altogether than to reach out and have someone turn away. )

( But.. You're so tired of being alone. So tired. You want... )

( . . . )

( A hug. A long, nice hug. Is that too much to ask for? It probably is. You can’t ask. You can’t. What if they think you're trying to sell yourself again? What if they think... that’s all you are? )

( What if that's all you'll ever be? )

The layers of Siffrin’s thoughts are woven with shame, yearning, and fear, a constant push and pull between wanting intimacy and being terrified of what it might reveal- both to himself and others. It makes his touch starvation all the more painful, as even the smallest gesture of physical affection feels like an impossibility, leaving him stuck in a self-imposed isolation despite his deep need for connection.

- - -

today is short, just decided to draw some Sadfrin 💀

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Isabeau had been born into a life of rigid expectations. His parents, wealthy and status-conscious, had a vision for the perfect daughter- a polite, obedient little girl who would grow into an elegant young lady. From a young age, Isabeau’s life was micromanaged down to the smallest detail. His grades were to be flawless, his manners impeccable, and his appearance pristine. His mother and father always seemed to loom over him with their relentless expectations, ensuring that their child lived up to the image they had crafted in their minds.

But that image wasn’t him.

From early on, Isabeau had felt a growing sense of wrongness within himself. The dresses they bought him, the soft, feminine manners they demanded- it all felt suffocating, like a mask he was forced to wear every day. He tried to be what they wanted, but each forced smile, each carefully curated word, only made him feel more distant from who he truly was.

As he grew older, the discomfort solidified into a truth that was undeniable: he wasn’t the girl his parents wanted him to be. He wasn’t a girl at all.

The realization was freeing but terrifying. How could he possibly explain this to his parents, people so entrenched in their vision of a perfect daughter? They were kind, in their own way, but their kindness came with expectations that felt like chains around Isabeau’s neck. He knew that talking to them would be a risk. Still, he tried. He approached them one evening, voice trembling but determined, and told them that he wasn’t the person they thought he was, that he wanted to live differently, to be himself- his true self.

The conversation was a disaster.

His parents’ faces twisted into expressions of confusion, then anger. His mother’s voice, usually so calm and collected, dripped with venom as she accused him of being ungrateful. His father, ever the stoic figure, simply shook his head in disappointment, muttering about “shamefulness” and “disrespect.” They didn’t understand. Worse, they wouldn’t understand. To them, Isabeau’s identity was a ridiculous thought, a failure to uphold the image they had built for him.

That night, as the echoes of their argument still rang in his ears, Isabeau made the hardest decision of his life. He couldn’t live like this- not anymore. He packed what little he could carry and, with a heavy heart, left a note for his parents, ever the kind soul he always was. In it, he explained that he loved them, but he couldn’t stay in the life they had chosen for him. He couldn’t continue being someone he wasn’t. His promise was simple: he would find his own path, and he would make something of himself. He wouldn’t hold their expectations against them, but he would no longer be bound by them.

And then, he ran.

The night air was cold against his skin, but the sense of freedom that came with his escape was worth every shiver. For the first time in his life, Isabeau was unshackled from the image his parents had forced on him. Yet, the wounds from years of their criticism and control were deep. Even as he started his new life, there was a part of him that couldn’t shake the feeling of not being good enough, of being inherently flawed. No matter how far he ran, their voices seemed to linger, whispering that he wasn’t right, that he was a disappointment.

At first, Isabeau found solace in a group of people who, like him, had also rejected the lives they had been given. This circle of travelers, that took Isabeau in, and for a while, Isabeau thought he had found a new family among them. They were kind, accepting, and seemed to understand his desire for transformation. They even helped Isabeau make smart decisions about his own Capital-C-Change, making sure that the procedures of Changing with the use of Body Craft were safe. But slowly, Isabeau began to realize that there was something darker lurking beneath their philosophy of change.

The group was obsessed with body crafting- drastic and often dangerous physical alterations to their bodies in the pursuit of “change.” What started as small changes soon became grotesque as members began mutilating themselves in the name of self-improvement. Isabeau, horrified, watched as they twisted their bodies beyond recognition, sacrificing their health and sanity for some unattainable ideal.

He realized, with a sickening dread, that he had stumbled into a cult- a body-changing cult that saw physical alteration as the ultimate path to enlightenment. The parallels to his own upbringing were painfully clear: both his parents and this cult sought to force him into an image that wasn’t his own. Both demanded a kind of self-destruction. The cult called it enlightenment, but to Isabeau, it was nothing more than self-harm disguised as self-empowerment.

He couldn’t stay.

Refusing to let their twisted mindset get to him, Isabeau left the group and wandered until he found himself in Jouvente, a city of countless possibilities. It was here that he took up the mantle of a defender, hoping that protecting others would give him the purpose and identity he had been searching for. For a time, it worked. But the pressure of being a defender- constantly fighting, constantly proving his worth- eventually got to him. His old wounds of self-doubt and inadequacy reopened, and he began to feel like he was failing again. No matter how hard he fought, it never felt like enough.

So, he quit.

For a while, Isabeau drifted again, unsure of his place in the world. It was during this aimless period that he met Mirabelle. A petite dark skinned woman that he noticed in the middle of a rowdy crowd. She was obviously overwhelmed and tried to calm the people around her, which kept accusing her of being too slow. Isabeau didn’t know the context at that time, but he decided to act before the young woman could get hurt.

He led her out of the public, and helped her calm down a little bit, his defender instincts kicking in, making sure she is protected.

She was different from anyone he had ever known- soft-spoken but determined, driven by a desire to save her country from the King’s grasp. Despite the heavy burden she carried, she never once imposed her will on him. Instead, she simply revealed her story as the Blessed Housemaiden of the Dormont’s House of Change, claiming to be traveling towards the capital, all alone.

Of course, Isabeau immediately made the decision to help- always so willing to help others. Mirabelle seemed stunned by that, but eventually, agreed to let Isabeau come along. She was pretty weak on her own, and having someone traveling alongside her sounded.. nice. Isabeau seemed to brighten up at the permission, as he quickly went to kneel in front of the petite woman, gently taking her hands into his as he swore an oath to protect her at all cost- as per usual Defender’s protocole!

In Mirabelle, he found something he hadn’t felt in a long time: acceptance. She didn’t care about the image he presented to the world or the scars he carried from his past. She was just grateful to have him by her side, and for the first time in years, Isabeau felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He had a purpose he genuinely wanted to serve.

As he guarded and protected Mirabelle on her quest to save Vaugarde, Isabeau began to heal, slowly but surely. The weight of his past was still there, but with Mirabelle, it felt lighter. He wasn’t fighting to prove himself to anyone anymore. He was fighting for something greater- for a friend who accepted him as he was and for a cause he believed in.
And that, more than anything, gave him the strength to keep going.

- - -

ISABEAU!!!!!

Chapter Text

- - -

Isabeau felt a sense of relief as he entered the dimly lit bar. The place was modest, with worn wooden tables and the sound of idle chatter filling the air. The weight of his thoughts about the King, the endless journey, and the responsibilities looming over their group had become too much. So, he had decided to slip away for a brief moment of reprieve- just a drink or two to calm his nerves before rejoining the others. He sat down at the bar, gave a polite nod to the bartender, and ordered a shot.
The alcohol hit his throat with a warm burn, but before he could finish, a voice interrupted his solitude.

"Mind if I join you?"

Isabeau looked up to see a man standing beside him, a casual grin on his face. He looked harmless enough- well-dressed, friendly, with the kind of charm that made it easy to say yes. Isabeau, always eager for a bit of friendly company, nodded with a smile.

"Sure, why not?" he replied. "I could use the distraction,"

The man ordered his own drink, and the two struck up an easy conversation. They talked about the town, the weather, all the light-hearted things that made Isabeau feel a little more at ease, like taking off a heavy cloak after a long day. The worries of his journey and the King began to fade into the background as they exchanged jokes and anecdotes. For a while, it was just that- simple conversation between two strangers.

But then, as the conversation deepened, the man’s eyes drifted to Isabeau’s hand, particularly the scar that ran across his palm, a tell-tale mark of body crafting. The man’s expression changed, subtle at first- curiosity, then something more intense.

"That scar," the man said, voice lowering. "I recognize the pattern. You’ve done body crafting, haven’t you?"

Isabeau blinked, slightly taken aback by the directness, but not entirely uncomfortable. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he’s changed. In fact, he’d grown used to talking about it, in the right company. He did get slightest bit nervous at the other pointing it out though, not liking the idea of people paying attention to his body.

"Yeah," he said with a light chuckle, flexing his fingers. "Changed quite a bit over the years. It’s who I am now."

The man leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. "Interesting. What did you change? And why? I’ve always found people who take that kind of step.. fascinating."

Isabeau hesitated, but the man’s tone wasn’t accusatory, more like genuine curiosity. He found himself explaining bits and pieces—how he had always wanted to improve, to become someone who others wouldn’t be ashamed of. He spoke lightly, but there was always that undercurrent of vulnerability beneath his words. He tried to keep it casual, but the man’s gaze seemed to grow sharper with each sentence.

"Are you happy with the changes you’ve made?" the man asked, his voice soft but probing. "Or… are there still parts of you that you want to change?"

Isabeau paused, something uncomfortable settling in the pit of his stomach. The question wasn’t new, but the way it was asked felt… off. The man’s eyes seemed to bore into him, as though trying to unearth something deeper. Isabeau’s nerves began to hum, and he offered a tight smile.

"I’m… happy enough, I think," he said, trying to steer the conversation away from that uncomfortable territory.

But the man didn’t let up. He leaned in closer, his voice taking on a strange, almost syrupy quality.

"Happy enough? Is that really all? Why settle for just enough when you could be perfect? I could help you, you know. I know people who could make you exactly what you want to be. Flawless. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be perfect?"

Isabeau’s heart skipped a beat, the man’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His cheerful mask wavered, and he forced out a laugh, trying to defuse the growing tension.

"I’m fine, really. No need for that! Actually, I should probably be getting-”

But the man gripped his arm suddenly, stopping him from leaving, with Isabeau unable to move his hand off, having just one of his own. The man’s smile remained, but it had twisted into something sickly sweet, predatory.

"Don’t be modest, Isabeau. We can make you better. Perfect. Let me help you. Let me help you, Isabeau.”

Isabeau’s breath hitched. His resolve was crumbling, his old fears- the ones he had buried so deep- starting to resurface. The idea of perfection gnawed at him, but something told him this was wrong. Very wrong. He wanted to get up, to leave, but the man’s grip held him in place.

Before Isabeau could say anything, a voice cut through the tension.

"Isa?”

The Fighter’s heart pounded in his chest as he heard the nickname coming from his side. He turned, to see Mirabelle and Siffrin standing by the entrance. Mirabelle looked worried, her brows knitted together in confusion as she hesitated to approach, hands clasped together anxiously, clearly sensing something was off. But it was Siffrin who moved faster, his usually soft eye narrowing at the man holding Isabeau’s arm. There was no hesitation in Siffrin’s movements as he stepped between them, his presence a quiet storm.

"Let him go," Siffrin said, his voice quiet, but firm. Stone cold.

“And who the hell are you, huh? We’re kind of in the middle of something.” The man’s eyes narrowed right back, his smile disappearing quickly. Siffrin did not move, did not look away for a second as he glared at the taller from under his hat.

“Move, man. We’re not done yet,” he said, but Siffrin was unyielding.

“Done? Look at him, he’s pretty done,” Siffrin motioned to Isabeau with a movement of his head. The man was silent, glaring at the rouge, that sickly sweet smile long gone from his face.

He hesitated, but something in Siffrin’s expression- perhaps the deadly calm, or the unspoken threat in his gaze and the gesture of a hand on the hilt of his dagger, made him release Isabeau’s arm. He scoffed, turning to Isabeau with a snarl on his lips. Isabeau could feel himself shrinking under his gaze, despite being the tallest among all of them.

“It was a life-changing opportunity, Isabeau. And you’ve wasted it. I hope you know that.”

He adjusted his hat with a hand, before turning.

“..good day,”

and just like that, the man was gone. Isabeau exhaled, finally feeling like he was able to breathe.

He blinked, still in slight shock, his heart racing. He hadn’t even realized how much tension had built up inside him until it was gone.

"Isabeau! Are you alright? Why was that man bothering you?" Mirabelle asked, her voice soft with concern. She was still confused, clearly not having caught the full conversation, but her worry for Isabeau was evident.

"I… yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it Mira," Isabeau said, trying to muster his usual cheerfulness, but it sounded hollow even to him.

Siffrin didn’t say anything, but he kept glaring at the door that the man walked out of, as if he was to return any second. He snapped out of it after a few seconds, blinking as his expression returned to it’s usual, soft neutrality. He glanced at Isabeau, his gaze softer now, filled with concern that he didn’t voice. He was quiet, but his presence was steady, and Isabeau found himself oddly comforted by it.

"Let’s get out of here," Siffrin finally said, and one would probably never guess that this voice, soft and quiet, belonged to the same person as from half a minute ago. Isabeau nodded quickly, his cheeks becoming a little bit warmer as he looked at the shorter, the situation beginning to set in for him. Sif really was the coolest.

As they left the bar, Isabeau couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude for his companions. He wasn’t sure what would’ve happened if they hadn’t shown up when they did. But now, with them by his side, he felt a little more grounded, even if the shadows of the encounter still lingered in the back of his mind.

- - -

blah blah isabeau meets the Perfectionists cult yadda yadda yadda i’ve had a doodle made JUST for this moment and i cant fucking send it fuck knows why

Chapter Text

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The warm evening air wrapped around Isabeau as he made his way down the quiet streets of the town him and the party have been staying at for a few days now. The town was finally at peace, the soft glow of the lanterns lining the cobblestone streets giving the place a serene, almost ethereal feeling.

His footsteps were quiet, his mind distracted as he thought of the quick errand ahead- just a trip to the store for a few supplies. It wasn’t much, but he had volunteered, not wanting to burden anyone else.

The rest of the group was back at the inn. Siffrin had offered to go instead, but Isabeau insisted. He didn’t mind taking on the small responsibilities, especially when it meant keeping the others safe. It was what he did best- what he was supposed to do.

As he cut through a darkened alleyway, Isabeau's sharp instincts told him something was off, but before he could react, a force slammed into him from the shadows. A powerful tackle sent him crashing to the ground, his head slamming against the cold stone, causing a wheezing gasp to escape him. His vision blurred, and though he managed to fight back for a moment, his strength was nothing compared to the sudden ambush of three men, which by the way, had all of their limbs intact, unlike him. Another cultist appeared, his face twisted in a sneer, and with a swift blow, everything went dark.

Isabeau woke to a pounding headache. The damp air of the unfamiliar room filled his nostrils as his groggy mind tried to process what had happeened. His remaining arm has been tied tightly to his side, the rope cutting into his skin. A sharp pain shot through his body as he shifted in the seat, the memory of the attack slowly flooding back.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. Around him, figures in dark robes stood with menacing smiles.

The Cult of the King.

He had heard whispers about them, about their immunity to the time curse and their ruthless methods. But knowing about them did nothing to prepare him for what was to come.

One of the cultists, a tall man with a gaunt face and a predatory gaze, approached him. His voice dripped with malice as he spoke.

“Where is the rest of the Saviors? How many orbs do you have? What’s your plan?”

Isabeau said nothing, glaring defiantly at the man. His lips remained tightly shut, despite the burning pain in his body. The cultist's sneer deepened.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” He circled Isabeau like a wolf stalking its prey.

“I’ve broken people much stronger than you.”

The next few hours blurred into a haze of pain and cruelty. They beat him, mocked him, and taunted him. His identity as a body crafter became a target of their cruel jokes, and they insulted his body, trying to tear him down mentally as much as physically. His refusal to break only seemed to fuel their anger, and the beatings became more vicious, more methodical.

Through it all, Isabeau held onto one thought- at least it’s me. He was grateful, in his pain-addled mind, that it wasn’t Sif, Mira or Madame Odile, or Gods forbid, Bon. Sif could take it, perhaps, but he’d doubt he would get caught at all- always being the most cautious one, The Trapmaster. Ain’t no traps working on Sif! But still, he feared that had it been Odile, her body might’ve given out, just as much as Mira’s, and Bonnie- Isabeau clenched his teeth at the mere thought of Bonnie in this place. No, it had to be him. He could take it. He had to take it.

By morning, Isabeau was barely conscious, his body a mass of bruises and wounds, his one remaining arm tied harshly to his side. His head hung low, his breathing ragged. He was on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness again when he was jerked back into painful awareness. The same gaunt-faced cultist grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back roughly. A sharp blade pressed against his throat.

“You’re going to talk, one way or another,” the cultist hissed.

But before anything else could happen, there was a sudden crash- the door to the shed was kicked off its hinges, splintering into pieces as it slammed against the far wall. The cultists all spun around in shock, but it was too late. The Saviors had arrived.

Siffrin stood in the doorway, his darkless cloak billowing around him, his eyes glowing with a barely contained fury and focus. His dagger glinted menacingly in the dim light, his presence radiating danger. Behind him, Odile stepped forward, her book open and her expression colder than Isabeau had ever seen. Mirabelle, with her rapier at the ready, stood protectively in front of Bonnie, whose small hands clutched their frying pan, eyes wide as they peeked around Mirabelle.

Isabeau’s heart surged with a mix of relief and dread. He opened his mouth to speak, but the cultist yanked his hair again, pulling his head back and cutting him off with a painful grunt. The blade pressed harder against his throat, just enough to draw a small line of blood.

“Drop your weapons, or he dies!” the cultist screamed, his voice frantic, nervous. Seems like this wasn’t going according to plan for them.

Odile, unshaken, stepped forward. Her eyes, cold and piercing, locked onto the cultist. Her voice was sharp and unwavering. “Leave now, unless you want to face a pitiful end.” The air seemed to tremble with the weight of her words, but the cultists were too far gone to heed her warning.

Two of them charged at the group with wild desperation, but the battle was over before it even began. Siffrin moved with deadly precision, dispatching one cultist with a swift, lethal strike. Odile, with a single gesture of her hand, lifted the other into the air with an invisible force, choking the life from him as he thrashed helplessly. She glanced back at Bonnie, seeing them helplessly standing frozen in the doorway, still, their body shifting anxiously as they watched the chaos unfold. Her eyes softened.

“Boniface, get outside, please. We will handle it,” she said, and Bonnie looked her way, before nodding shakily. They definitely didn’t need to witness this. As soon as they disappeared, Odile turned back to the cultist, still held up, before her fist clenched in the air- crushing his throat.

Isabeau, summoning the last of his strength, headbutted the cultist holding him. The man yelped in pain, stumbled back, and fell to the ground, dropping the knife in the process.

Isabeau collapsed on top of him, using his weight to pin the man down, the knife just out of reach. As Siffrin took care of the final cultist, he turned to the two of them, and Isabeau couldn’t help but smile slightly, before looking away. Now’s not the time for stupid blushes!! He rolled off the man with a groan, which Siffrin immediately pinned back down as he tried to get away. Mirabelle rushed to Isabeau’s side, her hands shaking as she untied him and began healing his wounds.

“Isabeau!! I’m so sorry!! We shouldn’t have let you go out so late at night!!” she whispered, tears filling her eyes as she worked.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through this!” Isabeau managed a weak smile, though his body was wracked with pain.

“It’s alright, Mira,” he rasped.

“I’m just glad it was me, not any of you.” Mirabelle shook her head vehemently, her voice thick with emotion.

“D-Don’t say that! You’re just as important as any of us. We need you! You’re important to us, Isabeau..! So important..!” Her voice shook as she said it, and it was true.

Isabeau’s heart swelled at her words, and despite the pain, he leaned into her embrace as she hugged him tightly.

Meanwhile, Siffrin and Odile interrogated the last surviving cultist. With a glare that could freeze fire, a quiet storm underneath, Siffrin asked,

“Who sent you?” Seeing as the man didn’t seem too talkative, he opted to move his dagger towards his throat, causing the cultist to yelp.

“W-We serve the King!! Our mission is to stop the Saviors... to kill you!” The cultist, terrified, confessed in a trembling voice.

Odile’s lip curled in a snarl. Siffrin raised his brows, as if not one bit impressed by the ‘force’ of those cultists. Of course, they’d opt to cowardly tricks. He glanced over at Odile, his tone calm now.

“What do we do with him?” He asked, watching as Odile seems to eye him, then Isabeau, then the man. She motioned for Siffrin to move to the side, and he did, though looking awfully cautious doing it, ready for any funny movement the man might make. He did nothing though, and allowed Odile to harshly grab his collar, forcing his upper body off the floor as she glared at him with an intensity that could’ve thrown him off the field from a thousand miles away.

“We’ll let him go. So he can tell the rest of the people he works with, that if your King decides to send anyone else- we won’t be as kind.” She said it in such a way that casted eery silence throughout the cabin, and as she was sure that her words have set in for the man, she let him go unceremonously.

She then turned, and spotting some sort of a large piece of cloth, ahe picked it up, and threw it carelessly onto the two corpses laying motionlessly in their own blood. Covering them, before turning back to the entrance.

“Boniface, come back in please,” she calls out softly, seemingly a completely different tone than she was using just mere seconds ago. The pre teen nervously appeared from behind the wall, and made their way in quickly, going to hide behind Odile, clutching on her cloak. Her eyes returned to the cultist, which flinched harshly upon realizing that her attention was on him again.

“Leave, now. This is my final warning. I won’t be saying it next time.”

The cultist, eager to escape, nodded frantically. As Siffrin let him go, the man fled, leaving the ruined shed and his fallen comrades behind.

Bonnie, practically shaking, rushed over quickly to join in on the hug pile, their small form clinging to him.

“Stupid ‘Za,” they whispered, their voice shaky.
Isabeau smiled gently, despite the lingering pain.

“Yeah. Adults are pretty stupid, huh? I’m okay, Bon. Good as new!” Bonnie could only give them a half-glare, cheeks puffing in a pout as they hugged him tighter.

Odile, her expression softening back to its usual neutrality, glanced at Isabeau.

“Can you walk?”

He nodded, though his body still ached deeply.

“Course I can, Madame,” he said immediately. No pain can stop him! Especially when breakfast awaits him!

Odile turned away, motioning for them to leave.

“Let’s go back to the inn. Bonnie, you can prepare a meal for him, if you’d be so kind.” Bonnie puffed their cheeks again, turning their head over to look at Odile, and yet still not quite ready to let go.

“CRAB YEAH I WILL!” They threw a fist in the air, as if to further amplify their willingness and determination. Siffrin, nervously reached out to help Isabeau up, for which the Defender gave him an apologetic, thankful little smile. He knows Sif’s not good with physical contact.

As they made their way back, Isabeau being supported by both Mira and Siffrin (AND BONNIE!), he couldn’t help but glance at Odile, his smile fading slightly. He was hesitant to ask, but..

“You let him go,” he said, catching the rest of the party’s attention. Odile did not turn, but there was no doubt that she heard him.

“I did,” she replied simply. Isabeau frowned.

“Weren’t you worried that I might’ve spilled?” The question hung heavy in the air, and, much to the party’s surprise, Odile turned her head, just slightly, a small, teasing smile on her lips.

“You? You would’ve spilled? Please,” that was all she said, but that was all that Isabeau needed. He smiled slowly, a bit of light returning to his eyes, as they continued their way back to the in.

To know that the party was so certain about his loyalty, about his will to protect, to always stand strong and never let them down- it made him happy. Happiest he’s been in a while.

- - -

Isa’s literally like a big dumb loyal dog and we love him for it

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin had been sixteen when everything had crumbled around him, when his very essence was stripped away by the Universe. Back then, he had been a different person- or rather, he had been someone, had something. A life, a name, an identity. But the Universe had a cruel sense of humor, plucking him from the life he had known and throwing him into the harsh realities of the world, identityless, nameless, a shadow of what he had once been.

He had managed at first. He was young, capable, and resourceful enough to find work where he could, around the towns and cities of Vaugarde. There were farms that needed extra hands, houses that needed mending, and pockets that were loose enough to be picked. Siffrin did whatever it took to survive- some jobs were legal, others, not so much- but in the chaos of surviving, there was no room for dignity or pride. He took whatever work fell into his lap, scraping by with barely enough to eat.

By the time he turned nineteen, he had grown used to the darkness of it all. He wandered into a bar one cold night, hungry and penniless, expecting to beg for scraps or a place to stay. But that night, something changed.

The owner of the bar, a man with eyes too sharp and a smile too wide, had sized him up, looked him over like he was something to be bought, to be used. And Siffrin- Siffrin, who was desperate and lost, who had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to- had realized, in that moment, just how effective selling his body could be.

The first time he let someone take him, he thought he might shatter. The way their hands gripped him, the way their breath felt on his skin- it was too much, overwhelming and suffocating. But then the money came, and with it, a numbness that settled deep in his bones. It became easier after that. He learned to disconnect, to detach, to shut off the parts of himself that screamed out in protest.

He spent years that way, surviving, selling pieces of himself to anyone who wanted them. Men, women, it didn’t matter. It was just another transaction. Just another way to keep going.

And then, he met everyone.

He just so happened to be passing by, and noticed a group of three people, which he later came to know as Odile, Isabeau and Mirabelle, attacked by a powerful Sadness. It was a few months after the King began his process of freezing the country, so Siffrin was more or less equipped and familiar with fighting Sadnesses. He decided to jump in, and finished the creature off, and.. it was the beginning of Siffrin’s life turning around completely.

Something about them drew him in- their determination, their sense of purpose, their strange sense of camaraderie. Maybe it was that they seemed so sure of themselves, so focused on a cause that went beyond mere survival. Or maybe it was the simple fact that, for the first time in his life, someone had asked him to come along. Someone gave him a goal, a purpose- a reason to keep going.

It didn’t take long for him to get attached. They were all so different, so unique, and yet they had become something like a family to him. He would die for them, if it came to that, though he would never say it aloud. And with the new addition to the crew in the form of Bonnie- that fact was proven, with Siffrin losing his eye to protect them from a Sadness.

But old habits die hard, and when they found themselves low on funds in a small town, weeks of travel away from Dormont, Siffrin knew exactly what to do.

He had been with the party for a little over a month, just long enough to know their rhythms, to fall into step with their quirks and habits. But it was also just long enough for them to not notice when he slipped away. At least, he thought no one had noticed.

The bar he went to was dimly lit, the kind of place that stank of stale ale and desperation. The owner was behind the counter, wiping down glasses and watching the room with a shrewd eye. Siffrin approached him, his stomach churning with a familiar sense of dread, but his expression calm, composed. He had done this before. He knew how to play his part.

“I’m looking for work,” Siffrin said, leaning casually against the bar, closer to the man and hoping that no one else would hear.

“Something… off the books.”

The owner raised an eyebrow, his gaze raking over Siffrin’s figure. He smirked, the kind of smirk that made Siffrin’s skin crawl.

“Off the books, huh? You sure you know what you’re getting into, boy?”

Siffrin forced a smile, though his heart was racing in his chest.

“I know.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a voice cut through the air, sharp and cold as ice.

“Siffrin.”

Siffrin froze. He turned, startled, to see Odile standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed and her lips set in a hard line. Her posture was rigid, one hand clenched on her side while the other holding onto her book, and she looked like she could tear him apart with a single glance.

“Odile?” he stammered, confused and more than a little panicked. He had never seen her look so angry before.

Without another word, she marched up to him, grabbed his wrist in a firm, unyielding grip, and dragged him out of the bar. She ignored the way the shorter reacted to her touch, startled, flinching away, but not struggling, as he followed. He barely had time to process what was happening before they were outside, the cold night air biting at his skin.

“Odile, what-” he began, but she cut him off with a glare that silenced him immediately.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice low and furious.

“Did you think we didn’t notice? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You think we’re so desperate for money we’re willing to have you..” she did not finish, and paused instead. She sighed, attempting to calm down.

Siffrin stared at her, wide-eyed, still trying to comprehend how she had figured it out. How she seemed to notice him acting strange enough to know something was off. To follow him.

“It’s… it’s not what you think, I just-”

“Save it,” she snapped, her grip on his wrist tightening, holding it in the air between them.

“I know exactly what you were about to do. You were going to sell yourself. For us. For money.” The anger in her voice was palpable. Cold.

Siffrin flinched at her words, a wave of shame washing over him. He wasn’t used to being called out like this, especially not by someone like Odile. She had always been cold, indifferent, barely giving him or the others the time of day. Simply tagging along for the sake of their shared goal. And now here she was, furious on his behalf, as if she actually cared.

“I… I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” Didn’t think you’d care. Siffrin mumbled, trying to pull his wrist free from her grasp.

“I’ve done it before. It’s fine.”

Odile’s eyes flashed with something- anger, disbelief, maybe something else.

“It’s not fine, Siffrin. You don’t get to do that. Not for us. Not for this. I forbid it.”

The word “forbid” hit him like a slap. He hadn’t expected her to care, let alone try to stop him. It was jarring, and it left him feeling more exposed than he was comfortable with. He was used to indifference, to people not giving a crab. But this… this was something else.

He sighed, running a hand down his face in frustration and anxiety alike, looking away nervously, desperate to escape this situation. How mortifying. How disgusting. She knows now, she knows. He sees him now. All of him.

“Odile, look, I get it. You don’t want me to do this, but we need the money. We’re low on funds, and I… I can handle it. I’m used to it. I’m..” She sees him.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her glare didn’t waver.

“No. You’re not doing it. You’re not selling yourself, Siffrin. We’re not starving. There’s no need for.. for this!” She frowned, obviously trying to keep her voice low, it was late at night after all, and she knew better than to bring unnecessary attention to them.

Siffrin, frustrated ( with himself ) and anxious by her insistence, tried to pull away again, but she held firm.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, rubbing his wrist when she finally let go.

“I won’t do it.” She couldn’t meet her gaze. He couldn’t. She sees him.

Odile’s eyes remained hard, but she seemed to relax slightly, satisfied with his reluctant agreement.

“Good. Now go back to the inn, and don’t even think about pulling something like this again.” Her tone was like steel. Scolding, final. Indisputable.

Siffrin, still processing the entire ordeal, nodded numbly and walked back toward the inn, his mind spinning. He couldn’t understand why Odile had stepped in like that, why she had been so insistent. So frustrated. She had always been distant, cold, even borderline condescending. But tonight, there had been something els in her voice. Something he couldn’t quite place.

Meanwhile, Odile stood outside the bar, watching Siffrin disappear into the night. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, the adrenaline from the confrontation not quite gone. She didn’t know why she had reacted so strongly. She barely knew them, had barely allowed herself to care about any of them.

But something about the way he had looked at her, so resigned, so numb, had sparked a fire in her. She couldn’t let him do it. She wouldn’t let him do it.

Later that night, as she sat alone in the inn, furiously scribbling in her notebook, she made a note to herself.

( Do not let Siffrin out of sight when they’re acting strange. )

She scowled at the words, annoyed at herself for caring. But deep down, she knew that this was the first crack in the wall she had built around herself. Whether she liked it or not, these people were becoming more than just strangers. And she wasn’t going to let them destroy themselves, not if she could help it.

- - -

isabeau will not like learning about this 💀 poor sif

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Petronille - Thantophobia ( fear of losing loved ones )

Petronille - anger issues. Will bash heads

The Dockworker from the small, humble village Bambouche. Petronille is an imposing figure, standing tall, her barely-adult frame nearly matching the height of Odile. Her dark skin, weathered by the harsh sun of Bambouche and the trials of life, only serves to make her more striking.

But it’s not just her height that catches your eye- it’s the fierce, raw energy that seems to radiate off her in waves. She has the kind of presence that makes people take a step back, wary of the storm brewing in her piercing, angry stare. Her hair, a thick mass of deeply black strands, is often wrangled into a messy braid that barely tames its wildness. Stray strands always seem to fall into her face, but she never bothers to fix them- they’re the least of her concerns.

Her body tells its own story of hard-earned survival. Little scars dot her arms, legs, and hands, each one a reminder of her clumsy but relentless dedication to providing for her sibling, Bonnie. Every cut and scrape came from her taking whatever job she could get- whether it was hauling heavy goods or scrubbing floors, although her most stable job seemed to come from unloading ships that would dock into the port of Bambouche. She never complained, only swore under her breath and pressed on. The bruises, the split knuckles, the countless aches- they were nothing compared to the need to protect Bonnie and give them a good life, especially with their parents being absent for a long time.

Petronille's temper is legendary, her grumpy demeanor only accentuated by her rough language and quick fuse. She curses like a sailor, her voice rough and sharp, a contrast to Bonnie’s brighter, more playful tone. If you were to cross her, or worse, even think of harming Bonnie, she would not hesitate to bash your skull in with her massive hammer. This isn’t just a threat; Petronille means it. Her protective instincts toward Bonnie run deep- she would go to hell and back to keep them safe. It’s why, even when the Sadnesses and the King’s curse tore through their village, she didn’t hesitate.

Badly injured in the leg after trying to fend off the creatures, she knew she couldn’t run fast enough to escape with Bonnie. So, she crouched in front of her sibling, placed her hat on Bonnie’s head, and with a steely resolve, told them to run. She stayed behind, eventually succumbing to the curse that froze her in time. But even in that moment, her last thought was of Bonnie, praying they’d survive.

When the curse lifted and Petronille awoke, despite the shock of survival, her first and only priority was finding Bonnie. She didn’t care about her injured leg, hastily wrapping it in a messy bandage before setting off. Nothing- not pain, not exhaustion- could stop her. Word of her sibling’s survival reached her ears in a small town, where a storyteller spoke of a young, energetic chef who had joined The Saviors.

Immediately, Petronille knew it was Bonnie. Relief was short-lived, however, replaced by seething anger. How dare these strangers drag her sibling into danger, into the heart of the conflict that had almost doomed the entire country? As she makes her way towards Dormont, her fury grows, and she is ready to confront the saviors by any means necessary, and give them a piece of her mind.

Petronille isn’t just looking for Bonnie. She’s on a mission to bring them back, and she will not tolerate anyone standing in her way. Whether that means fighting, bashing heads, or worse, she’s prepared to do anything to ensure her sibling’s safety- no matter the cost.

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THATS FUCKING RIGHT BITCHES PETRONILLE IS NOW CANON!!! I have it all planned out. At least a bit planned out- i have written out the first encounter with the party and then another Diving Deeper chapter- so i will focus on Petronille for the next few days uwu hope you’ll like my interpretation of her :3

Chapter Text

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The market was bustling, people shouting over one another as they bartered for goods, but Petronille’s focus was razor-sharp as she moved through the town, her eyes scanning the crowd. She was wound tight with anger, her fists clenched on her sides, her massive hammer slung over her shoulder, every muscle in her body ready for a fight. It had been days since she caught wind of Bonnie’s whereabouts, and now, she was here- so close, yet surrounded by strangers.
And then, she spotted him. One of the Saviors.

Isabeau, the one-armed Defender from Jouvente, was walking through the narrow alley between the stalls, his tall frame noticeable even from a distance. He was holding many fabrics, carefully folded and neat against his chest, as he seemed to be looking for sewing materials. The moment Petronille saw him, the searing rage she’d been holding back boiled over. They brought Bon into danger. They endangered my sibling.

Without hesitation, she waited until the crowd thinned, following Isabeau with deadly precision. The second they were alone in the more secluded area of the town, she acted. Petronille lunged at him from behind with terrifying force, her body colliding with his and knocking him off his feet. Isabeau didn’t even have time to yelp out as he hit the ground, landing hard on his back with a grunt, his eyes wide in shock. But Petronille didn’t give him a chance to recover. She pinned him down effortlessly despite her smaller and lighter body, pressing the handle of her hammer against his throat, the heavy weight of it making his breath come in shallow, surprised gasps.

“Where’s my sibling?” Petronille growled, her voice low and dangerous, her face only inches from his.

Isabeau, startled and wide eyed but managing a nervous smile, raised his one remaining hand in surrender. "W-whoah there! You-" he began, his usual charm faltering under her intense glare. As he looked up at her, though, something clicked. The resemblance to Bonnie was undeniable- the same sharp features, the same fire in her eyes. His smile faded, replaced by sudden understanding. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Bon... you’re Bonnie’s sister, aren’t you?” he said slowly, as though testing the words.

Petronille’s grip tightened, her knuckles white around the handle of the hammer. She wanted to bash his skull in right then and there, but guilt flickered when she noticed the missing arm. That momentary hesitation disappeared just as quickly as it came. Bonnie’s safety was all that mattered.

“Where.” she demanded again, her voice a growl of frustration and worry. “Where are they.” She hissed.

“They’re safe! Promise!” Isabeau gasped, his hand still raised in surrender. “They’re back at the inn. We’ve been heading to Bambouche for weeks now, just to make sure they got home safely! I swear.”

For a long moment, Petronille didn’t move. Her eyes bored into Isabeau’s, searching for any sign of a lie, any reason to crush his windpipe. But his face, pale and nervous, was honest. Reluctantly, she pulled the hammer off his neck and stood, still towering over him as he scrambled to his feet. Isabeau rubbed his throat, coughing slightly, before offering her a cautious, anxious little smile.

“I’m serious,” he added, “we made it a priority to get Bonnie back to you. They’re safe.”

“Shut up,” Petronille snapped, her voice cold. “Just take me to them.”

Isabeau hesitated, casting a quick glance at her hammer, then nodded. Even if he didn’t feel like he was threatened by a grown-up child, he would’ve done so. Petronille had the right to see their sibling. He quickly reached down to pick up his fabrics, dusting them off gently, before half-turning. “..sure thing. It’s this way,” he said, trying to smile despite everything. He could understand her anger- he had siblings of his own, afterall. Even if he hadn’t seen them in a long time, he was sure of it- he’d do anything to ensure their safety.

And so, he made his way down the town’s path, his footsteps quick if not a bit nervous, trying his best to ignore the way Petronille’s angry presence loomed behind him, her footsteps heavy with barely-contained fury. As they passed through the market streets, Isabeau attempted to make small talk, probably in an effort to calm her down.

“..You know,” he started, “Bonnie’s been doing really well with the group. They’ve gotten pretty close with everyone-"

“I said, shut up,” Petronille cut him off, her tone laced with venom. “I don’t want to hear it. You people are sick.” She said it so venomously, it rendered Isabeau a little speechless.

The Defender’s smile fell, and he looked to the side, wisely falling silent, guiding her to the inn where the rest of the party was staying. Petronille’s heart pounded faster as they neared the door, anger and fear mingling in her chest. The second they reached the inn, Petronille didn’t wait- she shoved past Isabeau and burst through the door, her voice ringing through the quiet building.

“Bonnie!” she called out, her voice cracking for the first time as it carried the weight of months of worry, fear, and longing.

From somewhere deeper in the building, there was the sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps. A familiar voice, bright and tearful, called back.

“Nille!”

Bonnie came barreling out of the kitchen, already tearing up as they ran toward her, their arms outstretched towards her. The moment Petronille saw them, her hammer clattered to the floor, forgotten. She dropped to her knees just as Bonnie collided into her, throwing their arms around her neck and sobbing into her shoulder. Petronille held them close, her large hands cradling their back, her face pressed into their hair.

“Nille, I- i’m sorry!! I left! I-I left.. left you there-!” Bonnie’s words were muffled by sobs and hiccups, but Petronille hushed them softly, her voice cracking as she tried to calm them down.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “I’m here now, Bon. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, the entire room was still, the rest of the party gathering quietly in the background. Isabeau was the first to step forward, trying to diffuse the tension. But before anyone could speak, Mirabelle, ever the peacekeeper, stepped forward, her soft smile already forming as she tried to introduce herself. She has been making progress with her social anxiety afterall, so she shall introduce herself first..!

“H-Hello! You must be Petronille, right? Bonnie spoke a lot of you! I’m Mirabelle, we’ve been traveling with-”

Her voice cut off abruptly as Petronille’s arm shot out, faster than anyone could react. A small pocket knife gleamed in her hand, its blade hovering just inches from Mirabelle’s throat. Mirabelle froze, her eyes wide, staring at the blade, and then back at the younger woman.

“Not another word,” Petronille hissed, her gaze sweeping across the entire group, eyes sharp and deadly. “You brought Bonnie into danger.”

Mirabelle’s breath hitched, but she stayed perfectly still, her eyes flicking panickly toward Isabeau, still stood in the doorway. He was shaking his head feverishly, signalling her to back off, but it was too late. Petronille’s anger had finally spilled over, and now the room felt like it was on the edge of a chaos.

“..N-Nille-” Bonnie raised their head from her shoulder, sniffling, before their breath hitched upon seeing the pocket knife, held by their sister, aiming it towards the people they considered their protectors and family.

“Nille!! W-wait, don’t-!” They flinched when their sister’s hand gave a light push, moving Bonnie’s face back into her shoulder. “Be silent, Bon.”

Petronille turned her gaze to each member of the party in turn, her voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to endanger my sibling. I don’t care what you think you’ve done for them. I’m taking them home. I’ll tear this place apart if I have to.”

The silence that followed her words was suffocating. Even Bonnie, still clinging tightly to her, seemed too stunned to speak.

The room was tense, the air thick with the threat of violence. Petronille’s knife still hovered near Mirabelle’s throat, her hand steady, though her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Everyone was frozen, waiting for something to snap, to send this fragile moment spiraling into chaos. Petronille’s mind raced with anger, fear, and protectiveness, but through the noise, one voice cut through.

Siffrin, standing by Odile, have been a bit frozen until now. Finally, he forced himself to move, eye narrowing as his hand instinctively twitched towards the dagger on his side. Thankfully, Odile stopped him with a hand on his shoulder as he took a step towards Mirabelle and Petronille.

“Everyone,” Odile spoke, her voice calm and authoritative, yet soothing like the eye of a storm. “Let’s all take a breath. No one here wants to hurt anyone.”

Petronille’s eyes darted to Odile. The tall woman stood with an unshakable posture, her gaze piercing but collected, and she radiated a quiet, almost unnerving sense of control. Petronille bristled, every instinct screaming to snap back, to tell them all off and take Bonnie as far away from these strangers as possible. But then, she felt a small tremor against her. Bonnie, still clinging tightly to her, was shaking, their breath ragged and uneven, their tiny body quaking with stress. Petronille’s throat tightened.

Bonnie didn’t want to leave.

She could feel it in the way they clung to her, desperate and torn. As much as she wanted to tear Bonnie away from these people, she couldn’t ignore the reality of the situation. Her sibling was caught between two worlds, and her anger wasn’t helping.

Odile spoke again, her voice patient. “Let’s talk this through. We all care very deeply about Boniface. They’ve been nothing but a joy to travel with, and we’ve made sure they stayed safe. They never fought in any battles. They stayed behind, cooking, and helping with tonics. They’ve been looked after. No harm has come to them.”

Petronille opened her mouth, ready to snap back, to say that she didn’t care about their excuses. But then she glanced down at Bonnie again, at the way their tear-filled eyes were darting between her and the party, their small hands gripping her arm like a lifeline. They were panicking. The last thing she wanted was to stress them out more.

Damn it, she cursed internally.

With a sharp breath, she withdrew her knife, tucking it away as she exhaled the tension from her body. Mirabelle stepped back carefully, relief washing over her as she touched her throat lightly where the blade had hovered, eyes still wide. Siffrin moved to stand beside her immediately, his eyes still sharp, wanting to be the barrier between his family and Petronille.

“All right,” Petronille said, her voice still laced with a growl. “We’ll talk. But Bonnie comes with me, and if any of you try anything-" her eyes flashed dangerously, "I won’t hesitate.”

Odile could only nod, her eyes narrowing, as she tried to remain professional, and even then a brief wave of irritation went through her. “..of course.”

The party gathered, keeping a respectful distance as Petronille led Bonnie to sit by her side, her protective arm wrapped around them. Isabeau, Siffrin, and Mirabelle sat opposite, with Odile standing at the center of it all, facilitating the conversation.

Over the next few hours, tensions slowly defused as the party explained everything to Petronille. They described how they found Bonnie, how they never allowed them near any fights, and how they took great care to ensure they were safe. Each of the party member having something to say, and even Petronille was rendered a bit speechless upon hearing about Siffrin’s sacrifice- losing an eye for her sibling and saving them from a Sadness. As she looked over at the Traveler in question, he was looking away, chin tucked away in his collar. There was a small flush on his cheeks, seemingly shy and clearly not very fond of being in the center of attention. Bonnie, on the other hand, seemed to hold onto Petronille a little tighter during that particular discussion, and she noticed Odile using softer wording while describing the incident. Bonnie was looking down the whole time. Maybe they were guilty. They really shouldn’t be, at least that’s what Petronille decided.

The youngest listened intently either way, nodding occasionally when the others spoke, but Petronille’s gaze was hard, still reluctant to trust these strangers.

And yet, she couldn’t deny the truth in their words. Bonnie seemed... happy. They spoke of their travels with enthusiasm, their eyes lighting up as they described the meals they cooked, new recipes they’ve learned, the stories they shared, the bedtime books they’ve been read, and the friendships they’d formed along the way. Petronille’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. She wanted to pull Bonnie out of this dangerous life, but it was clear they’d found something here- a place, maybe even a family.

Eventually, it was agreed that Petronille and Bonnie would travel with the party to Bambouche, and the Saviors would accompany them for protection. Petronille tried to protest, tried to claim that she didn’t need their help, but Bonnie looked up at her with those wide, hopeful eyes, and Petronille couldn’t refuse. With a sigh, she relented.

“Fine. We’ll leave tomorrow,” she grumbled. “The sooner we get back, the better.”

- - -

I actually have some cool ideas regarding Petronille, we'll see how she turns out in the end 💀 I do already have an idea for a oneshot between her and Mirabelle! I kind of want her to have a chapter between each character in the party to properly develop their relationship before they reach Bambouche. Excluding Bonnie cuz their relation is already established. WE'LL SEE

Chapter Text

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The following weeks were a blur of travel and tension. Petronille kept her distance from the group, still watching them like a hawk, waiting for a single misstep. Every night, as they set up camp, she found herself closely observing the way the party interacted with Bonnie. She couldn’t help it; her protective instincts were too strong.

She noticed Isabeau first. Despite hers and Isabeau's rough start, he and Bonnie had an undeniable bond. The one-armed man would sit with Bonnie by the fire, enjoying helping them with cooking, even though it was quite difficult- with him only having one arm. They bickered and teased each other like siblings, yet with that sweet, wholesome encouragement from Isabeau, which always allowed the pre-teen to jokingly bully him. Even if it meant adding a few more extra peppers into the meal. And even though Petronille tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, she felt a pang of something- maybe not jealousy, but a sense of discomfort. She wasn’t used to seeing her sibling so close to anyone outside of her.

Then there was Odile. The calculating woman was always nearby, her sharp eyes following everything with a quiet watchfulness. Whenever Bonnie made a mistake, like spilling something or mispronouncing a word, Odile was the first to correct them, but not harshly. It was... careful, almost like a mentor guiding a student. She was protective in her own way, and Petronille couldn’t help but notice the way Bonnie would look to her for approval or guidance. She was like a mother.

Mirabelle, ever so kind and soft-spoken, had a quieter role in Bonnie’s life, but nonetheless important. Every evening, she would sit with Bonnie, reading them stories or helping them wind down after the day’s journey. Petronille would see them in the mornings, preparing breakfast together- Bonnie eagerly showing off new techniques they had learned, while Mirabelle beamed with pride.

And then there was Siffrin. He was harder for Petronille to figure out, but one thing was clear: Bonnie adored him. The Traveler would accept all of Bonnie’s enthusiastic hugs, smiling softly whenever they clung to him, despite his light flinching upon being touched. He didn’t say much, but the way Bonnie interacted with him spoke volumes. They felt safe around him. Plus, the jokes he said were.. absolutely terrible, but in the way that made Petronille want to snort or crack a small smirk. She pushed the urge down each time.

Petronille wanted to shove all of these observations away, wanted to keep her anger burning hot. But every day, it grew harder. She couldn’t ignore the reality of the situation. Bonnie had found people who cared about them- genuinely cared. And even though she hated to admit it, the Saviors weren’t the reckless, careless fools she had initially thought.

One night, after everyone had fallen asleep around the campfire, Petronille sat awake, staring into the flames, her thoughts swirling. She glanced over at Bonnie’s tent. The anger that had fueled her for so long was beginning to fade, replaced by something she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t want to admit it, but maybe- just maybe- these people weren’t as bad as she thought.

No matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, Petronille couldn’t shake the feeling that Bonnie had found something important here. Something that went beyond simple companionship. And as much as it pained her to think about it, she couldn’t deny the truth.

Those people became a family to Bon. And she really, really couldn't bring herself to hate them as much as she hoped.

- - -

sooo yeah more about Petronille- it's a bit short, cuz i'm still recovering from the trip(tm), but dw, tomorrow i'll (TRY TO) upload specifc interactions and development between Petronille and the party :>

Chapter Text

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In a world where craft skills and the horrors of battle are infamous for eroding sanity, the mental strain on each party member becomes a dangerous game of endurance. Each individual reacts uniquely when their Mind Points drop to perilous levels, and the overuse of their abilities often drives them toward their breaking points. If not careful, they can spiral into personal arcs of reckless decisions, unraveling their mental stability and putting the party at greater risk.

When Mirabelle’s sanity hits zero, she descends into a state of anxious desperation. She starts using her shielding and healing crafts obsessively, far beyond what is necessary, as if trying to ward off an inevitable disaster. Her insistence that she has "nothing left to lose" is a clear sign she no longer believes they can defeat the King. Her despair manifests in crippling anxiety and panic attacks and emotional breakdowns, during which she pleads with the party to leave her behind while she proceeds further into the House. Mirabelle becomes convinced she should face the King alone, believing that sacrificing herself is the only way to protect the others from a battle she is certain they will lose.

For Bonnie, reaching zero Mind Points is far easier than it is for anyone else, given their young age and emotional vulnerability. When their sanity breaks, the weight of fear and helplessness overwhelms them, leading to frequent emotional outbursts and breakdowns. They beg to be allowed to fight, despite the party's adamant refusal, and their clumsiness grows worse under the strain. Bonnie’s attempts to help in battle become more erratic and unfocused, with even their rare strikes barely landing a hit. They often lash out in anger, especially when they’re scared or under immense stress, and their emotional fragility becomes a constant danger for both themselves and the group.

Isabeau, the stalwart Defender, transforms into a trembling shadow of himself when his sanity deteriorates. Although his body remains strong, his spirit falters. He clings desperately to his role as the protector, his words of encouragement sounding hollow and forced. As the largest and strongest in the party, Isabeau throws himself into harm’s way more recklessly, acting less like a fighter and more like a human shield, absorbing blows with a brittle smile. He continues to smile even as the fear, pain and exhaustion take their toll, his mask cracking under the weight of the responsibility he can no longer bear.

When Odile’s mind unravels, she becomes disturbingly silent, her sharp wit and biting remarks vanishing into a cold, calculating presence. The Sadnesses that normally target the party with merciless aggression, seem to instinctively avoid her, sensing the shift in her aura. This occurs even when Siffrin does not have the Memory of Sadnesses equipped. When Siffrin issues commands during battles, Odile ignores him, making her own cold, precise decisions as if she no longer hears the others around her in the heat of a battle. She begins to withdraw completely, becoming a silent reaper on the battlefield, her once-snarky personality hollowed out by the weight of her crumbling sanity. Despite this, Odile still shows tenderness toward Bonnie, giving them headpats more frequently, trying to both bring comfort to them and herself- anchor herself to some small piece of humanity she refuses to let go of.

Siffrin’s battle with sanity is particularly harrowing. Unlike the others, his sanity doesn’t reset after each loop. Each cycle chips away at his mind, a slow and inevitable erosion that no amount of rest can repair. As his Mind Points steadily drop, he grows more distant, mechanically following the script forced onto him by the endless loops. Detached from the emotions of his companions, Siffrin begins using his most powerful crafts with reckless abandon, indifferent to their effects on his body and psyche. In his darkest moments, he sees his companions not as people but as actors trapped in the same cruel play as him, each bound to a role they can never escape. When he becomes too erratic, Odile puts her foot down, demanding that she take over as leader for a while. But Siffrin resents her interference, and the loop warps time itself, rewinding to the moment just before Siffrin does the reckless action that provoked the interaction.

Loop's Mind Points will always be 0. The damage taken during their own loops is unrepairable, leaving them a deeply unstable being. On the surface, Loop is cheerful and sarcastic, always eager to tease Siffrin and his party. But beneath the bravado, their instability manifests in manic episodes or complete emotional shutdowns. The brief moments of peace they share with Siffrin only offer temporary relief, lifting their Mind Points by a couple, before plunging back down as the next loop begins. On their worst moments, Loop abandons the pretense of lighthearted banter at the Favor Tree and asks Siffrin to leave. "You don’t want to see me like this, Stardust," they'd say. "I don’t want to hurt you."

When Petronille’s Mind Points drop to zero, her temper becomes a raging storm, snapping at the party with increasing frequency. She becomes more withdrawn, speaking rarely, but her protective instinct toward Bonnie intensifies to an obsessive degree. Petronille is willing to sacrifice anything- her life, her limbs, her sanity- if it means keeping her sibling safe. This desperation makes her unpredictable and volatile, especially toward Bonnie, whom she both shelters and lashes out at. Bonnie's reckless or clumsy actions frustrate her to the point of shouting, as Petronille oscillates between overbearing protection and seething anger. In this state, she refuses to listen to the party's reasoning or follow their strategies during battle, and she may even attempt to flee with Bonnie under the cover of night, convinced that only she can keep her sibling safe, even if it means dragging them away by force. It's for their own good, afterall.

- - -

the main thought here about Petronille- Think: Susie in Deltarune Chapter I

I also think that Vs. Susie theme would fit perfectly for Petronille. Plus, she totally acts like Susie, especially in the state of no sanity, attacking everything that dares to attack her or her sibling and being extremely unwilling to listen to what others have to say about it. Completely ignoring the directions she receives during combat and absolutely obliterates the opponent. And I know that Odile kind of does that too when her sanity's 0, but it's a bit of a different situation, since Petronille outright REFUSES to cooperate, while Odile kind of- dissociates? Which leads her to not listen. So. Yeah essentially Susie but a big ass hammer instead of an axe. Yeah take a listen of that; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGuDpoJNImA

LOWKEY imagine this woman stalking through the towns in search of her sibling. Nothing would fucking stop her lmao

Chapter Text

- - -

It had been a few days since Petronille joined the party on their journey, and it was clear to everyone that Petronille had no interest in bonding with them. She kept her distance, her cold eyes scanning the surroundings but never lingering on anyone for too long. If she exchanged words, they were brief, curt responses, just enough to make it clear that she wanted nothing to do with them.

The others tried to reach out at first- Isabeau with his bright smiles and endless attempts at conversation, Mirabelle with her natural nurturing instincts, even Odile with their quiet, knowing gaze. But Petronille didn’t budge. To her, they were just people who had dragged her sibling into a dangerous situation, and she would get them both out as soon as possible.

It wasn’t long before trouble found them again. The party was traveling along a winding path through the dense forest, autumn leaves crunching underfoot, when a group of Sadnesses emerged from the shadows. The creatures, as always, moved with a terrifying fluidity, their twisted forms darting toward the party with an unnatural speed.

Petronille didn’t hesitate. With a battle-hardened glare, she swung her massive hammer with all the force she could muster. Her first strike landed with a sickening crunch, sending one of the Sadnesses flying back, its form dissolving into a thick dark ooze.

But it was immediately clear to the others what the problem was with her fighting style.

She was strong- no one could deny that. But she swung with such raw power that she exhausted herself in a matter of moments. The hammer, though deadly, was a weapon that required precise timing and technique, but Petronille treated it like a battering ram. After just a few swings, she was winded, breathing heavily as her muscles strained under the weight of the weapon. It gets worse, as she is stubborn as crab, and refuses to back down even when the party asks her to.

She managed to finish off the last Sadness with a powerful blow, slamming the creature’s head into the ground and causing it to melt into nothing. But as she straightened up, something went wrong. She took a step back, trying to catch her breath, but her foot gave out beneath her, and she bit back a curse as pain shot up her leg. She stumbled, just managing to catch herself before she fell.

Naturally, the others noticed.

Mirabelle, who had been standing nearby, immediately stepped forward. She hesitated for only a moment, remembering their first encounter- the one where Petronille had pulled a knife on her for getting too close. But the anxiety was short-lived, and her innate kindness won out. Mirabelle’s face softened with concern as she approached.

“P-Petronille? Are you alright?” she asked, her voice gentle and hesitant.

Petronille didn’t even look at her. “Mind your own business,” she snapped, her voice dripping with irritation.

But Mirabelle wasn’t deterred. She frowned, a small pout forming on her lips as she clasped her hands together, determined to not back down. “I am minding my business. You’re part of the team, so that makes your well-being my business. As the healer.”

Petronille scoffed, but Mirabelle pressed on, her gaze unwavering. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

There was a brief silence as Petronille stood there, clearly annoyed but unable to argue with the Housemaiden’s persistence. Finally, with an irritated huff, she muttered, “It’s just my leg. Got injured before I was... frozen.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she could’ve swore Mirabelle’s face paled. She let out a gasp, her hands immediately flying to Petronille’s arm as she began to drag the taller woman toward a fallen tree.

“What the crab are you-” Petronille hissed, trying to pull away, her voice filled with disbelief. She wasn’t used to anyone touching her, let alone dare pulling her around like this.

“You’re sitting down, and I’m checking that leg,” Mirabelle said firmly, her voice a mix of panic and maternal authority. There was no hesitation in her movements, no room for Petronille to argue. It was strange. Seeing the ever-so-sweet and anxious Mirabelle this persistent.

Despite herself, Petronille found herself sitting on the tree stump, glaring up at Mirabelle with a mixture of anger and bewilderment. She was half-tempted to just get up and walk away, but something in the Housemaiden’s determined expression made her hesitate. There was no escaping this, was there?

“Show me the wound,” Mirabelle insisted, already kneeling in front of her.

“No,” Petronille growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

But Mirabelle wasn’t backing down. She gave Petronille a look- a look that was far too sweet and determined for her own good. “Please, Petronille. I can help. Just let me see.”

Petronille stared down at the shorter woman, feeling her frustration bubbling up. But the sooner she gave in, the sooner this whole ordeal would be over. With a muttered curse, she rolled up her pant leg, revealing a poorly wrapped, bloody bandage around her shin. The wound beneath was darkened and swollen, the skin around it looking worse than it had when she’d first been injured.

Mirabelle gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Petronille! You’ve just been... walking around like this the whole time!? You haven’t let it heal at all!”

Petronille shifted uncomfortably, feeling oddly embarrassed as Mirabelle continued her onslaught of scolding. The Housemaiden’s hands began to glow with healing craft as she worked on the wound, her voice a mixture of worry and reprimand.

“You should’ve said something!” Mirabelle fussed, her brows furrowed as she worked. “Do you know how dangerous it is to let an injury like this go untreated? You could’ve made it worse- or even gotten an infection! What if you had collapsed in the middle of battle??”

Petronille sat there, feeling more than a little dumbfounded. She wasn’t used to being scolded like this, especially by someone only a few years older than her. Mirabelle’s voice was soft, but the concern in her tone was so overwhelming that it left Petronille momentarily speechless.

By the time Mirabelle finished healing her, the wound was completely gone, leaving a pale scar behind. The Housemaiden sat back on her heels, letting out a relieved sigh as she clasped her hands together. “There. You’ll be good as new- B-But!! I’m going to check it in a few days, just to be sure!”

Petronille narrowed her eyes, her arms crossing once again. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

But Mirabelle only pouted up at her, her earlier anxiety replaced with a quiet determination. “No way! I’ll check it. No excuses.”

Petronille felt her temper flare again, though this time it was more out of frustration than actual anger. Mirabelle wasn’t scared of her anymore, and that... annoyed her. She couldn’t intimidate the older woman like she did during their first meeting. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I don’t need you fussing over me,” Petronille muttered under her breath, clearly irritated. “I’m not some helpless kid. In fact, I’m a goddamn adult.”

Mirabelle’s expression softened even further, and she reached out, placing a gentle hand on Petronille’s arm. “I know you’re an adult. We all are! Um- except Bonnie- but that doesn’t mean we should make reckless decisions, now that we're responsible for ourselves.” She narrowed her eyes once more in a gentle scolding, before she sighed, the soft look returning to her face.

“I know you don’t like us. A-And you don’t have to-! But please, don’t hide your injuries from us! We want you to be safe, especially for Bonnie’s sake- they need you strong and healthy, Petronille..”

Petronille’s frown deepened, her heart thudding in her chest as the words sank in. She didn’t like the way Mirabelle was looking at her- like she cared. Like she actually cared. And as much as she wanted to brush it off, she couldn’t ignore the truth in what she said. She had Bonnie to think about. She couldn’t afford to be reckless, no matter how much she wanted to prove she didn’t need anyone. Because Bonnie needed her, and she needed Bonnie.

With a resigned sigh, she gave a half-hearted wave of her hand. “Whatever.”

Mirabelle let out a soft sigh of relief, getting to her feet and brushing off her dress. “Good! Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

Petronille didn’t respond, her eyes staring down at the ground as the Housemaiden turned and walked back to the others. The rest of the party had been keeping their distance, but Isabeau shot Petronille a small grin as Mirabelle approached. Petronille’s eye twitched in annoyance as she glared at him.

She stood, testing her leg. She had to admit- it felt a lot better. The pain was gone, and the tightness that had been bothering her for days had vanished completely. She knew that healing craft didn't heal wounds fully- only sealing them from the outside, so if she did get an infection, she'd be as good as dead. So, checking it in a few days to make sure everything was okay was probably a reasonable idea. Petronile was just.. stubborn.

She glanced over at Mirabelle, who was already encouraging the others to start moving again, and a conflicted feeling settled in her chest. She didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that Mirabelle had been right.

But she was.

With a frustrated sigh, Petronille followed after the others, her mind still reeling from the unexpected moment of care she’d received. It was strange. She wasn’t used to it.

She tried to push it down, and not give a damn. She should hate this woman. And yet.. it was difficult, when she seemed to bloom with nothing but kindness whenever they spoke, even despite Petronille’s impoliteness.

- - -

( Mirabelle gained a couple of nicknames from Petronille! )

Princess; Sarcastically referencing Mirabelle's refined demeanor or appearance, teasing her for seeming delicate or poised. Deep down, Petronille does think Mirabelle is very pretty.

Fluffhead; Petronille calls her that for being soft or sensitive, with a mocking sense that her head is "full of fluff," but also, means it more literally as well.

Healer Girl; A simple acknowledgment of her role within the party, often used condescendingly.

- - -

( Mirabelle's personal nickname/way of referring to Petronille; )

Petronille; Always uses her full name, as Mirabelle likes the sound of it.

- - -

MIRABELLE AND PETRONILLE <3 I feel like Mirabelle making herself act like she isn't a coward or anxious, act like she's tough in front of Petronille will eventually evolve into something along the lines of "no, this big child is actually harmless, she just looks like she's about to murder you if you don't keep a two meter distance", so essentially she'll keep battling her with kindness. Which Petronille is like, clueless how to react to lmao

Chapter Text

- - -

Petronille could feel the crisp bite of autumn as they trekked through the forest, the darkening leaves crunching beneath their feet. The air was colder than it had been, signaling the fast approach of the season, and yet, somehow, it only served to stoke the fires of her ever-present irritation.

She didn't want to be here. Not with these people. She didn't trust them. And she certainly didn't want to play along with their little "found family" dynamic. All she wanted was to get herself and Bonnie back home- away from the danger they’d been dragged into, thanks to this mismatched party. She scoffed under her breath, gripping the bundle of firewood in her arms tighter as she trudged on.

To her side, Isabeau hummed a light tune, completely unfazed by her silence, his steps bouncing with a carefree rhythm. He hadn’t stopped smiling since they set out together, despite Petronille’s best efforts to shut down any attempt at conversation. Even now, after a solid ten minutes of her short, uninterested replies, he still kept going, his bright, sunny voice cutting through the quiet tension like it wasn’t even there.

“Y’know,” Isabeau began, his tone light and cheerful, “this is actually one of my favorite things about these trips- getting out into nature like this. It’s peaceful, don’t you think?”

Petronille barely glanced his way, biting back a sigh. She didn’t want to engage. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But there was something so relentlessly kind about him, something that made her grit her teeth in frustration. She hated it. Hated how easy it seemed for him, to smile and chat like everything was perfect. Petronille especially hated how it made her feel- how it poked at the edges of the anger she’d carefully built around herself.

Seriously, how can he smile like this towards someone who hates him? Nevermind that, how can he smile at all with the ever-present thought of missing an arm? She doesn’t smile all that often, and she sure as crab wouldn’t if she had lost an arm!

“It’s cold,” she muttered, not bothering to hide the sharp edge in her voice. Then again.. she's always cold.

“Yeah, but in a good way, right? It’s refreshing.” Isabeau’s grin widened, as if he didn’t notice- or didn’t care about- her sour mood. “Besides, we’re making a fire soon, so it’ll be nice and warm in no time!”

Petronille shot him a sideways glance, her eyes briefly flickering to his missing arm. She didn’t say anything, but the thought crossed her mind: What’s he even doing here? He couldn’t carry the logs with just one arm, so why had he insisted on coming with her to gather firewood? She knew the answer, of course- he wanted to talk, to break down the walls she’d put up around herself. But she wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

“Whatever,” she said flatly, turning her gaze back to the forest floor. “Just don’t get in the way.”

Isabeau only chuckled in response, unbothered as ever.

The two of them continued in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the rustling of leaves. It wasn’t long before they’d gathered enough firewood, and Petronille was ready to head back to the clearing. But just as she was about to turn and tell Isabeau to hurry up, something dark moved in the corner of her vision.

Her heart skipped a beat as she saw it- a hulking, shadowy figure emerging from the trees, its sickly eyes locked onto her with predatory intent, it’s hands raising in a paper sign.

A Sadness.

Before she could react, it lunged toward her with terrifying speed. Petronille tried to reach for her hammer, but her arms were full of firewood, and she couldn’t move fast enough. She stumbled back, her clumsiness be damned, her foot catching on a root as she fell to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. The Sadness was nearly on her- she could feel its heavy breath, the overwhelming feeling of dread and despair that surrounded it causing her breath to hitch. Desperation surged through her as she raised her arms to shield herself, bracing for the inevitable impact.

But it never came.

There was a sound, like punching water, a blur of movement in front of her, and then... silence.

Slowly, Petronille lowered her arms, blinking up in shock to see Isabeau standing between her and the Sadness, his body shielding hers from the creature’s attack, holding his arm up in a defensive position to tank the constant onslaught of attacks.

Her mind struggled to catch up to the scene unfolding in front of her. Isabeau, with his one arm, had stepped in front of the blow meant for her- without hesitation, without fear. He had that spark in his eye, determined and fearless, focused. She watched in stunned silence as he flung his arm forward, casting a powerful rock-type craft attack. Jagged stones erupted from the ground with the force of the punch, his fist crashing into the Sadness and sending it tumbling back into the trees.

Isabeau swayed slightly on his feet, one eye squeezing shut as if in pain, but before Petronille could even think to move, the adrenaline kicked in. She scrambled to her feet, her heart racing as she grabbed her hammer and charged forward, her muscles burning with the force of her swing. The hammer connected with the Sadness’s head, plunging it deep into the ground, and with a sickening squelch, the creature melted into a puddle of ooze, its form dissolving into nothing.

Panting, Petronille straightened up, her grip tightening on her hammer as she turned to see Isabeau stumble, his knees giving out beneath him.

“Shit-” she rushed to his side, her chest tightening with a mix of panic and anger as she crouched down beside him. “You idiot,” she hissed, her voice trembling as she grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “Why- why the hell would you do that?!”

Isabeau smiled weakly up at her, his usual cheerful expression softened by the pain he was clearly trying to hide. “Well, someone had to,” he said, his voice light, but there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

“I could’ve handled it, damn it!” Petronille nearly growled, her hands shaking as she checked him for injuries.

Isabeau’s smile didn’t waver, but his gaze softened as he looked at her. “I made an oath,” he said simply, his voice gentle. “To protect. In our case, protect the team. My family. That includes you, Nille.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as his words sunk in. Family.

“I’m not-” she began, her voice raising in irritation, but Isabeau’s expression shifted, his usually playful demeanor replaced by a rare, stern look.

“You are,” he said firmly. “You’re just as much family as Bonnie is.”

Petronille’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She stayed there, frozen, as the weight of his words settled over her. Family.

The sound of footsteps rushing toward them snapped her out of her daze, and she turned to see the rest of the party arriving, their faces filled with concern. Mirabelle was the first to reach them, her eyes widening as she saw Isabeau slumped on the ground.

“Isabeau!” she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. “What happened?? Were you attacked by a Sadness?? Are you hurt??”

Isabeau flashed her a nervous smile, his voice light as always. “Just a scratch, Mira. I’ll be fine.”

Mirabelle gave him a stern look, her palms already glowing with soft healing craft as she began to tend to any injuries he might’ve received.

It's silent for a moment as she works. Petronille bit her lip, looking away as she stood to her feet, fists clenching by her sides. She didn't want to look at Isabeau right now, not when she felt the rare, overwhelming feeling of.. shame.

“..you’re always the one getting hurt, Isabeau..! It.. it hurts me,” she heard Mirabelle mutter, her voice tinged with worry and guilt.

“Hey,” Isabeau frowned softly, going to put a hand on her shoulder, flashing her his best smile. “Like I said, i’m okay! Promise. Super duper promise.” He said, causing Petronille's eyes to narrow further, the Housemaiden sighing, as she continued to tend to him.

Odile, Bonnie, and Siffrin arrived moments later, with Bonnie rushing to Petronille’s side, wrapping their arms around their sibling’s waist in a tight hug. “Nille!! What happened??” Bonnie asked, their voice shaking. “Why is ‘Za hurt?? Was it a Sadness?? Did you get hurt too??”

Petronille hesitated, her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides as Bonnie clung to her. She glanced at Isabeau, who was now being tended to by Mirabelle, with Siffrin taking a seat nearby, looking up to Isabeau with those big eyes of his. The Defender can’t help but chuckle, reassuring him that he is okay.

“I’m fine,” Petronille muttered, glancing down at the ground as guilt twisted in her chest, weighing heavier than her actual anger, which was.. new. And not in a good way. “I... we got attacked. He jumped in.”

She didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know how to explain the confusing swirl of emotions inside her. A mix of anger, confusion and shock, that rooted itself deep into her chest, and refused to leave. But one thing was clear: Isabeau for some reason cared about her enough to risk his own life for her. She wanted to convince herself that it was the Defender part of him jumping into action, but somehow, she felt like it wasn’t it. Not with the genuine smiles he gave, not with the way he, surprisingly stubbornly, spoke of her being family-

She didn’t understand.

Of course, she was too proud to thank him. But the gratitude hung heavy in the air, and as she caught a glance of the man’s face, they just so happened to lock eyes for a second. He gave her that very same smile. She looked away immediately, brows pinching together.

Odile, on the other hand, stood a few paces away, watching the entire scene with a calculating look, her sharp gaze picking up on every detail.

- - -

( Isabeau gained a couple of nicknames from Petronille! )

Shield Man / Meat Shield / Bodyguard; Mocking his protective nature by reducing him to an object or tool, downplaying his significance. It highlights his eagerness to shield others from harm, even if it means getting himself seriously hurt in the process.

Brick Wall; A jab at both his sturdy build and his perceived obliviousness, disregarding his smarts completely, as if he's insignificant, or only good for blocking damage.

Handsome; VERY sarcastically, used to mock his constant efforts to maintain an good appearance.

Smartass / Dumbass; While often mocking him or calling him stupid, she’s fully aware of his hidden intelligence and sharp wit.

- - -

( Isabeau's personal nicknames/way of referring to Petronille; )

Nille; Nille! A short for Petronille!

Young Miss / Ma’am; Teasingly formal, with a hint of fondness behind it.

Firecracker / Hotshot; He’d use this to call out her tendency to explode with little provocation, with a touch of fondness behind it.

- - -

NEW INFO !! !! I actually decided that Petronille will be forming mean ass nicknames for the party after each of their hangout. Kind of. Her way of affection ig 💀 its how she copes lmao character development

So yeah, make sure to return to Mirabelle's Hangout with Petronille to see the nicknames Petronille chose for her!

Chapter Text

- - -

The camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire. The night sky stretched endlessly above, a canopy of stars flickering faintly, casting a soft light over the campsite. Most of the party had long since retired to their tents, the exhaustion of the day settling in. Only Odile remained, keeping watch out for any roaming Sadnesses, sitting on her knees by the fire with her eyes closed, hands clasped gently against her chest in quiet contemplation.

Inside one of the tents, Petronille lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, her body restless despite the fatigue weighing down her limbs. Bonnie lay curled up beside her, peacefully asleep, oblivious to the internal turmoil gnawing at their older sister. Petronille sighed quietly, glancing at Bonnie’s serene face, and instinctively reached over to ruffle the child's hair. It was a small gesture, one filled with care, but also frustration. What have they dragged her into..? Hanging out with strangers. She understands that those people have saved her sibling, and have spend a few months with them, but for Bonnie to trust them so easily felt- ridiculous!

The thought brought a familiar surge of anger, and Petronille pulled her hand back, her expression hardening. She hated feeling like this- so powerless and so full of resentment. She needed air. Careful not to wake Bonnie, she slipped out of the tent, hoping the cool night breeze would calm the storm inside her. But as she stepped outside, her eyes immediately landed on Odile, seated near the fire, her posture serene, almost meditative. She.. seemed to be praying.

Petronille froze in her tracks. She hadn’t expected anyone to be awake, let alone Odile. For a moment, she regretted coming out at all. She didn’t really want to be interfere, didn’t want to be part of any late-night conversation. She had no energy for it. And yet, before she could retreat back into the tent, Odile stirred, sensing her presence. Her head turned slightly, and her eyes opened, landing on Petronille.

"You’re not very quiet," Odile said softly, a small, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "Come on sit. I’m almost done."

Petronille narrowed her eyes at her, feeling a flicker of annoyance. There was something about that weird mix of calmness and snarkiness that always seemed to rub her the wrong way. She felt like the older woman was too composed, too in control, and it grated on Petronille, especially when she felt so out of control herself. Still, with a resigned huff, Petronille made her way over to the fire and sat down on the opposite side, folding her arms across her chest as if to shield herself from the conversation she knew was coming. Quite frankly, she was expecting the other woman to talk about anything at this point- even the crabbing weather, though making small talk didn’t exactly seem like her style. It was definitely more of the Defender’s forte.

Odile closed her eyes again for a brief moment, her hands still resting on her chest. When she finally lowered them and opened her eyes fully, sitting back more comfortably, she glanced at Petronille with a quirked brow, waiting for the inevitable comment.

"You said you weren’t very religious," Petronille muttered, her voice low but laced with irritation. She watched Odile carefully, waiting for her response, as if she were waiting to catch her in some contradiction.

Odile didn’t seem offended. Instead, she let out a soft, almost amused breath, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "I wasn’t. Not for a long time, anyway." Her voice was calm, measured. "But... my mindset has changed recently."

Petronille scoffed, her gaze hardening as she kicked a small rock toward the fire. The flames flickered as the rock rolled into the embers, but neither of them looked away from each other. "My parents were very religious," Petronille said bitterly, venom dripping from every word. "They left because of it. Left us behind."

Odile’s expression softened, though she didn’t speak. Her lip twitched slightly, as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. She waited, sensing that Petronille wasn’t done.

Petronille’s hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles turning white. She stared into the fire, her voice low and simmering with resentment. "Bon was barely a baby when they left. Said they needed to follow some dumb belief. Joined some sick Cult of Change. Haven’t seen them since."

The words seemed to come out of her like a floodgate had been opened, her exhaustion eroding the usual walls she kept firmly in place. She didn’t want to talk about this, not really, but the anger had festered inside her for so long that it spilled out before she could stop it.

"It messed Bon up a lot." It messed me, up. She gritted her teeth, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. "They chose some stupid belief over their own children. Left me to take care of Bon- me." She scoffed, as if the mere thought felt ridiculous to her. She could hardly call herself a proper guardian, nevermind a good older sister. “Later on, anyway. Our village was very kind, thankfully- took care of us until I was old enough to do it myself. But..”

Odile remained silent, but her eyes widening slightly flickered with understanding. The depth of Petronille’s hatred for her parents was clear, but there was something else, something that Odile recognized- a deep, painful sense of abandonment. It struck Odile in a way that left her momentarily speechless, frozen. Petronille’s words cut deep because they resonated. More than Petronille knew.

When Petronille finally looked at her, her gaze was fierce, filled with the same fire that Odile had once carried herself. "Beliefs lead to nothing but madness," Petronille spat, her voice venomous. "People forget the ones who matter most because of them. Doesn’t matter if it’s the God of Change you worship, or if it’s someone else. It’s always the same.”

Odile felt her breath catch in her throat. She wasn’t often stunned into silence, but Petronille’s raw honesty left her unable to form a response right away. She saw so much of herself in Petronille- maybe not in terns of anger, not as much anyway- but so much of her own bitterness from years ago, before life had beaten some form of patience and acceptance into her.

She realized, just how..

..how similar they are.

After a long pause, Odile finally spoke, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "I understand," she said quietly. "More than you think." She shifted slightly, glancing down at her hands before looking back at Petronille. "I’ve... felt that responsibility too. For the others. For Boniface especially."

Petronille’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she opened her mouth to snap back at Odile, but Odile lifted a hand, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not in the way you think. I don’t mean anything special by it. But as the oldest one here, I suppose I’ve come to feel... responsible. Even if I’ve tried my best to keep my distance from them when we first met.”

Petronille’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth half-open in protest, but the words never came. Odile’s calm, unruffled demeanor seemed to disarm her, and for the first time, Petronille found herself at a loss for a cutting remark.

Odile sighed softly, adjusting her glasses, her fingers tracing the string connected to the gem hanging down, before settling on it, feeling it’s smooth texture. "I know how the others see me, even if they don’t say it aloud. I’ve become something of a... mother figure, I suppose." Her smile was wry, a little self-deprecating. "I’ve grown comfortable in that role. I enjoy taking care of Boniface. That goes for the others just the same. To the point that I’ve made up my mind to start.. praying again. For them. For us. For me be reasonable in the decisions I make while with them. Because I am aware I am not the only one I am responsible for anymore. I hope.. I could give Boniface a fraction of what they lost."

Petronille stared at her, completely thrown off balance. This wasn’t what she had expected. Her mind raced, trying to form a comeback, but nothing came. Instead, she sat there, speechless, as the weight of Odile’s words settled in. It wasn’t like her to lose her edge like this, but Odile’s openness caught her off guard.

Odile chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "Seems like we both said more than we’d usually be comfortable with, hm?"

Petronille blinked, realizing with a sudden jolt that Odile was right. She had let her walls down, let herself be vulnerable, and it made her feel exposed, raw. She quickly straightened up, scowling at the realization.

Odile smiled at her, this time a little more fond, though still with that signature teasing edge. "I only ever knew one person who was filled with so much anger and resentment," she said softly. "Embarrassingly enough, it was me. When I was younger."

Petronille frowned, glaring at her. "You? No way." She looked Odile up and down, disbelief evident in her expression. "You. Anger issues.”

Odile laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Wisdom comes with age, young one. Or so they say."

Petronille growled in frustration, standing abruptly from her spot by the fire. "Whatever," she muttered, making her way back toward her tent. Odile’s laughter followed her, but it wasn’t mocking- it was warm, almost affectionate.

"Goodnight, Petronille," Odile called after her, her voice light and teasing.

Petronille grumbled under her breath as she slipped back into the tent, lying down next to Bonnie once again. She stared at the ceiling of the tent for a long moment, her mind racing. Odile’s words had stuck with her, whether she wanted them to or not. As she glanced at Bonnie’s peaceful face, the thought wormed its way into her mind, unbidden.

Did Bon really see Odile as a second mother?

The idea made her scoff, but before she could shake it off, another thought surfaced, one that sent a chill down her spine.

Would she?

The thought made her eyes widen.

Would she think of Odile the same way?

Petronille clenched her jaw, burying her face in her pillow as a frustrated groan escaped her. No. She wasn’t going to give in. She wasn’t going to let herself care about this nonsense.

But as she lay there, staring at Bonnie, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her resolve was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

- - -

( Odile gained a couple of nicknames from Petronille! )

Old Lady; A playful dig at Odile’s mature demeanor and older age, teasing her as the “grandmother” of the group.

Saint Odile / Preacher Odile; Mocking her religious habits and constant attempts to be the voice of reason, as well as her belief in making the “right” choices.

Bookworm; Teasing her for always being engrossed in books, a half-hearted jab at her scholarly nature.

- - -

( Odile's personal nicknames/way of referring to Petronille; )

Petronille; Always formal, as is her nature.

Young One; Mocking Petronille over being the second youngest of the group, though is used rather fondly.

Brat / Child; Mocking Petronille over being the second youngest of the group part two. Used when she finds Petronille being particularly annoying or frustrating, with her tiring irritable attitude.

- - -

HIII TODAY IVE GOT A DRAWING I REALLY LIKE SO HERE HAVE SOME GOODIES

Also don't worry I have planned absolutely everything out Petronille has every reason to be as annoyed as she is TRUST TRUST TRUST

Chapter Text

- - -

What if BigFrin won the battle against his party, forever preventing them from returning home? In this AU, there could be multiple endings- branching paths that lead to different fates. The canon ending, of course, exists, but what if there was a darker, more twisted conclusion? A bad ending where Siffrin, in the heat of battle, ascends to become a New God, his overwhelming power reducing his friends’ health to a mere thread- single digits.

In this ending, Siffrin would trap his party within a dimension of his own making, a warped reflection of the Forgotten Island. This realm would be unstable, a liminal space, neither fully there nor entirely gone, a place where time and reality bend under his will. His friends, worn down from their futile struggle, would be kept on the edge of life, their health eternally low but never allowed to tip into death. It was an endless state of painless exhaustion. He would protect them from harm- safe in his grasp, too weakened to resist, too exhausted to escape.

In this distorted paradise, Siffrin would finally allow himself to be affectionate, no longer restrained by fear or rejection. He would cling to them constantly, seeking the physical closeness he had always craved but never allowed himself to ask for. His voice, once hesitant, would now be calm and soothing, laced with an eerie tenderness, his smiles soft and oddly genuine, as if completely oblivious to the circumstances surrounding all of their existence now.

He would cup Isabeau’s face in his hands, his touch gentle, as if handling something precious. Mirabelle, while barely conscious, would have her hair brushed so carefully as Siffrin would keep her head in his lap. Bonnie would be the one he held most often, pulling them into long, lingering embraces, holding them close to his chest, protectively. And Odile, with her quiet strength now drained from her, would find her hand entwined with his, as he clung to her in silence that the two of them always shared while spending time together.

He would seem completely oblivious to the damage he was causing, blind to the harm of keeping them trapped in this limbo. In his mind, this was love- keeping them close, forever safe, forever together. His family.

And if anyone dared to threaten this fragile world he had built, or the people he kept in it, anyone who tried to take his loved ones away, Siffrin would not hesitate. He would kill without question, without mercy. His kindness reserved only for the ones he held dear, his wrath unleashed on those who stood against him.

In this twisted ending, Siffrin’s affection would be both a blessing and a curse, his love so overpowering it suffocates, leaving his party helpless in the embrace of the New God he had become.

Amid this surreal horror, Loop appears, breaking into the New God’s domain. They are the only one who dares to confront Siffrin, disapproving of what he’s done. "This isn’t what we wanted for them, Stardust," Loop says, their voice steady yet pained.

Siffrin doesn’t want to listen, glaring at the other. He hesitates, torn between obliterating Loop for daring to interfere with his sanctuary and his lingering attachment to them. His guiding star- Helpful Loop, coming here to confront him about the actions he deemed were right and necessary. But then he notices something, something that causes his eye to slowly widen, as they look at the other more closely-

Loop is fading.

Their light is dimming, their form slowly disintegrating into tiny little stars. Panic flickers across Siffrin’s face, and without thinking, he reaches out, grabbing Loop’s arm in a desperate attempt to stop them from vanishing.

There are no words between them, but Loop’s expression doesn’t change.

It’s a mixture of regret, anger, and disappointment, that cuts through Siffrin like a blade, rendering him completely frozen, unable to look away from the cold look he’s being given.

Loop has failed their mission. They were sent here for a purpose, and they could not have fulfilled it.

They couldn’t even help themself.

The Universe is unforgiving, and without mercy, it decides to get rid of them for good, allowing them to dissolve into nothing more than cosmic dust.

For a brief, heart-wrenching moment, Siffrin feels clarity. The weight of what he’s done crashes down on him- what is he doing?

He’s hurting his family. He’s imprisoned them in this warped reality, stripping them of their will, of their freedom, keeping them in a seemingly serene state of barely conscious existence. He has twisted his love into something monstrous, something that only serves his own desperate need for connection.

But the clarity doesn’t last.

As Loop fades into the wind, stardust scattering across the endless, peaceful meadow of the domain, Siffrin’s legs give out beneath him, as he’s left staring at the spot Loop has stood just a moment ago. Alas, despite the tears forming in his eyes, the darkness creeps back into Siffrin’s mind. His expression softens once more, serene and unwavering in his conviction.

No. He convinces himself that he’s doing the right thing. He has to protect them. He’s keeping them safe. He’s doing it for their own good.

With Loop gone, Siffrin returns to his family, now alone in this strange, beautiful prison of his making. The meadow stretches out in every direction, soft grass brushing against the skin, filled with vivid flowers painted in forbidden shades. A peaceful mirage.

He crouches down in front of Isabeau, who lies limp in the tall grass, his breath shallow, his eyes half-closed. With care, Siffrin struggles to lift him, cradling his upper body against his chest, hugging him close. Isabeau’s head rests against him, too weak to protest or pull away, or even return the embrace. Siffrin holds him like that for a long time, his cheek pressed against Isabeau’s hair, eyes closing as he murmurs to himself.

"I’m doing the right thing, right? I’m doing this for you… for all of you. I won’t let you go home. I won’t let you go. I love you too much for that. I can’t watch you get hurt anymore. I can’t.. I can’t. You’ll be safe here with me- I’ll keep you safe. I’m keeping you safe."

The meadow sways in the wind, the illusion of peace all around them, and Siffrin clings to it- clings to them- his delusions wrapping tighter and tighter around his heart.

He won’t let them go home.

- - -

just so you know this ending is not canon. cuz the canon ending for this AU actually doesn't change much compared to what is seen in the game, so dw all of them are fine uwu

Chapter Text

- - -

The field was eerily quiet after the battle, the last of the Sadnesses crumbling into the dirt with an unnatural hiss. Siffrin, his breath ragged from the fight, wiped a smear of the disgusting dark goo from his cheek. Petronille stood nearby, her posture tense, a fine layer of sweat glistening on her brow. She had been relentless, fierce as ever, swinging her massive hammer with the kind of raw aggression that made it hard to believe she was human at all.

Siffrin admired that about her, in a way. Petronille wasn’t one for theatrics. She fought with brute force, decisive and unyielding, without the need for flair. She didn’t rely on tactics like the rest of them. She was direct- a storm in motion.

But now, as he turned to check on her, something was wrong.

Petronille stood rigid, hammer gripped tight in her hands, but her gaze was fixed straight ahead, staring at nothing. Her eyes were wide, glassy, filled with something Siffrin hadn’t ever seen on her face before.

Fear.

"Hotshot?" he called out softly, but she didn’t respond. Her body didn’t move, not even the twitch of a muscle. She was frozen, locked in place as if someone had cast a spell over her. Except no spell had done this- nothing magical had touched her. She was trapped in something else, something much worse.

Siffrin's stomach dropped. It reminded him of the time Odile had frozen like this. He’d seen it once or twice- when the mind just... stopped, locking the body in place. He had never known what to do, not then, and he wasn’t entirely sure now.

He swallowed hard, hesitant as he took a cautious step toward her. The Dockworker, so strong and fiery, was completely motionless, her face pale, her jaw tight. The sight of her like this- this unstoppable force reduced to stillness- sent a chill up his spine.

She’s stuck. She’s frozen, he realized, his heart thudding in his chest.

Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, but Siffrin pushed it down. Petronille didn’t need panic right now. She needed him to stay calm. He came to stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence but not so close that he overwhelmed her.

“Petronille,” he said again, his voice quiet, hesitant. When she still didn’t respond, he forced a smile, leaning just a little closer. All things considered, this was quite the ironic occurance. He knew he shouldn’t freak out- Petronulle was safe- she’s not in pain, not suffering. Though judging by the look on her face, she is not very fond of being in this state- and he can’t blame her. It.. it looks scary. He can’t imagine being in her place.

“Oh, Nettle, look at you- taking a break in the middle of the battlefield. Thought you liked the action?”

His tone was light, even teasing, but the warmth in his voice was unmistakable. He was careful not to touch her. He didn’t know how she’d react if he did, and he wasn’t going to risk making things worse. Instead, he settled for keeping his voice steady, grounding her in the mundane.

“You’re leaving me to handle the hard work on my own, huh?” he continued softly. “I thought you were the one who to never lets up. And here you are, slacking off.”

Despite the light teasing, his voice was soft, quiet, as it always was. No response, not yet. But her breathing- he noticed the faintest change. A flicker, a small tremor in her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Perhaps.. distracting her could snap her out of this state. He knows for a fact, that this sort of thing passes faster when you learn to calm down and let your fear and despair dissolve. Or so he heard from Odile- so quite a reliable source.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave. I think I’d get strangled by four different pair of hands if I did. So.. you just calm down.. And we’ll wait it out. Okay?” Siffrin stayed close, and he kept going, his words gentle but persistent, grounding them both in something normal.

Gradually, he saw her breath pattern change, her chest rising a little more with each inhale instead of stuttering with each fast intake of air. It was slow, but the fear that had been frozen in her eyes was starting to melt away. She was still there, behind that wall of terror, struggling to claw her way out, all the while Siffrin talked her ear off, staying on her side.

A few more minutes passed, though to Siffrin, it felt like an eternity. And he was pretty sure that this made two of them. He could see the effort it was taking her to come back- her breaths were shallow at first, but became slower as time passed, her jaw relaxing slightly, her body, rigid with the strain of breaking free from whatever nightmare held her in place, slowly loosening.

And then, with a shuddering gasp, she moved.

Petronille’s shoulders sagged, her grip loosening on the hammer as her body came back to life. She sucked in a deep breath, her eyes no longer glassy but filled with a raw, aching awareness. She looked around, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sense of where she was, catching her breath, before her gaze landed on Siffrin, still in the same spot beside her, watching her closely.

For a moment, there was silence. She stood there, panting heavily, her chest heaving as though she’d just fought her way out of a physical prison.

And then- just like that- she snapped back to her usual self.

“Forget it,” she said sharply, her voice rough and edged with something almost feral. She straightened her shoulders, glaring down at him with the kind of intensity that made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.” Despite her sharp tone, her hands shook around the handle of her hammer.

Siffrin blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift. Nothing? He saw the way her hands were still shaking, how hard she was gripping the handle of her hammer, knuckles turning white, shoulders as tense as they can get.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” he said carefully, his voice still gentle. He didn’t want to push her, but he also wasn’t about to let her brush this off like it hadn’t just happened.

Petronille’s eyes narrowed, and she leveled him with a glare that could split a mountain in half. “I said forget it,” she growled, her voice like a warning.

Siffrin sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. He knew better than to argue with her when she was like this- defensive, angry, ashamed. She didn’t want to be seen like this. Fearful, vulnerable, terrified. Didn’t want anyone to know that the unshakable, fiery Dockworker had her limits too.

But Siffrin wasn’t one to let her off the hook so easily.

"Sure, Hellcat," he said, rolling his eyes. “You just happen to freeze up in the middle of a fight, stare into the distance like you’re seeing ghosts, and now you want me to forget it?” He raised an eyebrow, and even though his tone stayed light, he was frowning. “Yeah, that’s gonna be hard to forget. Even for me.”

Petronille’s glare intensified, but there was something behind it now- something fragile, a flicker of shame that she was desperately trying to hide. She didn’t say anything, just stood there, her jaw clenched, fists tight around the hammer as if she was contemplating bashing his head in.

Siffrin took a step back, giving her space, but not leaving her entirely. “Look, I get it,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to pretend. We’re all in this mess together.”

Petronille’s lips thinned into a hard line, her eyes flicking away from his as she stared down at the ground. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, just stood there, breathing slightly shallow, as if she was still recovering from whatever had just happened.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she let out a sharp breath and shook her head. “I don’t need your pity, shortass.” She hissed. “I could’ve handled it all by myself.”

“It’s not pity,” he said simply, his eyes steady on hers. “Just... concern. You did get frozen for months, you know.”

Petronille grit her teeth. “I know.” She hissed, giving him one last, hard look, before turning her head away sharply. Siffrin frowned softly. He saw just how much those terrifying occurances effected Odile- the one that never stuttered, never bat an eyelash at anything, was always calm and reserved. He had no doubt it was absolutely terrifying to Petronille, too- not to mention, she endured that state for- months and months. It had to be.. traumatic, for her.

The woman said nothing though, simply turning on her heel, starting back toward the camp without another word.

Siffrin watched her go, before sighing.

“Stubborn,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no malice in the words- just a quiet understanding. He knew she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Hell, she might never be. But that was okay. He’d be an awful hypocrite, calling her out for not being honest- towards strangers, no less. But he made up his mind, he was sure of it- he and the others would be there when she was ready, just like he’d been today.

After all, they were all fighting their own battles- inside and out.

- - -

( Siffrin gained a couple of nicknames from Petronille! )

Starboy; A nod to Siffrin’s fascination with the stars, teasing him for his dreamy, distant personality and abstract way of thinking.

Little Mouse; Referring to how he blends into the background, silent and unnoticed until he suddenly isn’t. It's meant to be both teasing and condescending.

Catboy; He is NOT escaping the Catboy allegations. Even Petronille noticed.

- - -

( Siffrin's personal nicknames/way of referring to Petronille; )

Hellcat; To Siffrin, Petronille's fiery and grumpy nature, really does make him think of her as the world's spiciest, untamable, wild cat. Also, a direct comeback to Petronille teasing him about HIS cat allegations.

Nettle; One of his favorite nicknames for Petronille. He calls her this, referencing how prickly Petronille is in personality, and how she seems to sting anyone who gets too close.

Hothead / Hotshot; Very crabbing angy. Used to point out her quick temper, which Siffrin finds both amusing and frustrating- quite difficult to deal with.

Bull-head; Stubborn.

- - -

OK HERES YOUR PETRONILLE AND SIFFRIN HANGOUT OKAY

i actually hate this drawing so just take this and wait for tomorrow cuz i'm actually drawing something really cool i hope

Chapter Text

WOOPIE I DREW ACTUAL COVER ART!! since this book's been getting a lot of attention lately I decided to make an official cover GAHH HOPE YOU LIKE IT

- - -

Petronille's Time-Freezing Curse Trauma;

Given the horrific experience of being frozen by the King's curse, Petronille, like others who endured the same fate, suffer from several long-term physical and psychological after-effects.

Chronic Cold Sensation ( Phantom Cold );

Even after the curse is lifted, Petronille still feels a persistent sense of cold, as if the frostbite of her time frozen has permeated her bones and never quite left. This "phantom cold" manifests as an internal chill that lingers no matter the temperature around her. Physically, her extremities (fingers, toes, nose, ears) feels numb or frozen on a regular basis, similar to how those who’ve suffered from frostbite experience long-term hypersensitivity to cold temperatures. Physically though, she would be completely fine, most likely infuriating her more. This would show clearly, with her extremities seeming to always be of darker shade.

Her body may never fully acclimate to warmth again, meaning that even in warm weather or near a fire, she feels as though she's trapped in a cold room. This could result in her dressing in multiple layers, even in summer, and seeking out heat sources like a compulsion. However, with Petronille's stubbornness, and being aware that the extra layers wouldn't help, she would most likely just deal with it, however unbearable it would get.

Petronille would be quickly developing Cryophobia, an intense fear of cold or freezing environments, where any exposure to low temperatures would trigger flashbacks to her time frozen, and increase the numbness of her body. This fear could evolve into avoidance of even mildly cool settings, triggering anxiety in cold weather.

And summertime is quickly passing.

Sleep Paralysis and Insomnia;

The feeling of being fully aware but unable to move during her time frozen is akin to extreme sleep paralysis, which leaves long-lasting effects on her sleep patterns. After being released from the curse, Petronille would suffer from chronic insomnia and sleep paralysis episodes, where she wakes up in the night but is unable to move, reliving the trauma of being frozen all over again. This causes her to become restless and tired, never fully able to regain her energy, and in turn becoming more irritable and grumpy.

The fear of entering a state similar to her frozen condition would cause a deep fear of falling asleep, leading to prolonged periods of wakefulness and disrupted sleep cycles. Her mind would constantly race, unable to relax for fear of becoming frozen again, leading to extreme fatigue. When she does manage to fall asleep, her mind may trap her in vivid nightmares where she is once again frozen, aware of her surroundings but powerless to move or speak. During sleep paralysis episodes, she might wake up feeling paralyzed and suffocated, trapped in a halfway state where her body won’t respond to her commands, and the sensation of cold and isolation returns.

Sensory Overload and Hypervigilance;

Being fully aware while frozen would cause a heightened sensitivity to external stimuli, even though she couldn't respond to them. Petronille develops sensory overload, where ordinary sounds, sights, and sensations become overwhelmingly intense, triggering anxiety. During her frozen state, sounds- no matter how distant- would have been her only connection to the world, as her vision have been either limited or blurred. As a result, after the curse is lifted, her sense of hearing becomes hypersensitive, with even mundane noises (a creaking door, footsteps) causing her to flinch or feel on edge. And as much as that does come in handy, judging by the fact that they are living in a cruel world filled with awful people and monsters lurking in every corner, it is often extremely overwhelming for her.

Constant awareness while unable to move would have trained her to be extremely vigilant of everything around her, scanning for threats or changes in her environment. After the curse, this manifests as hypervigilance, where Petronille is always on high alert, unable to relax, constantly looking over her shoulder, or becoming startled by minor, sudden movements or sounds.

Muscle Atrophy and Weakness;

Though the curse preserved her body in time, the feeling of immobility for months leaves Petronille with muscle weakness and atrophy upon waking. Her muscles and joints, which have been in the same position for so long, would feel stiff and weakened, requiring time to regain their strength. When the curse lifts, she finds her limbs heavy and difficult to move at first, bothered by the sensation alike to her entire body falling asleep due to lack of circulation. Muscle cramps, spasms, and general stiffness would become common, making the journey across Vaugarde in search for her sibling all the more difficult. She experiences persistent tremors or weakness in her hands or legs, as if her muscles are still adjusting to the freedom of movement, and it is completely unknown if those symptoms would fade over time, if at all. Simple tasks like running or walking long distances might leave her unexpectedly fatigued. At this point, it's a life of chronic exhaustion for her, and as someone who wields a giant hammer and outright refuses to take breaks or learn how to use it properly, she just makes things more difficult for herself.

Dissociation and Temporal Confusion;

Experiencing months of frozen, paralyzed awareness, have blurred Petronille’s perception of time. After being freed, she struggles with dissociation and temporal confusion, where she has difficulty understanding how much time has passed, whether she's really free or still trapped in a nightmare-like state. She may have moments where she mentally "checks out," feeling disconnected from her body and surroundings. In these moments, she might not believe that she’s free from the curse, watching the world move around her but feeling unable to interact with it.

Each of these after-effects would make Petronille’s return to normal life a significant struggle, requiring not just physical healing but deep emotional and psychological recovery, which by the way, she is unwilling to take. Her journey would likely involve learning to cope with these lasting consequences while trying to regain control over her life, body, and mind.

Chronic paralysis;

Petronille’s most hated after-effect from being frozen is her body’s traumatic response of chronic paralysis- a condition where, without warning, she becomes paralyzed, trapped in the same helpless state she endured under the curse. Although her breathing, hearing, and sight remain functional, her body locks up entirely, leaving her unable to move or speak. These episodes can happen either completely at random or during extreme moments of stress, especially in battle, when the body’s instinctive response is to freeze instead of fight or flee.

This defense mechanism terrifies her beyond belief. Each time it happens, she feels as though being thrown back into that nightmare of the curse, re-living the sensation of being trapped while fully aware of everything around her. The randomness of these episodes adds to her anxiety- she never knows when or where it will happen, and the fear of freezing at a crucial moment, especially in combat, could mean life or death for herself or her allies. This loss of control has made her vulnerable, and despite her tough exterior, the unpredictability of her own body’s betrayal haunts her deeply.

- - -

Petronille's Fighting style!

Petronille’s fighting style is a chaotic blend of raw strength and relentless determination, characterized by an unrefined yet fierce approach that belies her natural power. While she wields a hefty hammer, a weapon that commands respect and can deliver devastating blows, her execution often leaves much to be desired. Her strength is formidable, but her inability to wield the hammer with the finesse that such a weapon demands leads to a fighting style that is as clumsy as it is aggressive.

Petronille relies on powerful, sweeping strikes, aiming to overwhelm her opponents with sheer force rather than precision. Her swings are often wide and reckless, as she attempts to compensate for her lack of technique with brute strength. While this approach can yield impressive results against multiple foes or when dealing with unsuspecting enemies, it often leaves her vulnerable to counterattacks.

Her clumsiness manifests in unpredictable movements that can either catch her enemies off guard or put her in precarious situations. In the heat of battle, she might misjudge her footing or swing her hammer at an awkward angle, leading to accidental misfires or tripping over herself that could leave her wide open to attacks. This unpredictability, however, can also work to her advantage- enemies may underestimate her, expecting a more calculated fighter rather than someone who flails wildly.

One of Petronille’s defining characteristics is her remarkable pain tolerance. She can endure wounds and fatigue that would incapacitate most others, allowing her to continue fighting when it would be wise to retreat. This resilience often manifests in a stubborn refusal to acknowledge her injuries, leading her to push through the pain. In battle, this translates to a fearlessness that can be intimidating; she will charge forward even when injured, striking back at her enemies with renewed vigor, her hammer swinging down with no hesitation.

Despite her tenacity, Petronille’s fighting style is marred by her propensity for overexertion. She rarely takes the breaks she needs, driven by a stubborn pride that compels her to stay in the fight at all costs. This leads to bouts of fatigue that become increasingly evident as the battle drags on. As her strength wanes, her swings grow weaker and less controlled, yet she refuses to back down. This relentless pursuit often leaves her gasping for breath, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow as she struggles to maintain her footing and focus.

In moments where she feels cornered or when her sibling is in danger, Petronille exhibits a fierce defiance. It is during these times that her fighting style takes on an almost desperate quality; she becomes a whirlwind of fury, swinging her hammer with reckless abandon as if to compensate for the fear she feels for her sibling’s safety. Her movements become erratic, but the force behind her strikes remains potent, reflecting her determination to protect those she holds dear at any cost.

Petronille’s fighting style is deeply intertwined with her personality. Her frustration at her own clumsiness and inability to wield the hammer like a seasoned warrior fuels her aggressive tendencies. Each missed swing or awkward maneuver is a reminder of her limitations, sparking a fire within her to make the next blow hit and make it hurt tenfold. This determination of hers creates a cycle of overexertion, where she pushes herself harder with each encounter to make up for perceived shortcomings.

- - -

Petronille's battle style consequences;

Petronille’s fighting style, characterized by overexertion and stubbornness, takes a significant toll on her body. Each battle she throws herself into, determined to stand tall and proud and protect her sibling, leads to a series of physical repercussions that manifest in various ways.

Muscle Strain and Fatigue;

After an intense battle, Petronille often experiences severe muscle strain, particularly in her arms, shoulders, and back. The weight of her hammer combined with her lack of finesse in wielding it causes her muscles to tighten painfully. This strain can leave her feeling like she has run a marathon, with muscles that feel heavy and achy.

Bruises and Scrapes;

Due to her reckless fighting style, Petronille often comes away from battles with an array of bruises and scrapes, later leaving behind countless of scars all across her body. These marks that are simply bruises become increasingly visible over time, forming a patchwork of darkened shades across her arms and legs. While she doesn’t flinch at the sight, when her party members notice, they can’t help but express concern.

Chronic Exhaustion;

Her refusal to rest properly after battles leads to chronic exhaustion. Petronille frequently battles fatigue, making her more irritable and less responsive during the day. Her energy levels drop significantly, causing her to struggle to keep up with the rest of the party, but never showing it, pushing herself further. Despite this exhaustion, she forces herself to participate in training and daily activities, leading to a worsening cycle of fatigue that even the most potent adrenaline can’t combat.

Headaches and Dizziness;

Overexertion also leads to frequent headaches and bouts of dizziness, particularly when she’s been swinging her hammer too vigorously or has neglected to hydrate well. These headaches can be debilitating, causing her vision to blur and making it difficult for her to focus on tasks. She often dismisses them as minor annoyances, refusing to acknowledge how they hinder her performance. And yet, it effects the way she functions around the party, tending to snap at them over trivial matters, during her worst migraines.

Despite the concern of her companions, Petronille remains steadfast in her refusal to accept help. Her stubbornness is a double-edged sword; while it fuels her determination to protect her sibling, it also leads to detrimental physical consequences. Each battle only heightens her injuries, creating a cycle that leaves her increasingly exhausted and worn down. In the face of this, her companions and sibling continue to worry for her well-being, hoping that one day she’ll realize that strength also lies in accepting help and allowing herself the rest she so desperately needs.

- - -

they hold hands <3 also we had come to know so much about petronille, it's crazy! dw though i am planning to write a LOT about loop in the future, as well as Siffrin's healing arc, and a lot more :3 so stay tuned for that!

Chapter Text

- - -

The evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm by the time the party arrived at the bustling inn in a small town. After several days of hard travel, they had finally decided to rest for the night, taking advantage of the inn’s accommodations. Odile, as usual, had other ideas for how they should spend their downtime.

"Come on," Odile had said earlier with a grin, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Let’s loosen up a bit. We’ve earned it." Without waiting for an answer, she had practically dragged everyone toward the nearest bar.

Petronille had been reluctant from the start. Her posture was stiff, arms crossed tightly as they walked through the crowded streets, her expression unreadable. She had made it clear that she had no interest in "loosening up," and certainly didn’t see the need for idle bonding time. But Bonnie’s eager eyes- wide and pleading- had eventually worn her down.

"Fine," Petronille had muttered begrudgingly. "But I’m not staying long." She was sure of it.

Once inside the bar, the atmosphere was raucous.

The clinking of glasses, bursts of laughter, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. The party found a large wooden table near the back, and everyone settled in. Bonnie, too young to partake in the stronger drinks, ordered orange juice with all the seriousness of someone ordering a fine wine, making Petronille’s lips twitch in the smallest hint of amusement.

"Alright!!" Isabeau said, tapping his nails on the counter with a grin, "let’s see what this place has to offer." His eyes swept the drinks menu as if it were a battlefield map, sizing up his options. Finally, he pointed confidently. "I’ll go for the whiskey."

Siffrin, who had been sitting quietly, glanced up and, after a brief moment of hesitation, said, "I’ll… I’ll have the same." His voice was soft, a little shy, but there was a determination behind it that made Isabeau chuckle.

"CRAB YEAH! DRINKING CONTEST!” He pumped a fist in tbe air, and was immediately shut down by Odile’s sharp gaze.

“No.” Which caused Isabeau to immediately put his hand down and Siffrin to hide his chin in the collar of his cloak. “Yes Madame,” they said in union.

Mirabelle, sitting across from them, gave a nervous smile. "I-I’ll just have some wine, thank you. Something light."

Petronille shifted uncomfortably, her arms still crossed as her eyes flicked over the rest of the group. She wasn’t planning to drink, and she didn’t particularly care if they did, but she certainly wasn’t going to join in. It felt pointless. They were nothing more than strangers thrown together by circumstance, after all.

Isabeau turned toward her, his usual bright smile softening slightly. "And you, young miss? What’ll it be?"

Petronille narrowed her eyes, clearly not in the mood. "I’m not drinking." She was also not fond of the way Isabeau calls her “young miss” or “ma’am”- somehow it felt condescending. Though she really doubted he was capable of being condescending, judging by his overwhelmingly kind nature, so she kind of.. tolerated it and ignored it alltogether.

Isabeau blinked at her response, but his smile didn’t falter. "That’s okay," he said, his voice light.

"Though, you know, a little break wouldn’t hurt. You’re in good company! Among family and friends!" He gave a friendly wink, though it was clear from the awkward chuckle that followed that he was treading carefully.

Petronille’s eyes flashed with irritation, and her voice came out cold, clipped. "We ain’t family, or friends, or even COMRADES! Associates- allies, maybe, if i’m feeling generous. Nothing more.”

The table fell silent, all eyes turning toward her in silence. Petronille didn’t look at them, her jaw set as she crossed her arms tighter, her irritation clearly radiating off her. But when her eyes finally flicked toward Odile, the older woman’s reaction wasn’t what she expected.

Odile barked out a laugh. A long, genuine laugh that echoed through the room and made the entire party jump in their seats. It was rare- incredibly rare- for Odile to laugh like that, and for a moment, everyone just stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

Isabeau chuckled nervously, glancing between Petronille and Odile. "Oh gee.. and they haven’t even served us yet. You sure you haven’t had a few behind our backs, Madame..?”

Odile took a deep breath, placing a hand on her chest to steady herself. "Apologies," she said between chuckles, giving Petronille a look so fond and amused it made her gut twist. The younger woman blinked, completely taken aback. "What’s so funny?" she asked sharply, her tone demanding, though she was more bewildered than angry.

Odile tilted her head slightly, still smiling, her eyes holding that same fondness that was making Petronille increasingly uncomfortable. "Oh, nothing, you just… reminded me of someone, that’s all."

At that, Siffrin’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze flicking between Odile and Petronille. Looking at it.. was Odile seeing herself in Petronille? maybe not in terms of anger, but the walls she built around herself? Didn’t she say a similar thing before in the loops? That they were colleagues, allies at best?

Maybe.. just maybe, she saw herself in Petronille’s stubbornness, in the barriers she had built.

Petronille’s glare hardened, but her eyes darted away from Odile as she crossed her arms even tighter. She didn’t want to seem like a coward, but something about Odile’s reaction had thrown her off.

She didn’t want to admit it, but her pride was prickling at the edges of the situation.

With a grumble, Petronille eventually waved a hand toward Isabeau. "I’ll have what he’s having."

Isabeau’s eyes widened in surprise. "W-Whiskey??" he stammered, hand raising in the air. "You sure? It’s strong stuff, you know-"

Petronille glared at him, her voice sharp. "Just pour it."

Isabeau let out a nervous giggle, though part of him was genuinely worried. "O-Okay, okay… yes ma’am…" He picked up the whiskey bottle, still laughing awkwardly. He wasn’t exactly nervous, he liked indulging her- but there was real concern in his eyes. Still, he poured her a shot, watching her carefully.

“If Nille gets some I want some too!!” Bonnie piped up, pouting as they hung half of their body weight onto Nille’s arm, but their sister didn’t even glance at them as she picked the tiny glass up.

“No way in hell, kid.” She was NOT giving them alcohol. Bonnie could only pout, and sit back onto their spot on the couch, arms crossed as they watched Petronille intensely.

Petronille lifted the glass to her nose and gave it a sniff, only for her nose to wrinkle in distaste. The smell was overpowering, and she nearly set the glass back down before Odile’s smirk caught her eye. Petronille’s pride flared, and with a scowl, she threw the shot back in one swift motion.

She regretted it immediately. The burn was intense, traveling down her throat like fire, and her face turned an alarming, darker shade as she tried- and failed- to keep her expression neutral.

Isabeau burst into laughter, unable to contain himself. "Uh oh!! You good there-??” he wheezed, clutching his side.

Siffrin, sitting beside him, poured himself a shot as well and downed it with nothing else but a soft, smug little twinkle in his eye. Petronille shot him a death glare, her frustration only growing as Siffrin blinked at her innocently, clearly unfazed by the strong alcohol.

“U-Um.. Petronille..? Have you ever.. drank alcohol..?" Mirabelle asked quietly, her large eyes full of concern as she clasped her hands together.

"I’ve had plenty!" Petronille snapped, though the darkened tint of her cheeks betrayed her words. "I can handle it just fine."

Bonnie, sitting next to her, narrowed their eyes.

"Nille," they said pointedly, "We could barely afford food. No way you’ve had this stuff before. Unless we’d be starving for a week or something.”
Petronille sputtered, glaring at them. "Shut it."

Odile chuckled softly, watching Petronille with an amused glint in her eyes as she leaned her chin into her hand. "You’re a stubborn one," she said, her tone light but teasing, as she gently swirled her fine wine in her glass.

Petronille scowled and crossed her arms again, looking away with a scoff. But despite her irritation, something about the fondness in Odile’s gaze, Isabeau’s heartfelt laughter, Mirabelle’s soft concern and Siffrin’s unpredictable spurts of smugness- and of course, the unwavered bluntness of her dear sibling- the easy camaraderie of the group- it made her chest tighten just a little.

The whiskey hit Petronille hard, much harder than she expected. Her throat still burned, and her eyes watered as she set the glass down with a loud thud, determined to keep her cool. She wasn’t about to let them think she couldn’t handle a simple drink. No way. Not when everyone was watching her with those curious, amused eyes. Not when Siffrin was sitting there, so smug, acting like he was so much better than her.

Petronille scowled at him. She didn’t need their pity, their amusement, or their concern. She was fine. She was more than fine. She reached for the bottle again, her pride too loud to let her stop now.

“I can handle it,” she muttered under her breath as she poured herself another shot. Her voice came out harsher than she intended, but she didn’t care. The room felt just as cold as ever, damn it- but her mind buzzed with a strange mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. She wasn’t going to stop just because the first shot felt like swallowing fire. If anything, that only made her more determined.

Isabeau, who had been laughing good-naturedly, caught the slight wobble in her hand and leaned forward. “Uh, Nille.. Maybe slow down a bit?” he suggested gently, his grin faltering as he watched her pour the next shot. He chuckled nervously, reaching out to steady the bottle. “Whiskey’s not something you chug, you know. It’s strong stuff!”

Petronille shot him a glare, snatching the bottle back. “I said I can handle it!” she barked, her words a little too loud in the dimly lit tavern. Her face was flushed from the alcohol, but she refused to back down now. She wasn’t about to show any sign of weakness.

Siffrin raised an eyebrow, watching her with that infuriatingly calm expression. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You sure about that, Hotshot?" he teased softly, the nickname slipping out effortlessly. “Doesn’t look like you’re used to this."

Petronille’s temper flared, and she pointed at him accusingly. "Oh, shut it, Starboy,” she snapped, her tongue a little looser now, the alcohol making her braver. “You think you’re tough? You think you can outdrink me?” She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward aggressively. “Shortass.”

Siffrin blinked, his lips twitching with a smirk. "Shortass, huh?" he murmured, clearly amused by her drunken state. He didn’t seem fazed by the insult. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying himself.

“Siiif.. Don’t antagonize her..” Isabeau said with a huff, still chuckling nervously as he glanced between the two of them. He really didn’t want her to get fired up while drunk- he was confident that she could tear this entire place apart in such a state, if only to prove herself. But it was too late. Petronille’s competitive streak was in full swing now, and she wasn’t backing down. She was determined to prove she could drink just as much as any of them.

With a corner of her eye, she could see Odile, pinching the bridge of her nose, wordlessly expressing her annoyance. Seems like they will be having a drinking contest after all.

With a shaky hand, Petronille downed another shot, slamming the glass on the table and giving Siffrin a smug, fiery look, even though the burn in her throat was almost unbearable. Too bad the burn did nothing to help with the chill in her bones. Oh well.

“See? I can keep up, just fine.” she muttered, though her voice was a little strained, and her vision swam for a moment.

Siffrin tilted his head, clearly entertained, but a flicker of concern crossed his face as he watched her wobble slightly in her seat. "You’re going to regret this tomorrow," he said, his voice still soft but more serious now.

“I don’t care,” Petronille snapped, waving him off. “Just shut up.” She was losing control, but she refused to admit it. Her pride was the only thing holding her together at this point. The burn of the whiskey was making her dizzy, but she ignored it, focusing all her energy on staying upright and maintaining her competitive glare.

Bonnie, who had been watching with wide eyes, piped up from their spot on the couch. “Nille, you don’t look so good..” they said, their voice filled with concern despite the blunt, pouty demeanor. “Maybe you should stop.”

Mirabelle pouted from her seat, as she leaned forward slightly. ”B-Bonnie’s right, Petronille! You don’t want to be sick because of this!” Petronille could only grumble towards Mirabelle, before turning to her sibling, her vision slightly blurred, and gave a shaky grin. “I’m fine, Bon,” she slurred, though the words didn’t come out as confidently as she wanted. “I told you, I can handle it.”

Isabeau exchanged a glance with Siffrin, clearly unsure whether to laugh or intervene. Odile, however, just sighed, shaking her head from where she sat, swirling her glass of wine. “This is why I don’t drink with amateurs,” she muttered to herself, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

As the night wore on, Petronille’s attempts to keep up with the others grew sloppier. She laughed more than anyone had ever heard her before, loud, booming laughter that startled the entire table. Her competitive nature flared up in full force, and she couldn’t stop throwing challenges at Siffrin, daring him to match her shot for shot, even though he was clearly the one that had high alcohol tolerance here. It definitely wasn’t her though, that’s for sure.

“Come on, Starboy,” she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol. “You’re not gonna let me win, are you?”

Siffrin, who had been sipping his drink at a much slower pace, smirked at her. “You’ve already won, Nille,” he said dryly, leaning back in his chair, amusement seeping into his eye. “You’re the queen of whiskey now.”

“Damn right I am,” Petronille stated, but her words were starting to blur together. She reached for her glass again but missed, her hand swaying off course. Isabeau was quick to catch her wrist, gently pulling her back from knocking the table over.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Isabeau said, laughing nervously as he held her shoulder steady, making sure she didn’t fall forward. “You’re gonna pass out if you keep this up.”

“I’m fine,” Petronille growled, swatting his hand away, but it was clear she was losing the fight with consciousness. Her face was flushed, her eyes half-lidded as she glared at nothing in particular.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” Isabeau muttered, his grip tightening on her as she swayed dangerously.

Mirabelle gave Siffrin a look, and the smaller man just shrugged, still amused by the whole situation. Finally, after one last attempt to raise her head and keep up the fight, Petronille’s body gave in. With a soft groan, she slumped forward, her arms resting on the table, face hidden as she ruffled her hair in an attempt to sober up. Bonnie pouted, letting out a groan as they began to dig their finger into Petronille’s arm repetitively, trying to stir her awake.

“Wake up, Crabhead.” They mumbled, although getting no reply. Mirabelle clasped her hands together tightly, leaning forward quickly, blinking in concern.

“..P-Petronille..?” No reply.

Isabeau winced, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Welp.. that’s one way to end the night.” He gently shook her shoulder, but there was no response. She was completely out cold.

Odile sighed and set her glass down with a soft clink, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s enough fun for one night,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get her back to the inn before she starts throwing up.”

Isabeau chuckled, carefully pulling Petronille up from the table and draping her arm over his shoulder to support her. “Alright, alright. Let’s get our fiery champion to bed.”

The rest of the party followed, gathering their things as they headed back to the inn. Bonnie stayed close to Isabeau, glancing up at their sister with a mixture of concern and annoyance. Petronille, however, was too far gone to notice any of it. She mumbled something incoherent under her breath, her body leaning heavily against Isabeau as he helped her walk.

The next morning, Petronille regretted everything.

She woke with a pounding headache, her mouth dry as sandpaper, and her stomach churning in protest. Groaning, she rolled over in bed, burying her face in the pillow to block out the light. Her whole body ached, and the events of the previous night came flooding back in humiliating clarity. What the hell was I thinking? she thought, her face burning as she remembered the way she’d challenged Siffrin, the way she had laughed and boasted like a fool. She had never been more embarrassed in her life.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her self-loathing, and she groaned louder. “Go away,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.

But the door creaked open anyway, and she peeked out from under the blanket to see Bonnie standing there, holding a tray of food.

“Hey, Nille,” Bonnie said softly, their expression a mixture of concern and stubborn annoyance. “We made you some breakfast.”

Petronille’s stomach churned at the sight of food, but she forced herself to sit up, wincing as the room spun slightly. Bonnie placed the tray on the bed, and Petronille blinked as she noticed Siffrin standing awkwardly behind them, a soft, sort of concerned look on his face.

“..And you? Came here to rub it in?” Petronille hissed, her voice raspy.

“Frin helped me cook!” Bonnie threw their fists in the air, brightening up slightly. Siffrin nodded slowly, avoiding meeting her gaze, something akin to soft guilt in his eye. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I, uh... figured you’d be feeling.. rough.”

Petronille’s face flushed with embarrassment, and she immediately looked away, feeling the shame creeping up her neck. She couldn’t bear to look at him, not after making such a fool of herself.

Bonnie, sensing the tension, huffed in frustration, and nudged the tray closer. “Just eat, you Crabhead. You’ll feel better.”

Petronille nodded stiffly, her pride too bruised to say anything else. She chugged down the glass of water that was offered to her, and silently picked at the food, refusing to meet Siffrin’s eye, even though she could feel him lingering at the door. She was never drinking again.

- - -

welp, my girl learned some new things the hard way lmao. I feel like with her temper and endless supply of stubbornness that would be the only way to go for her. There’s no ”learning from the mistakes of those around her” in her vernacular

ANYWAYS NO ART TODAY SORRYYY

Chapter Text

- - -

The town bustled with life as the party made their way down the cobblestone streets. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, and cheery market stalls lined the streets, their goods shimmering in the afternoon sun. It was a relief to finally reach a place of civilization after days of cold winds, harsh travel, and fighting. Siffrin led the group, just like he always did, talking excitedly- though in his own shy way, about how they should check out the taverns and maybe, just maybe, get something more luxurious than travel rations for dinner.

“I’ve heard there’s famous soup served here,” Siffrin grinned, looking back at the others. “Supposed to be spicy enough to wake the dead. Can’t wait to try it. Right Isa?” Siffrin bat his eyelashes at the Fighter, causing his wide eyes to avert as he gave a nervous chuckle.

“…YEAHHHAHAHAHHhnnnoo..” His cheeks were flushed, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly though, I’m all for anything that’ll warm me up! Even if it’ll burn my mouth from the inside out. This cold’s been sticking around for days.” He shot a glance at Petronille, who, as usual, was walking in quiet detachment from the group. “Though I guess someone didn’t bother to pack any clothes.”

Petronille grunted in response, her eyes straight ahead. Bonnie, skipping along beside her, clung to her arm excitedly, the child’s small face glowing with the thrill of being in a new place. The sight softened Petronille’s otherwise hard expression as she glanced over at her sibling, though she remained uncharacteristically quiet. She gave Bonnie a small hum as the child pointed out some street performers, their enthusiasm brightening the dull, cold ache that settled deep into Petronille’s bones.

Bonnie tugged on Petronille’s arm. “Nille!! Did you see that? They had ribbons, and fire, and- oh, do you think we could get one of those little bird whistles thingies somewhere??” Bonnie’s voice was full of glee, their eyes wide and shining.

Petronille allowed herself a small smile as she watched her sibling dart between the group, their excitement infectious. “We’ll see, Crabling,” she said, her voice low but gentler than usual as she stopped them with a hand on the top of their head, pulling the hat over their eyes. “We’ve got things to take care of first.” Bonnie stuck her tongue out at her, unable to see, yet obviously thrilled to be around their sister and playfully banter, like they always used to. Siffrin smiled softly as he watched the scene unfold, walking along nearby. Undeniably wholesome, and, whoops- who would’ve thought. Petronille could smile after all.

Behind them, the rest of the party chatted about what they wanted to do first- Odile mentioning she’d rather get some supplies while they could, Mirabelle and Isabeau excitedly chatting about what they’d be looking for first, while Siffrin walked quietly alongside, his soft eyes taking in the sights with quiet wonder.

But Petronille wasn’t paying attention to their chatter. She was focused on the dull ache deep in her bones, the kind of cold that never really went away. The others had been complaining about the chill over the last few days, especially with the winds cutting through their clothes during travel. She, on the other hand, didn’t feel the difference. She hadn’t felt warm in.. well, in what felt like forever. The cold was always there, a constant companion since the time she’d been frozen.

It was the kind of cold that settled in her marrow, no matter how many layers she wore- she didn’t wear much, anyway, indeed only having set out with what she could gather immediately in search for her sibling. And it was making her jittery, making her body feel disconnected from the rest of her. She tried to ignore it, but it gnawed at her, always there, always reminding her. This feeling seemed to intensify today, with the temperature’s suddenly dropping by a few degrees.

Isabeau, of course, noticed.

He sidled up to her, his usual easygoing smile faltering as he gave her a concerned look. “Heyyy, Firecracker..! You okay..??”

She grumbled under her breath. “Fine.” She replied curtly, but the Fighter was undeterred.

“You’re wearing very little, you know. Aren’t you cold?” He asked, the questions igniting a fire inside the woman that unfortunately did nothing to help her warm up.

“..just didn’t bring any damn clothes with me when I went to search for Bonnie. I’m fine.” Her voice was terse, but not angry- just tired.

The others, however, heard her clearly. Mirabelle was the first to turn, a look of deep worry crossing her face. “You didn’t bring anything?? P-Petronille, you’ve been freezing out there!”

“..Why didn’t you say something?” Siffrin tilted his head, frowning softly.

Petronille shot them all an annoyed glare. “It’s not a big deal.”

Odile, ever the pragmatic one, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course it’s a big deal. You need to stay warm, especially when we’re out in the wild. What if you got sick? Gems alive, what if you got sick while we’re in the middle of nowhere?"

Petronille rolled her eyes, her patience thinning. “I’m not some fragile little flower. It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with the cold.” Though as she looked over at Bonnie, she could see the look of annoyance clear as day on their face, causing her to sigh harshly.

“..You’re a Crabhead, Nille.” ..cold really was quite rare in Bambouche, huh? Even the winters were relatively tame. Thank goodness that both Odile and Petronille had reminded Bonnie to wear a coat today before they left. At least they weren’t cold.

Isabeau wasn’t about to let it go either. “Well, that’s it then!” he declared, looking more excited than the situation warranted. “We’re going shopping for clothes. Warm clothes. No excuses!” He gave her a grin.

Petronille opened her mouth to shut him down, but before she could, Bonnie’s small hand grabbed hers, tugging her along. “Come on, Nille! Stop being a dummy. It’ll be FUN! I’ll help you pick something out! You’ll look so cool!”

She cursed under her breath, but Bonnie’s wide-eyed insistence and the determined look on Isabeau’s face made it clear she wasn’t going to win this one. “Gods above, fine,” she muttered, resigned to her fate. She knew they wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t grasp that no matter what she wore, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. The cold had become part of her, and no amount of layers could fix that.

The sudden excited cheer that made it’s way out of Isabeau’s and Bonnie’s mouth did nothing to help her annoyance.

The shop they found was quaint but cozy, filled with all sorts of warm garments- thick woolen coats, scarves, gloves, the works. The party spread out, with Mirabelle and Isabeau diving into the racks with far more enthusiasm than she thought possible.

“Here, this one looks great!” Mirabelle chirped, holding up a coat with stars sparkling in her eyes. “I-It’s practical!! And it looks like it’ll keep you really warm!”

Petronille made a face, but before she could protest, Isabeau chimed in. “Oh, and look at this scarf! It’ll go perfectly with the coat. I think it would suit you!”

Meanwhile, Odile stood with Siffrin near the entrance, waiting and watching. “She’s still cold," Odile said quietly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Petronille, who hadn’t moved from her spot, sitting a little distance away, with Bonnie continuously fishing out new kind of accessories for her to look at. “Even in here.”

Siffrin glanced at Petronille, noticing the stiffness in her posture, the way she seemed distant. Blind it, actually, even he could see the faint trembling in her form. “She’s always cold,” he muttered, a worried look flickering across his face.

Odile frowned, a thought brewing in the back of her mind. “There’s something else going on.” They watched as Bonnie, ever the observant sibling, bounced over to Petronille, grabbing both of her hands in their small ones. “Whoa, Nille! Your hands are so cold! You need those gloves real bad.”

Petronille stiffened, pulling her hands back from Bonnie’s grip. She frowned, the warmth from Bonnie’s touch momentarily easing the ache in her fingers, but she knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. She never really paid attention to how much relief.. touch could potentially bring. Natural source of warmth. Her sibling was always clingy with her, she’s grown very used to it, but now with the omnipresent thought of cold cold cold in her mind.. It was difficult to allow it to happen, and just- pretend it did nothing against that deep ache.

“I’m fine, Crabling,” she muttered, her tone harsher than she meant. She hated how it felt- this fleeting warmth that reminded her of something she couldn’t keep. She would rather get used to the cold, let it consume her, than be teased by warmth that would inevitably leave.

Bonnie blinked, confused. “But you’re still-”

“I said I’m fine,” Petronille snapped, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She turned her head away, crossing her arms tightly, foot tapping quickly onto the floor in an attempt to distract herself, as she tried to ignore the weight of their concerned stares. Siffrin and Odile exchanged a look, but said nothing.

After a few minutes, Isabeau and Mirabelle returned, beaming with excitement. “Here, Petronille, try this on! You’ll look great! I-I think you might like it..!!” Mirabelle said, holding out the coat and scarf with a hopeful smile.

“Come on, come on, come on!! Put it on already, Nille!!” Bonnie chimed in, practically bouncing on their feet.

But Petronille had reached her limit. The pressure of their fussing, the cold gnawing at her bones, the exhaustion of pretending like everything was fine- it all crashed down at once. She stood abruptly, her face flushed with anger and frustration.

“Stop,” she growled, her voice tight- louder than she intended for it to be. “Just- stop.”

The room went silent. Everyone froze, eyes wide as Petronille’s face darkening further, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I don’t care about the clothes!” she snapped, her voice rising. “It doesn’t matter what I put on- I’m not going to get warmer. It’s useless. And I hate how you all keep fussing over me like I’m some damn child!”

Her breath was coming faster now, her voice trembling slightly with frustration. The others stood in stunned silence, not quite knowing how to respond.

It was Mirabelle, her voice soft and careful, who broke the silence. “A-Are you trying to say… that you can’t get warm..?”

Petronille shot her a sharp, angry look. “I can’t,” she spat. “Ever since I was frozen, I’ve been cold. Always cold. It doesn’t matter if it’s summer or winter- it’s always there. The ache, the cold- it’s never going away.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air.
It’s silent again, as the woman glares down at the smooth floor below her, fists clenched at her sides, knuckles turning white.

Isabeau, who had stood completely silent until now, reached out to her, his face softening from surprise to something.. Warm and concerned and guilty. Something Petronille caught with the corner of her eye, causing her brow to twitch. “..I’m.. sorry, Nille-”

Before his hand could land on her, she smacked it away harshly, her eyes burning with anger. “Don’t touch me!” She snapped, taking several steps back as she glared at him. She didn’t want anyone to touch her. Not now, not ever.

And with that, she stormed out of the shop, pushing past the others without another word. Bonnie rushed after her, panic clear in their voice. “Nille! Nille, wait! Don’t go!”

Petronille stopped, turning to face her sibling with a pained look. “Crabling, just- leave me alone for a bit, okay? I need some fresh air.” Her voice was strained, like she was holding back the weight of everything she didn’t want to say.

Bonnie, wide-eyed and confused, watched her leave. Petronille disappeared into the street, the door to the shop closing softly behind her.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Odile sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well.. I suppose that confirms my suspicions.”

Mirabelle sighed softly, hands clasped on her chest, her lips forming a thin line. “..Oh, Petronille..” She wished she would be more honest with them..! How much time have passed exactly, since they’ve defeated the King? More than a month? Two months at most? She couldn’t imagine feeling cold all the time, and being able to do nothing to warm up..!

Siffrin ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the door. “What do we do?”

Isabeau stood there, still, finally letting his hand fall back to his side as he frowned. He swallowed, guilt gnawing at him as he turned to look at the door as well. “We.. give her space,” he said quietly. “She needs space.”

- - -

WOOO NO ART TODAY TOO ISNT THAT AWESOME

Chapter Text

HIII HI QUICK ANNONCEMENT!!!!!

I NEED YALL TO FILL IN A POLL FOR ME! IT'S IMPORTANT FOR THE FIC!!!

I noticed that I have been posting A LOT about Petronille, so I would like my readers to give me a sign wether they genuinely enjoy chapters centered around her! So if you care about this fic at all, i'd love for you to express your opinion!!

Link; https://www.tumblr.com/str8rat/764618836300464128/woo-siffirn-and-odiel-now-i-picture-her-having?source=share

- - -

Isabeau couldn’t stop thinking about Petronille as the hours dragged on. Her revelation had shocked everyone, sure, but what had stuck with him most was the raw pain in her voice- the anger, frustration, and helplessness behind every word. It wasn’t like her to let the mask slip like that, to show how much she was hurting. And the fact that she had? It meant she was suffering far more than anyone realized.

He couldn’t just sit around anymore. As night fell and the rest of the party made their way back to the inn, Isabeau noticed that Petronille hadn’t returned. The others seemed just as concerned as him- it was getting late, after all. And after what Petronille had said earlier, he wasn’t convinced she was okay.

With a soft sigh, he stood up from the inn’s warm fire, quietly excusing himself. “I’m going to go look for her,” he said softly, avoiding the looks from the others. Mirabelle gave him a small, encouraging nod, and Odile just raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Siffrin gave him a soft smile, which he returned, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. Bonnie sat anxiously next to Odile, staying silent as he went.

Isabeau slipped out into the cool night, his breath visible in the frosty air. He stuffed his hand into his pocket, his brows furrowed as he scanned the streets. Petronille wouldn’t be too far- at least he hoped. She wasn’t one to stay away for too long, even when annoyed. They had Bonnie with them, after all. Still, he quickened his pace, moving down the cobbled roads, his eyes sweeping over the shadowed buildings.

It wasn’t long before he spotted her.

She was working on some machinery at a workshop, her hands deep in the mechanisms, the dim light of a nearby lantern casting flickering shadows over her form. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her movements quick and practiced, as though trying to distract herself from the world around her. It seemed as if she took up some sort of a job for today, maybe to earn on the side a bit. They will be staying at the town for a few days, after all.

Isabeau approached quietly, watching her for a moment before speaking. “You know,” he began with a grin, causing her to flinch, “for someone who always claims they’re not cold, you’re awfully good at finding work to stay warm.”

Petronille didn’t turn. “Fuck off,” she muttered, her tone sharp, but there was no real anger behind it. She continued tinkering with the metal parts in front of her, her movements precise and mechanical.

Isabeau chuckled softly, crouching down beside the load of junk, taking a closer look. “I noticed you only swear when BonBon isn’t around,” he said lightly, keeping his tone gentle. “You’re real strict about it with them.”

Petronille’s eyes narrowed as she gave the metal a hard twist. “Bon’s a kid. I don’t want them picking up bad habits.” I don’t want them to be like me.

Isabeau watched her for a moment longer, his gaze softening. “Nille..” he said quietly, his voice losing its playful edge. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s fine.”

Petronille stiffened, her hands pausing for a brief moment before resuming their work. “I’m not pretending,” she muttered, her voice sharp. “I’m keeping busy. It’s none of your business anyway.”

Isabeau’s heart ached for her. He could see right through the tough exterior she was trying to maintain. She wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all him.

Before he could say anything more, Petronille’s hand slipped, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips as a jagged edge of metal sliced into her arm. “Shit,” she hissed, pulling her hand back and glaring at the small cut that had already started to bleed.

Isabeau reacted instantly, his hand darting out to gently grab her wrist. “Whoa, hey- easy there,” he said, concern lacing his voice as he pulled her hand closer to inspect the wound. “You okay?”

Petronille’s eyes immediately shot wide open upon the contact, the deep, cold ache in her wrist disappearing seemingly immediately. She yanked her hand out of his grip harshly, perhaps harsher than she needed to.

“It’s nothing!” Petronille hissed, taking a step back as she glared daggers at him.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket for a clean handkerchief. Handed it to her, and the woman glared at it like it had personally insulted her. “You gotta be more careful.” She narrowed her eyes, glancing over her hand. It was bleeding, and she really didn’t want her clothes getting stained. She snatched it from him with a grumble, carelessly wiping at the cut. “I’m not a fucking child. Stop treating me like one. I’ve felt worse before, some stupid cold ain’t gonna have me crying and whining like a toddler.” She gave him a fiery look, before throwing the crumpled handkerchief away.

Petronille sat in frustrated silence, her arms crossed tightly over her chest at once, not sparing Isabeau a single glance as she faced away from him. The fight had drained out of her earlier, and it was visible, leaving behind nothing but exhausted frustration and a sharp tongue. She stared at the rest of the town, spreading almost beyond her field of view, biting her lip, too stubborn to say anything.

Isabeau couldn’t help but smile softly, and sat down beside her, leaning back against the wall of the building as he watched her carefully. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He could tell she wasn’t going to snap at him anymore, not right now. The frustration in her body language had ebbed, replaced by something quieter.

“You know,” he began after a long pause, his tone soft and thoughtful, “I’ve been thinking about that cold of yours.”

Petronille shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything.

“It must be.. really hard,” he continued, his voice gentle. “To feel cold all the time, no matter what you do. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Petronille’s eyes narrowed, her frustration flaring up again as she crossed her arms over her knees, curled up to her chest. “There isn’t,” she said sharply, her voice filled with bitter resignation. “No matter what I wear or what the weather is, the cold never goes away. It’s just.. there. So drop it, Meat Shield.”

Isabeau frowned, his heart sinking at the defeated tone in her voice. He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking, before a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Well, What about a hug?” he asked, his voice playful, but gentle.

Petronille’s eyes widened in surprise, sputtering, as she immediately shoved his head away with her good hand. “Haha. Get lost, Smartass,” she grumbled, her cheeks turning darker as she scowled at him.

Isabeau just laughed, rubbing the back of his head as he sat up straighter. “Hey, I’m just saying! Sometimes a good hug can help warm you up, you know? I don’t know if it would work with the kind of cold you’re feeling, but.. can’t hurt to try, right? If it works, it’ll be like a dream coming true!” It would work. It would work, and that fact infuriates her like nothing else. She wouldn't give in though. She was way too proud for that. She'd rather.. she'd rather freeze to death.

Petronille shot him a glare that could melt steel. “My dream coming true would be you offing yourself, how about that?” She snapped with no real heat behind her words, as she rested her chin on her knees, staring ahead. “Leave me the hell alone, Beau.” Wait

Isabeau blinked, his grin widening. “Did you just call me Beau?”

Petronille froze, her face getting dark immediately. WHY WOULD SHE SAY THAT “N-NO-!?” she sputtered, her eyes darting away from him. It was supposed to come out as a mean insult! Like Meat Shield or or or Smartass but her stupid brain stopped working and she called him fucking BEAU!? IS SHE STUPID???

Isabeau laughed, clearly amused, seeing her desperately trying to hide away. He moved closer instead. “You did! You totally did!! You called me Beau!” Despite his initial amusement, he couldn’t help but feel his heart melt!

But of course, Petronille’s embarrassment quickly turned to anger as she shoved him again, harder this time. “Shut up!! I didn’t mean to! It just-” She let out a bunch of intelligible noises as she covered her face with her free hand, clearly both mortified and frustrated.

Isabeau was laughing openly now, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Oh, come on! You can call me Beau if you want to, Nille!”

Petronille scowled, standing up abruptly. “I’m leaving,” she muttered, turning on her heel and stomping away, her face still wearing the shade of a well-grown beetroot.

Isabeau, still laughing, quickly scrambled to his feet and fell into step beside her. “Wait, wait!! Don’t be mad..! I’ll stop, I promise!”

Petronille shot him a withering glare but didn’t say anything, her pace quickening as she headed back toward the inn.

Isabeau, grinning from ear to ear, followed her closely, his laughter echoing through the quiet streets as they made their way back to the others. He knew she was embarrassed, but he also knew that deep down, both of them could use a distraction from today’s events.

“I meant it though, you know.” he hummed as they walked, “if you ever need a hug, the offer’s still open!”

Petronille’s response was a sharp elbow to his side that left him coughing for the rest of the day.

- - -

I feel like i should clarify this rq because I noticed a certain pattern forming in the chapters I write for Petronille- she will not be shipped with anyone! My girl is just incredibly unfit for human interactions lmao therefore blushes and is awkward asf. SELF INSERT BEAM

BUT YEAH REMINDER FILL IN THE POLL!! ALL OF YOU, HERE!!!!!! ---->>>> https://www.tumblr.com/str8rat/764618836300464128/woo-siffirn-and-odiel-now-i-picture-her-having?source=share

Chapter Text

WHAT THE FUCK?

OK I AM SO SORRY BONNIE NATION PLS FORGIVE ME

ok but no actually how the FUCK do they have more fans than anyone else here we're ignoring Siffrin because obvious but like how thE FUCK

I don't think I had a single chapter dedicated to them 💀 ok but well since the fandom demands it i suppose i'll give in

bonnie chapters coming soon

- - -

The meadow stretched endlessly before them, soft grass rippling in a gentle breeze, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the whisper of peace that never fully settled. To anyone else, this place might have been paradise- a sanctuary of eternal serenity. But for the members of Siffrin's party, it was a prison. They lay scattered across the field, their bodies weak and their minds dulled, barely clinging to consciousness in this warped reality Siffrin had created for them.

Siffrin moved among them like a gentle breeze, his touch soft and affectionate, his face bathed in an unsettling calm. He looked almost serene as he knelt by each of his companions, murmuring words that sounded tender but held an eerie, disconnected edge. His hands wandered across them, brushing against their skin, his need for touch palpable, as though he could hold them all together through physical closeness alone.

Isabeau was the first he sought out that day. The Fighter lay in the grass, his breaths shallow, his eyes half-lidded in a state of dreamy exhaustion. Siffrin crouched beside him, cradling Isabeau’s face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the rough stubble on his jaw. Isabeau stirred faintly, too weak to resist, too fogged in his own mind to fully register the moment.

“Hi, Isa,” Siffrin whispered, his voice tender, affectionate, accompanied by a soft smile. “..Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep,"

Isabeau’s lips moved, but the words were too slurred to make sense. His eyes fluttered, struggling to focus on Siffrin, his head lifted off of the warm grass as he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, laying on his stomach. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew something was wrong. He tried to speak, tried to form the words that had been clawing at the edges of his consciousness since they’d been trapped in this meadow.

“Sif.. let us go,” Isabeau mumbled, his voice barely audible, his usual energy sapped by the draining effects of this dreamlike realm. “This isn’t.. we.. we need to leave,”

Siffrin’s smile never faltered. He pressed a soft kiss to Isabeau’s forehead, “No, no, we don’t need to leave. We’re safe here, remember? No more fighting, no more pain. I’ll keep you all safe. It's my turn to protect you all now, Isa. You've done enough for all of us. I'll take care of you now,”

Isabeau’s eyelids fluttered, but the weight of the exhaustion dragged him down again, his body limp in Siffrin’s arms.

Siffrin let him go, his fingers lingering on Isabeau’s cheek before he heard a faint noise, which caused him to pause. His head turned to his right, and he very carefully set Isabeau's face back down into the soft grass, and moved on to where Mirabelle lay nearby, her body curled into itself, trembling slightly even in her sleep. She had been having fits of anxiety in brief, heart-wrenching moments of clarity. Her breath would quicken, her eyes would fly open wide, and for just a moment, she’d remember the truth of where they were- what was happening to them. And then she would be swept back under the spell of the meadow, too tired to resist for long.

Siffrin sat beside her, gently lifting her head to rest in his lap. His fingers combed through her hair, brushing it back from her face in a soothing motion. Mirabelle stirred, her breaths coming fast and shallow as her panic began to spike again.

“Hey.. It’s okay,” Siffrin murmured, his voice gentle and melodic, as if he were guiding her back to sleep. “Just breathe, Mira. You remember the breathing exercises, don’t you? In.. and out..”

Mirabelle’s eyes fluttered open, her heart racing as her gaze darted around. For a fleeting moment, she remembered- remembered that this wasn’t real, that they were trapped. Her chest tightened with the fear, the panic clawing at her throat.

“S-Siffrin...” she whispered, her voice trembling as she gripped the fabric of Siffrin’s cloak weakly. "..l-leave.. I want to leave.. I have to.. go back,"

Siffrin’s hand stilled in her hair for a moment, his face softening as he looked down at her with a sad smile. “You don’t need to go anywhere, Mira,” he whispered. “You’re safe here. With me. We’ll always be safe here.”

Mirabelle shuddered, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, but Siffrin just continued to brush her hair, handling her gently as if to lull her back into that half-conscious state. “Come on.. just breathe, yeah?"

"..I.. can't see.." She whispered, voice trembling, even as her eyes were wide open, and Siffrin was right above her. He cupped her cheek gently, causing her to flinch.

"I'm right here, see? Just go back to sleep, Mira.. you shouldn't be stressing out so much.. especially now that everyone's finally happy," He said it with so much conviciton- they're all happy- it almost caused the Housemaiden to want to scream. She couldn't though, and as her panic slowly ebbed as the dreamlike haze pulled her back under, her grip loosened on his cloak and her body sagged in exhaustion once more.

Siffrin sighed softly, his eyes drifting toward Bonnie, who was curled up beside Odile, their tiny body wracked with quiet sobs even in their sleep. They had been whispering Petronille’s name, even in their dreams, crying out for their sister in heart-wrenching murmurs. Siffrin moved toward them, his heart twisting at the sight of their tears.

“Bonnie..” he whispered, his hand gently stroking their hair as they whimpered in their sleep. “BonBon.. You’re safe now. Your sister's safe too.” She's just far, far away. And will likely never see her dear baby sibling again.

Bonnie stirred, their face twisted in pain, their small body trembling as they curled into themselves tighter. “Nille...” they whispered, their voice breaking. “Nille...”

Siffrin frowned softly, before carefully, yet effortlessly lifting the child up, to hug them. It's familiar. It feels familiar. “She’s fine, Bonnie. You don’t need to cry.. You don’t have to worry about anything. You've done so much for all of us.. now it's time to give yourself a rest, okay?"

Bonnie’s restless movements slowly stilled under his touch, their cries fading into soft, uneven breaths. Siffrin’s hand remained on their head, brushing through their hair until they calmed completely, their body sinking into the false serenity of the meadow. He sat with them for a while, watching the grass sway gently in the breeze, his mind lost in the delusion he had created for himself and for them. Everything felt right to him. They were safe here. He was protecting them.

But then, he heard a sound- faint, but unmistakable.

A voice.

“Siffrin.”

With great effort, Odile pushed herself up from where she lay in the grass, her body trembling with the strain. She managed to lift herself onto her elbows, her fingers shaking as she raised one hand, forming the sign for a craft she hoped would snap Siffrin out of his delusions.

But before she could unleash it, Siffrin was there, right before her, within a blink of an eye.

His hand gently caught hers, his fingers interlocking with hers firmly but tenderly. "Odile," he said softly, his tone full of concern, "you’re too weak to use any crafts right now. If you push yourself, you might die."

Odile's eyes narrowed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Siffrin... let us go. You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t... right."

Siffrin shook his head, his grip tightening slightly around her hand. "No. I’m protecting you. I’m keeping you safe. You can’t leave, Odile. You’d all just get hurt again. I can't watch you get hurt anymore."

Odile’s breath hitched as she fought the heaviness threatening to drag her down. “This... isn’t safety,” she said, her throat tight, but her words firm, determined. “This is... a prison.”

Siffrin’s eyes softened, and he leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. "No, no, it's not a prison," he whispered, "It's peace. It's peaceful here. It's safe. I can’t let you leave. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything I've seen. You’re my family. I can't.. I can't let you. I can't let you die and get hurt anymore. I love you all.. too much for that. I can't."

Odile wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but her body was betraying her. The exhaustion was pulling her back down, her vision blurring as Siffrin’s gentle touch kept her grounded in the meadow. She tried to resist, tried to pull her hand free, but his grip remained firm, his fingers laced with hers as he gently guided her back down to the grass.

"Just rest," Siffrin whispered. "You’ve done enough. You’ve always been the one responsible for everyone else. Let me be that, now,"

Her eyelids grew heavier, her body giving out as she slumped back against the ground, her breath shallow and uneven. Siffrin stayed beside her, holding her hand until she slipped back into unconsciousness.

The meadow swayed in the soft breeze, the illusion of peace enveloping them all.

But it was Odile’s last words that lingered in the air, even as she drifted off to sleep.

"..this isn't love."

Siffrin didn’t respond. He simply held her hand, his smile serene as he looked out over the meadow, his delusions wrapping tighter around him like a cocoon. His party- his family- lay scattered around him, trapped in this twisted paradise of his making. And with that, Siffrin returned to his wandering, moving from one companion to the next, cradling them, holding them, his touch lingering as he mumbled soft reassurances. In his mind, he was their protector, their guardian, keeping them safe from the dangers of the world.

And in his mind, it was perfect.

They were safe.

They were together.

And he would never let them go.

- - -

reminder this is not canon and thank fuck for that 💀

ok based on the poll results I will try to write more about the rest of the party. Cuz for the past several chapters I've only focused on Petronille, and when I realized it i decided for the readers to have a hand in what i'll be writing next. I have made some new plans regarding chapters centered around Siffrin manily, as well as Bonnie ( no way ) and the others. But yeah, what I've written about Petronille so far will still appear soon- you'll just have to see lmao

Chapter Text

- - -

" Nie ma takiej rzeczy, której by człowiek nie zrobił z głodu i bólu. " - Translation; There's nothing that a man would not do out of hunger and pain. ~ Gustaw Herling-Grudziński, A World Apart.

- - -

The village was nothing like they’d expected. Nestled in a narrow valley, it looked as if it had been forgotten by time and forsaken by any hope of prosperity. The fields surrounding it were barren, withered crops dotting the cracked soil, and the air hung heavy with the scent of decay. The sky overhead was oppressive, casting everything in a dull, lifeless light. The party had been warned that the village was cursed, that nothing would grow within it's borders, that food spoiled as quickly as it was harvested. But they had no choice. The next settlement was at least a week’s march away, and they needed supplies, shelter, and rest before continuing their journey. They planned to stay for three days. Three days that felt like an eternity in this desolate place.

At first, it was just discomfort. The gnawing feeling of hunger in their bellies, the ache of exhaustion from traveling so long without proper food or rest. But as the hours turned to days, the hunger became something more- a constant, gnawing pain, an insistent reminder of how bleak things truly were. The villagers were friendly enough, but they had nothing to offer. No food to sell, no crops to harvest, nothing but hollow promises and empty platitudes.

“Three days,” Odile had said, her voice steady but grim. “We can last three days. Prepare yourselves. After that, we’ll leave this place behind, curse or no curse.”

And so Siffrin would lead them, quietly, with soft strength and a heart full of love for his companions. But now, in this cursed village, something began to fray at the edges of his already fragile mind.

The hunger gnawed at him more fiercely than the others. They were all hungry, but for Siffrin, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. Every step through the barren streets, every glimpse of the starving villagers, sent waves of nausea and an inexplicable craving through him. He wandered away from the group on the first day, needing a moment to clear his mind, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of despair that clung to the village like a shroud.

The narrow, winding streets led him deeper into the heart of the village, away from the fields and the hollow-eyed stares of the villagers. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking when he stumbled into a courtyard. It was small, hidden between dilapidated buildings, the smell of smoke and rot filling the air. Siffrin hesitated at the entrance, his instincts telling him to turn back, to leave this place. But then he saw them- the people.

At first, they seemed like any other villagers. Ragged clothes, gaunt faces, shadows of hunger etched into their hollow cheeks. But then, he saw what they were doing. His stomach twisted in revulsion as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away. They weren’t just eating.

They were devouring each other.

A pair of lovers, seated on the cold, cracked ground, their hands intertwined as they tore into each other's flesh with a terrifying, quiet intimacy. Their eyes would meet every once in a while, and the sounds they made were almost soft- tender, even. But the blood on their lips and the raw, visceral way they consumed each other made Siffrin’s skin crawl.

Nearby, a woman knelt on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to swallow the remains of what appeared to be her infant child. She choked on it’s tiny bones, her cries muffled by the grotesque act she was forcing herself to commit.

Siffrin felt his legs turn to lead, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as he stood frozen in place. His eyes darted from one horrific scene to another. Some of the people tore into themselves in a frenzy, biting and clawing at their own flesh with wild, desperate eyes. Others were eerily calm, methodical in their self-destruction, ripping their skin apart with a kind of quiet acceptance. Some were doing this to another person.. some.. eating themselves.

It was madness. A madness so deep, so all-encompassing, that it made Siffrin’s own fractured mind feel like a pale imitation of the horrors before him.

And then, his own hunger seemed to come back with a vengeance.

It slammed into him like a wave, sudden and all-consuming. His stomach twisted painfully, and he doubled over, clutching his gut as the craving clawed at him with a ferocity he had never felt before. He hadn’t eaten much in days, none of them had, but now, now he felt like he was starving. And worse- he felt drawn to them. To the meat, the blood, the act itself.

His mind began to twist, sickening thoughts creeping in like a poison. He imagined himself joining them, imagined the taste of flesh on his tongue, imagined sinking his teeth into the warm bodies of his friends, his family. Isabeau, with his kind eyes and infectious laughter- what would it feel like to tear into him? To consume the warmth and strength he offered so freely? Would he allow Siffrin to devour his heart, that he wore on his shoulder each and every day? Mirabelle, with her soft, sweet nature and kindness- what would her flesh taste like? Would it be tender? Would she beg him to stop, or would she give it to him, giving him the same, soft look she always did?

Odile, Bonnie, Petronille- he imagined them all, imagined devouring each of them, piece by piece, and the thought filled him with both terror and a sick, twisted kind of affection. He didn’t want to hurt them. No. He wanted to love them. He did love them. He wanted to show them how much he cared, how much they meant to him, by consuming them, by making them a part of him, forever.

The thoughts spiraled out of control, faster and faster, until he could barely breathe.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm.

“Siffrin!” A voice, sharp and clear, cut through the haze of his mind, as he felt a pair of hands gently yet anxiously tugging on his arm, trying to tug him back through the gate he went through earlier.

It was Mirabelle.

Siffrin blinked, his vision swimming as he looked up at her. She was pale, her eyes wide with fear, but there was a fierce determination in her expression. She didn’t let go of his arm, even as he flinched away from her touch, his mind still reeling from the twisted thoughts that had consumed him.

“Come on- Siffrin!!” Mirabelle urged, her voice shaking, choked. “W-We need to get out of here!! Please get up..!" Would she beg him to stop, or would she give it to him, giving him the same, soft look she always did?

Mirabelle didn’t wait for him to respond. She grabbed his hand and pulled, dragging him out of the courtyard and back into the narrow streets of the village. Siffrin stumbled after her, his legs feeling like they were made of lead, his mind still spinning with the images he had seen. The hunger clawed at him, but it was different now- less sharp, less all-consuming, as if Mirabelle’s touch had brought him back to reality, to something human.

They didn’t stop until they were back in the more populated part of the village, where the streets were quieter, the sounds of the horrific scene they had just witnessed fading into the distance.

Siffrin was numb. His hands were trembling, his mind still battling the lingering hunger that gnawed at him. But he was no longer consumed by it. Not entirely.

“Siffrin.. a-are you okay..?” Mirabelle asked softly, her voice filled with concern and fear that still lingered. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently placing a hand on his cheek.

Siffrin nodded, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust his thoughts. He felt sick, like something inside him had twisted. He wanted to open up her ribcage, break through her ribs tear out her heart and hold it within his palm crawl into her chest and stay there stay there stay there,

Mirabelle, sensing his turmoil, gently pulled him into a careful embrace. She was shaking too, but she held him tightly, as if by holding onto him, she could anchor both of them to reality, to sanity. Siffrin hesitated for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around her, his body trembling as he leaned into the warmth of her embrace. The hunger, for the first time in days, began to ebb, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, and for the first time in a few days, Siffrin felt something close to peace.

When they finally pulled away, Siffrin’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, as he held her hands shakily. “We.. we can’t be alone here,” he said, his eyes filled with a quiet desperation. “None of us. We.. we can’t split up. Ever.”

Mirabelle nodded, her own expression grim, eyes teary. "We won't," she promised. "W-We'll stay together."

And for the rest of their time in this cursed village, they did. The party made sure to stayclose, never wandering too far from one another, and though the hunger still gnawed at them, it never consumed them again.

- - -

Balls

Chapter Text

- - -

It was a quiet afternoon when Bonnie found Petronille lounging in the inn’s common room, half-heartedly flipping through an old book she had no real interest in. The gentle clatter of utensils from the kitchen barely registered in her mind until Bonnie appeared, tugging insistently at her arm.

“Nille, get up!” Bonnie said, voice full of excitement.

Petronille looked up, blinking in confusion. “What is it?”

Bonnie didn’t answer right away, instead, pulling harder on her arm and dragging her toward the inn’s kitchen. Petronille reluctantly followed, her brow furrowing.

“What the hell are you doing?” Petronille asked, her voice sharp but not angry- more bewildered than anything else. When they finally arrived in the kitchen, she raised an eyebrow at the sight before her- bowls, ingredients, and utensils scattered across the countertops.

Bonnie was setting things up, their face beaming with a determination Petronille didn’t quite understand.

“We’re making dinner!” Bonnie declared proudly, hands on their hips like they had just announced the greatest of plans, eyes sparkling. Petronille imagined her face must’ve looked very different.

She crossed her arms, already looking for an escape. “Bon, you know I’m terrible at cooking. Why don’t you just handle it yourself? Or ask one of the Saviors? I'd bet on a limb that that big dumb Brick Wall would just love to help.”

Bonnie shot her a look, something between a pout and a glare. “No way! You’re staying right here, and you’re gonna help me. I can’t do everything by myself, you know!”

Petronille opened her mouth to protest, but Bonnie grabbed her hand and dragged her to the counter. “You’re not leaving until we’re done. Now, help me cut these vegetables!”

Petronille sighed, the weight of Bonnie’s stubbornness settling in. She reluctantly picked up a knife and began chopping, though her movements were clumsy, her cuts uneven. She could never quite wrap her head around cooking- there were too many steps, too much guesswork. And paired with her overall clumsiness it made it something impossible- she could never understand why she could easily grasp any other manual task- mechanic’s work seemed to came easiest to her- but cooking? However ridiculous that sounded, it always seemed way too complicated to memorise and carry out later.

She just wasn’t built for it. She didn’t understand how Bonnie managed to pick it up so easily. Where had they learned to be so good at this? Certainly not from her. Maybe from neighbors back in Bambouche, but Petronille wasn’t exactly known for having an open-door policy when it came to other people’s help. Still, Bonnie made friends with everyone, all around the village, regardless of their age or position or gender. A local cook at the one and only restaurant in Bambouche had certainly had a hand in this- Petronille had heard countless times that the old man really liked having Bonnie helping around in the kitchen.

Her expression became grim.

She hopes he's okay back there.

He was always such a cheerful, kind soul to be around, much like the rest of Bambouche- a very small, sea-side village, in which everyone knew each other. She was convinced that Bonnie must've befriended every single citizen of their little community- they were a joy to be around after all, with them having the most lovable mix of bluntness and cheerfulness, and kindness they displayed every day. She could imagine just how endlessly proud the entirety of the village would be of them, if they would find out about Bonnie being a Savior.

Petronille on the other hand, could never socialize with such ease, like her dear baby sibling- never being able to find the right words, this prickly, suspicious little feeling always gnawing at her. Regardless, she.. she really loved her home. She wouldn't trade her life for anything else- and Bonnie just gave so much more sense to it, to all the struggles and hardships she went through to provide for them. She found herself helping the villagers for other reasons than just gaining money- sometimes did it for no money at all- for reasons which she couldn't quite name.

However, Petronille noticed that after.. well, after everything- Bonnie wasn't as cheerful as before. At least she thought- they may have became a little bit grumpy instead.

Maybe she was rubbing off on them.

Meanwhile, unaware of their sister's little whirlwind of thoughts- Bonnie worked with ease, moving from one task to the next with a focus that surprised Petronille every time. Petronille, on the other hand, struggled to keep up. She nearly burned the meat, fumbled with the spices, and cursed more than a few times under her breath when things didn’t go right.

"Damn it.." Petronille grumbled, glaring at the pan as if it had personally insulted her.

Bonnie, of course, noticed the grumbling and gave her some amused smirks and giggles. At the same time, they watched their sibling with a more genuine smile, something soft and giddy in their eyes as they worked side by side. But as time went on, Petronille found herself lost in thought. She couldn’t help but wonder.

Was she actually rubbing off on Bonnie?

Would Bonnie turn out like her someday?

Would they grow up to be grumpy, irritable, unpleasant to be around, just like her?

That thought gnawed at her, distracting her enough that she didn’t think it would be responsible to be careful while handling a can of tomatoes. She struggled to open it, and as soon as she did- the sharp lid of the can cut her right across the palm. The sudden pain startled her, causing her to drop the entire thing onto the counter with a loud curse.

“FUCK!” Petronille hissed through clenched teeth, clutching her hand. Wuh-oh, she said a no-no word! It wasn't even anything she could close an eye at, like Crab or damn-

Bonnie jumped at the sound, startled by the sudden outburst. "Nille!" they exclaimed, rushing to her side. “Did you just- nevermind, are you okay???”

Petronille winced, glancing down at the cut- it was pretty damn deep. Dark, metallic-smelling liquid was already tracing down her palm. The damned can of tomatoes. “I’m fine, Bon. Don’t fuss over me.”

But Bonnie wasn’t having it. They grabbed Petronille’s hand and dragged her over to the sink. They turned cold water on, and held her hand under the stream to stop the bleeding, and avoid making a mess.

“You need to be more careful, you Crabhead!” Bonnie said, frowning as they gently ran their fingers over Petronille’s skin, inspecting the cut. They reached over to a nearby cabinet- the same one Odile had mentioned having the medical kit in it. They managed to get it from the high shelf, and without hesitation, dug out a small, darkless bottle- likely hydrogen peroxide- and a roll of bandages. Petronille winced at the scene, but didn't stop them, as they gently wiped her hand with a paper towel and immediately disinfected it.

Despite everything, the Dockworker forced a grin, brushing it off as if it were nothing. “It’s just a small cut. I’m fine.” She was a bit impressed just how quickly Bonnie worked. Mirabelle must've had a hand in this- that was a good thing, though. They will definitely use that knowledge in the future.

As soon as the pre-teen was done bandaging their sister's hand, tying the ends into a messy, albeit tight knot, they looked back up at Petronille. Their eyes narrowed at her, as they stared at her in silence for a few seconds. For Petronille, each one of those seconds felt like eternity, with each of those seconds the grin becoming more and more difficult to maintain. “You never smile like that. Something’s wrong.”

Petronille flinched at how bluntly Bonnie pointed it out, but she quickly waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine, Crabling. Just.. thinking.”

But Bonnie wasn’t fooled. They frowned, their expression softening. “You’re not fine. You-” something akin to realization appeared on their face. They stared at her, almost dumbfounded for several seconds- before they hung their head in shame.

“..sorry. Didn’t knew you hated cooking that much.”

Petronille blinked, caught off guard by Bonnie’s words. The guilt in their voice tugged at her heart, and she quickly shook her head. “N-No, it’s not that! I love spending time with you, Bon! I’m just.. thinking about things. Irrelevant things.”

Bonnie kept their head down, their frown deepening as they bit their lip. They didn’t say anything for a moment, but Petronille could see the tightness in their throat, the way they were trying to keep their emotions under check.

Their voice was small when they finally spoke. “You’re just like Frin,” they mumbled, their voice shaking. “Keeping everything secret. Not talking about what’s hurting you until you just.. can’t handle it anymore.” Petronille froze, her heart skipping a beat. She stared at Bonnie, eyes wide. The pre-teen looked up at her with teary eyes, half glaring, but their tone was more desperate than angry.

“I hate it when people are not honest.” Bonnie muttered, their voice trembling. "They think I’m just a stupid kid. But i’m not stupid, Nille. I see when someone’s upset. I don’t want you to be hurt."

Petronille’s throat tightened, and she couldn’t find the words to respond. She stood there, frozen, as Bonnie trembled slightly, sniffling and wiping at their face before throwing their arms around Petronille’s waist, burying their face in her shirt. "Just.. stop being a Crabhead and say it!" Bonnie said, their choked voice muffled against her clothes. "You’re my.. you’re my older sister. My only real family- b-blood and everything. Even though I love the others just the same.. y-you’re the only one I have left, Nille. W-We only have each other now!”

Petronille’s heart clenched painfully at those words. Her hands hovered awkwardly over Bonnie’s back, her usual tough exterior cracking under the weight of her sibling’s honesty. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around them, hugging them tightly. “I don’t want to worry you,” Petronille said quietly, her voice rough with emotion. “I’m just.. scared, I guess. That I’m going to rub off on you. That you’ll become like me. I don’t want you to become like me.”

Bonnie pulled back slightly, frowning up at her. “I want to be like you!” they said firmly, their eyes full of conviction. “Y-You’re so cool, and brave, and strong. You’ve done everything for me, Nille! I look up to you!”

Petronille shook her head, her grip tightening. “You really shouldn’t. I’m not someone to look up to, Bon.”

Bonnie was silent for a moment, before looking down again. “I get why you’re so angry all the time,” they muttered. “It’s not because you hate them, it’s because.. you’re scared. Scared for me! You think they dragged me into danger, when they didn’t! I-I know you know that now. You’re just a dummy, you refuse to believe that!”

Petronille winced, her lips pressing into a tight line. Bonnie continued, their voice softer now. “You’re just mad because you’re scared for me. B-But I really wish you’d get along with them more. I.. I love them, Nille. And I love you, too!!”

Their words hit Petronille like a punch to the gut. She blinked down at Bonnie, her eyes wide, her heart aching. She had never realized how much Bonnie understood, how much they could see through her. Bonnie sniffled again, rubbing their eyes before looking up at her, their expression softening. “You’ll always be my hero, Nille. My favorite person. And I’ll always love you. Whether you’ll be a Crabhead or not!!”

Petronille let out a small, amused huff of air, her eyes stinging as she hugged them tighter. “I love you too, Bon.” she whispered, her voice cracking. “More than anything.” They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of their feelings hanging in the air between them. When they finally pulled away, Bonnie quickly wiped at their face, definitely not having been crying!

They shot Petronille a pouty glare, but there was no heat in it. “Stop crying, stupid. Your face will get all puffy.”

Petronille let out a wet laugh, wiping at her eyes. “I did not cry,” she said, trying to regain her usual gruffness, but the soft warmth in her voice betrayed her.

Bonnie gave her a small, satisfied smile, and despite everything, Petronille couldn’t help but smile back.

And then, the younger blinked, the smile fading as their brows furrowed.

“..do you smell that?” They muttered, before the two’s heads, as if in union, whipped over towards the burning pan.

Bonnie deadpanned.

“Fuck.”

Petronille sputtered.

“BONNIE!!"

- - -

sibling chapter pog

edit; if you've once read this chapter before and realized that I've changed it up from Petronille getting burned to cut by a fucking tomato can then no you haven't

Chapter Text

- - -

The air was heavy with late afternoon warmth, the kind that settled over your skin like a soft blanket. An unusual occurrance, judging the fact the leaves already started taking darker shades and falling all around them, creating a cozy setting. Petronille felt none of the warmth, but she found herself appreciating the improvement in the weather, if only for one day.

The river before them shimmered under the sinking sun, its gentle current weaving through the pebbled shore with a quiet, endless murmur. The party had stopped to rest along its banks, a moment of respite between long days of travel. Siffrin sat with his legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees as he gazed out at the water, his eye tracing the ripples and eddies as if they held some secret only he could understand.

Petronille plopped down next to him, her movements casual but her posture always alert, eyes scanning the horizon even while she allowed herself to relax, just a little. She glanced sideways at Siffrin, watching him in his stillness, which- wasn't unusual, per se.

"Thought you'd try to fish or something," Petronille said, deadpan, her sharp tone at odds with the serene scene before them. "You know, actually be productive for once and maybe get us some food."

Siffrin chuckled softly, the sound light but genuine. His gaze never left the river. "I like looking at rivers," he said. "They're.. the exact opposite of stillness. The water never stops moving. There's always something new to see. You could sit here for hours, and it would never be the same twice."

Petronille raised a brow but didn't comment. Siffrin's words sounded whimsical, a little poetic, which seemed oddly both in and out of character for him, but there was something about the way he spoke them that tugged at her. The soft smile that lingered on his face, too, seemed distant, almost nostalgic.

"I used to love watching the shores back home," he said, his voice quieter, tinged with a fondness Petronille hadn't heard from him often. Almost.. melancholic. "The rivers and seas.. I could watch them all day long,"

Petronille blinked, her brows furrowing. She turned to him. "Say that again?"

Siffrin looked at her, his expression soft, confused. "What?"

"What you just said," she pressed, her voice low, suspicious. "Say it again."

Siffrin frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Say.. what again..? I didn’t-" He trailed off, his confusion deepening. There was something off about his tone, as if the words had dissolved from his mind the moment they left his lips.

Petronille’s brow furrowed, her sharp gaze scrutinizing him. Something wasn’t right. The way he had spoken so naturally, so familiarly about “home" - but now, there was nothing in his eyes, as if he didn’t even remember saying it.

"..Where.." She began, pausing for a moment, searching his expression, before resuming.

"Where are you from, Siffrin?" she asked, her voice low and deliberate. A question that seemed harmless on the surface but carried an undercurrent of something much darker.

Siffrin didn’t answer at first. He sat there, his mouth slightly open, and then- nothing. His eyes widened, a flicker of panic darting across his face as he tried to recall something that simply wasn’t there.

"I.. I don’t.. I.." His hands trembled in his lap, his breaths shallow. The look of utter horror that washed over him was mirrored in Petronille’s own face as she suddenly connected the dots. Her mind reeled, pulling at fragmented memories- Could it be..?

She sucked in a breath, her heartbeat quickening. She had heard the stories, everyone had heard them, especially those that lived by the shores. The island that vanished overnight. An entire country, gone, erased not only from existence but from the memories of most who had known it. Most. Besides those that lived by the west shores, and could not have not noticed something was amiss.

She and Bonnie had been children when it happened- in reality, Bonnie was just a baby, and Petronille herself could barely remember it- living in that seaside village, their windows offering a perfect view of the island. One day, it was just.. gone. The ocean where it once stood, empty.

"Siffrin. Where are you from?" she repeated, more urgently now, her voice a thin thread of tension.

Siffrin’s mouth opened again, but no words came. The world around them seemed to shudder- just for a moment- a flicker of something out of place.

And then, he found his voice.

" ..▉▉▉▉▉▉▉-"

Petronille flinched as a sudden, tearing pain ripped through her head, a sharp, searing agony that brought tears to her eyes.

Siffrin coughed violently, blood splattering onto the ground before him. He gripped his chest, choking on it as he tried to speak, tried to answer, tried to say something, his lips forming the word over and over, but nothing came out except more blood. His body trembled, his face contorted in pain as the world around them distorted further, the sky rippling like a cracked mirror, the air growing thick and oppressive.

"▉▉▉▉▉▉▉-!"

"Siffrin, stop!" Petronille shouted, clutching her head as the pain pulsed through her skull, white-hot and unrelenting. The world was unraveling, splitting at the seams, the river before them now a twisted, and wrong.

He tried to speak again, choking out syllables through blood and coughs, the name of the island on the tip of his tongue, but every time he tried, the world broke more. The sky twisted and tore, the trees around them bent and stretched in impossible directions, and the ground beneath them shook violently.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed Siffrin, pulling him back. Isabeau had rushed over, his arms around him, his voice shaky but firm. "Sif!! Sif, what's wrong?? Stop, you're- You're hurting yourself!"

"..▉▉▉▉--!!"

Mirabelle, wide-eyed and pale, covered Siffrin's mouth with her hands, her small form shaking as she whispered, “S-Siffrin-! Please, you have to stop-! Please..!” Petronille gasped as she clutched on her head, feeling tiny hands wrap around her arm, trying to pull her up as she barely processed the panicked voice of her sibling.

The world snapped back into focus, though the air still buzzed with unease. The sky above them, once torn open, mended itself- but Petronille’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up. A star.

But not just any star.

It was a brilliant, pulsating with a vibrant shade she could not name, glowing with a hue so bright and alien that it seemed to tear through the very fabric of reality. Petronille blinked, her mind unable to process it fully. Such a thing- such a shade- Something their world had long been devoid of. But this was no ordinary shade. It was as though the sky itself had bled, and the star- its four arms stretched wide like cracks in the firmament- loomed above them, the mere presence of it screaming WRONG WRONG WRONG-!

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.

That was the last thing Petronille saw before darkness took her, and she slumped into her sibling's trembling frame.

Siffrin, too, collapsed, his body limp against Isabeau. His breath steadied, the blood smeared on his chin drying in the fading sunlight, his panic subsiding as unconsciousness claimed him.

The world, once torn and broken, returned to its normal state- monochromatic, colorless, painfully mundane. The red star, its impossible light that had cracked the sky open, was gone without a trace.

It's like nothing had happened at all. The silence deafened them, as the party stared helplessly at Siffrin and Petronille.

Mirabelle tried to steady her breathing, her hands trembling as she checked both Siffrin and Petronille over, brushing away dried blood from the Traveler's lips. "I-I don’t think they're hurt," she whispered, her voice tight with worry. “..p-physically.. at least.."

Bonnie, still clutching Petronille’s limp form, struggling to hold their older sister up, whispered a question, their voice shaky. “What.. w-what did Frin do? T-There was that weird thing above us again! I-I saw it earlier! While Frin was freaking out in Dormont!!"

Odile, standing nearby, didn’t answer immediately, her eyes narrowed in concern, brows pinched bitterly. She stared down at Siffrin, her mind racing. “It wasn’t anything that he did,” she finally muttered, almost to herself. “It’s what he tried to say.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them all.

Whatever that word was- whatever name Siffrin had been trying to speak- it had the power to warp reality itself, to twist the world beyond recognition.

As Bonnie's tiny arms kept Petronille in a somewhat vertical position, and Isabeau held Siffrin close, Odile couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that this was definitely not the first, and not even the second time that something like this had happened.

Whatever lay buried in Siffrin's past, whatever he had forgotten - it was hidden by something that they could barely begin to comprehend.

- - -

Petronille found herself standing in the middle of a vast, barren plain. The ground beneath her feet was slick and black, as though the land itself had been stripped of life. The horizon stretched endlessly in every direction, but there was nothing, no signs of civilization, no trees, no mountains, no rivers. Only an endless expanse of desolation, and the sky above- if it could even be called a sky- was a swirling mass of inky darkness, filled with endless of vibrant, tiny stars scattered around it.

Immediately, Petronille tried to scream- she tried to move, but nothing came out of her mouth, and her body did not budge an inch. She just stood there, painfully aware of her surroundings, but completely stuck.

Frozen.

And then, in the distance, something moved.

A figure staggered forward, barely distinguishable from the darkness that surrounded it. It would be if it wasn't for the light emitting from it's head. Petronille tried to call out, but it was pointless. Her throat was locked, as though some invisible hand had silenced her voice. Panic surged in her chest, but her body refused to obey the natural urge to flee. She was frozen in place, her feet anchored to the ground by some unseen force, her legs sluggish and heavy as though she were wading through thick water.

The figure continued to approach, each step unsteady but relentless, and as it drew nearer, the shape of it became clearer. It was a person, or at least, it was shaped like a person. The body, however, was entirely black, its form so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it, bending reality with its mere presence. Its skin- if it could be called skin- was marred with tiny stars, each one glowing faintly, like one would be looking into a beautiful night sky. They pulsed with a strange, otherworldly light, casting an eerie glow across the figure’s otherwise featureless body.

She looked it in the face- or rather, the absence of it.

Where a face should have been, there was only a blinding ball of light, so searingly bright that it hurt to look at. It cast sharp, painful rays in every direction, and yet, despite the agony it caused her eyes, Petronille found herself unable to look away. It was the kind of light that burrowed deep into your soul, leaving scars of its own.

In the center of the figure’s chest, she saw yet another star- so much bigger than all the others. A pulsating, white-hot star that seemed to beat in time with the scars that stretched across its body. The star was alive, its light seeping into the cracks of the creature’s form, as if barely contained within the fragile shell of its skin.

Petronille tried to move, tried to retreat, but her limbs remained locked in place, stiff and unyielding. Her heart raced, but she could do nothing to escape. The figure continued its relentless approach, the light from its head growing stronger, more blinding with each passing moment.

And then, it spoke.

But it had no mouth.

The sound- if it could be called sound- was a deafening, vibration, piercing through her ears with each word. It seemed to speak in each and every single tone that existed, switching from screeching soprano to deep, rumbling bass, each word disturbed and almost distorted in static. It wasn’t heard as much as felt, vibrating through her skull, rattling her teeth and making her bones ache.

"Remember it."

The voice slithered through her mind, the words not spoken aloud but etched directly into her consciousness. It wasn’t a command, but a desperate plea, and yet it carried with it a weight so immense that she felt like she might be crushed beneath it. The figure drew closer, its blinding head now mere inches from her face, and it spoke again. The light intensified, burning into her skull, and the pressure in her mind built, overwhelming her senses, causing her breath to stutter as she tried to take one.

"Say it."

Petronille’s throat tightened, the air in her lungs becoming thin and hot. She wanted to say something, to scream, but the words were trapped, strangled by the terror that gripped her. The figure’s head tilted slightly, as though studying her, waiting for a response. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t speak. Her body refused to obey her.

The figure leaned closer, and with it came an unbearable heat, the star in its chest flaring brighter, its light bleeding into the smaller stars scattered across it's its body. Petronille’s heartbeat matched its pulsating rhythm, each throb in her chest growing more frantic as the light consumed her.

"Say it!" the figure shrieked, the voice no longer calm but frantic, agonized.

Its head of light twisted, and then- impossibly- it split open. Where there had been only blinding brilliance, a mouth now gaped wide, stretching unnaturally, its jagged edges like the torn fabric of reality itself. And from that abyss came a word. A sound. But it was no ordinary word.

It was a name.

The very name that Siffrin had tried to say, the name that had warped reality around them.

The name of a country that should've been forgotten years ago, until the very end of time.

But the word wasn’t a word at all- it was a sound too vast, too incomprehensible for her mind to process. It tore through her consciousness, ripping her thoughts to shreds. The sound was a force of nature, an ancient, primal thing that defied understanding, and as it filled her mind, she felt herself unraveling, her soul being shredded by the enormity of it.

The figure screamed at her again, demanding her to repeat it, to say the unspeakable thing it had just uttered. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even comprehend what it had said, let alone repeat it. She couldn't. She couldn't she couldn't she couldn't-

"Say it! SAY IT! SAY IT!! SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT-!!!"

The star in its chest burned brighter and brighter, its light consuming everything, until all that was left was that searing, unbearable brightness, and then-

"..SAY IT..!!!"

Petronille awoke with a start, a scream tearing from her throat as she bolted upright, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, her pulse thundering in her ears as she gasped for air. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was- everything was still consumed by that blinding light, that terrible, incomprehensible sound.

Her scream had startled the entire camp. Odile, who had been sitting nearby, dropped her book with a sharp gasp and a flinch, her wide eyes snapping toward Petronille.

Petronille's hands fumbled as she tried to throw off the blanket tangled around her legs, her movements frantic as though still trying to escape the dream. She stumbled to her feet, but her legs gave out, sending her crashing back to the ground with a breathless curse.

“Petronille!” Odile leaned forward from where she stood, a hand twitching as she forced it to remain on the book, instead of outstretching towards the younger, her brow furrowed with concern. She went to crouch next to her, trying to see if she was hurt, as Petronille anxiously forced herself to sit up.

She could barely register Odile's presence, her mind still reeling from the lingering horror of the dream. The afterimage of that searing light and the terrible word echoed in her head, refusing to leave her alone. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the memory to fade, but it clung stubbornly, like a shadow in her mind.

"Petronille, are you alright?" Odile’s voice was soft, but it broke through the fog in her brain, pulling her back to reality.

Petronille squeezed her eyes shut, her breath still coming in short, ragged bursts. She shook her head, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “It’s fine. Just a dream.”

But it hadn’t been just a dream.

The sweat still clung to her skin, cold and clammy, and her hands trembled as she pushed herself more upright. She felt the weight of Odile’s gaze on her, concerned but cautious, and Petronille cursed herself inwardly. She didn’t want to talk about it- not now, not with her- not with anyone- but the images from the dream still flickered behind her eyelids every time she blinked.

Odile reached out, her hand hovering awkwardly, unsure whether to help or give Petronille space. "That didn't sound like 'just a dream,'" she said, her voice just as scrutinizing as ever, letting her hand drop back to her lap. "You were screaming."

Petronille’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to snap at Odile, to tell her to mind her own business, but something held her back. Something about the look in Odile’s eyes- a mixture of worry and lack of her usual snarkiness- made it impossible for her to lash out.

Sleep paralysis. It had to have been.

She couldn't move during that dream, after all- and yet.. and yet, she doesn't think she's ever had a more terrifying nightmare in her entire life.

She wanted to forget it, desperately.

But instead, she swallowed hard, shaking her head. “I told you, it was nothing,” she said, her voice a little too sharp.

But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. The dream had been more than a nightmare- it had been real. Too real. And the worst part was that she couldn’t remember what it was that the figure had said, what it had screamed at her. All she knew was that it was something she should fear. Something she should desperately avoid.

There was a beat of silence, and Odile simply frowned. She didn’t press further, though Petronille could tell she wanted to. Instead, she stood up, folding her arms across her chest as she watched Petronille pull herself together.

Then, the events prior to her little nap flashed before her eyes, causing her to pause.

"Is Siffrin alright?" she asked abruptly, the question escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her heart pounded harder at the thought of him, of what had happened earlier. Still, she definitely could've phrased that a little more offhandedly. She cursed inwardly, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring daggers at Odile. "Not that I care, mind you. Just making sure the idiot hasn’t choked on his own blood like a moron and died. Also, where is Bon?”

Odile raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at deflecting concern, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she nodded slowly. “He woke up a little while ago. He’s... coherent, but still shaken. Isabeau is with him right now. They're away- on a walk, I presume. I asked Boniface to gather something to distract them a little bit, so currently they're off at a nearby clearing with Mirabelle. They should be back any second.”

Petronille’s shoulders relaxed a fraction at that, though she wasn’t sure why. The less time she spent around Siffrin and whatever mess he was tangled up in, the better.

But the dream.. The dream wouldn’t let go. The star that had burned into her memory, the scars carved into flesh.. and that word.

She shouldn't remember.

But something inside her whispered that it was only a matter of time, until her own curiosity came back to bite her.

She wanted to ask Odile- wanted to demand an explanation for what had happened, for what could have possibly caused the world to go wrong like that. The headache, the distortion, the sheer wrongness of it all. The mind-blowing, vibrant shade that appeared in the sky above them, as if shattering reality itself.

But when she looked into Odile’s eyes, they both fell silent. It was as if the weight of what had happened hung between them, unspoken but understood. Neither of them had all the answers. Not yet.

And deep down, Petronille already knew.

She’d known the moment Siffrin had given her that look, that hollow, haunted look, when she’d asked him where he was from. The hesitation in his voice, the confusion that had clouded his expression. He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember where he was from. A person without a homeland, without a past- it seemed impossible. Unrealistic. But somehow, in that moment, Petronille had known the truth.

Siffrin had tried to say it- the name of his country. The name of his home.

But something hadn’t allowed him. Some force had erased it, erased him, punished him for trying, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his memory.

The world had become wrong the moment he’d tried to say it. That force, whatever it was, had done something to him. To all of them. And Petronille knew- without needing to ask, without needing confirmation- that it had something to do with that.. country, that Island, that suddenly disappeared without a trace. The one that had been erased from everyone's minds, from the world itself.

The fire crackled softly, filling the silence that stretched between them. Petronille’s arms tightened around her chest as she stared into the flames, her mind buzzing with the implications of what she’d just realized.

The rest of the evening passed in eerie quiet, the weight of their unspoken thoughts heavy in the air.

Petronille didn't move much from her spot that night, only pulling on some attempt of a smile as she greeted her dear sibling, as they made it back with some herbs that they needed for a recipe. Even though Bonnie, clearly worried sick, would ask her countless questions that evening- Petronille, for the first time in a long time- borderline shied away from them, desperately. Something in her mind begged her to talk about anything else. Subconsciousness, begging to avoid taking such baggage again.

Petronille's body remained stiff, her muscles taut with residual tension from the day’s events, though her mind was elsewhere- stuck replaying the strange encounter over and over. She sat by the fire, its glow flickering weakly, yet not providing the comfort she so desperately sought. Her eyes were unfocused, staring into the flames but seeing something far beyond the physical world in front of her.

The memory of Siffrin's trembling frame came back in full force, along with the haunted look in his eyes as he struggled to say something that should never be spoken aloud. It wasn’t just his frail condition that had unnerved her, though; it was the sense of something larger looming, something insidious, like the star that had appeared over them- a scar in the sky, unnatural, wrong. There was a buzzing in her head whenever she tried to recall it in detail, a sharp pain that warned her not to dwell on it too long.

Why can't I remember? She wondered, her fingers subconsciously reaching for her temples, massaging the dull ache that had settled there. She was made aware of it. Felt it. But there was something more, something her mind refused to fully grasp. Every time she tried, it slipped through her fingers like mist, only leaving behind that incessant buzzing that clawed at the edges of her consciousness.

Across the camp, Siffrin sat apart from the others, his head bowed low, as though the weight of his thoughts- or perhaps something else- was too much to bear. His posture suggested an attempt to fade into the lengthening shadows of the evening, as if hoping they would swallow him whole and erase his presence from the world. Isabeau, ever vigilant, hovered nearby, keeping a careful but respectful distance. He had stayed by his side for the rest of the night, protective in his manner but wise enough to recognize that Siffrin needed space more than comfort right now.

Meanwhile, Mirabelle was helping Bonnie attend to the stew, the pre-teen's brows furrowed together, anxious, as they stirred the pot over the fire with automatic movement. Mirabelle was still quite obviously anxious, even though she tried to come off as calm- then again, the look on her face betrayed the rattled state of her mind. Every so often, her eyes would flicker up to where Siffrin sat, watching him with the cautious concern of someone waiting for an unpredictable storm to strike again.

On the outer edge of the campfire’s glow, Odile sat on her knees, her usually sharp eyes softened by a veil of contemplation. Her book had been abandoned in her lap, its pages unturned for quite some time. Her eyes had been flicking between Siffrin and Petronille for a while now, an expression of morbid, curious concern etched into her features. But she hadn’t said anything, not yet. They were all too shaken to probe deeper into what had happened earlier. It was as though the day had bent reality, dragging them all into a nightmare before spitting them back out with no clear understanding of what was real anymore.

Petronille dragged her fingers down her face, trying to ground herself, but the headache clung stubbornly to the corners of her mind, a constant reminder of whatever force had tried to rip its way through Siffrin’s lips. It wasn’t just him- something else had been there, something monstrous, leaving a mark that refused to fade. She wanted to shake it off, to forget, but the weight of it pressed down, a heavy presence that wouldn’t let her go.

The river shimmered in the distance, its surface reflecting the bruised sky above, casting a dull light that only heightened the eerie stillness of the evening. Crickets had begun their nightly chorus, chirping as if nothing unusual had occurred, but Petronille could still sense the wrongness in the air. It was like a stench- something sour, rancid. She felt it in her bones, in the silence that stretched between the cracks of their uneasy conversation.

She noticed that Siffrin avoided her for the next several days.

She did not push.

It's not that she cared, anyway.

She also did not sleep a wink that night.

- - -

WOOO EXTRA LONG CHAPTER POG! It's cuz uhhh.. today's... monday.....???? don't make a habit out of this 💀💀💀

but yeah essentially we're finally tackling the island- i actually had this more or less figured out for a very long time, like a month I think- but i never found a proper day to post it. So yeah, next chapter will be describing why exactly the Universe Alt + F4'd the island uwu

Chapter Text

- - -

While equipped with the Memory of Memories and reciting the words from one of the forbidden books in the Secret Library, Siffrin and his party are temporarily transported to the Forgotten Island, which's real name is ▉▉▉▉▉▉▉. The first time this happens, he is frozen in place, an overwhelming sense of familiarity washing over him- he knows this place, though he can't quite grasp why. Deep down, he knows why. The country is unlike anything the party has ever seen, filled with strange shades. Even Odile, typically composed, is awe-struck and on edge. She remarks how she's read about "Colors," shades that are neither lightless nor darkless, but vibrant and lively.

The party is able to explore a small portion of ▉▉▉▉▉▉▉, but it’s a disorienting and surreal experience. The landscape shifts unpredictably, the air alternates between the oppressive heat of summer and the biting chill of winter, making navigation nearly impossible. Certain areas are inaccessible, swallowed by the chaotic, dizzying nature of the place. Despite this, as Siffrin returns to ▉▉▉▉▉▉▉ repeatedly, he grows numb, unaffected by its strange atmosphere.

When asked about it during one of the loops, his voice flat, eyes locked on an unseen point in the distance, and he simply says, "This is my home." Refusing to elaborate further, he simply continues forward, leaving his concern and confusion-struck companions with no other choice but to drop it and follow along.

The Universe itself seems desperate to prevent these journeys, but curiously, it appears powerless. The sky over ▉▉▉▉▉▉▉ is ablaze with vivid red stars, signalling this being a place very, very unfavorable to the Universe.

- - -

When Siffrin was just sixteen years old, his home - his entire country - vanished without a trace. The Island North of Vaugarde, his home, had once been a vibrant nation filled with culture, knowledge, and secret, special little rituals, unknown and undiscovered anywhere else. Yet, in the blink of an eye, it was gone, erased not only from the map but from the memories of nearly every living soul. The very existence of the island had been wiped clean from history, as though it had never been there. And for Siffrin, one of the few survivors of this cataclysmic event, the horror of that day had only just begun.

It wasn’t just the Island’s physical presence that had disappeared; those who lived through the it's destruction, like Siffrin and the King, found themselves in a strange and terrifying state. Their memories were shattered, scattered like broken glass. Siffrin could no longer remember his name, his real family, or his past. The King, too, stood as a hollow shell of his former self, his mind lost in the same abyss of forgotten fragments. All that remained was a haunting emptiness where once their lives, their identities, had been.

The people of the Forgotten Island, all shared immense knowledge about space and stars, something seeming almost otherworldly to other countries. But the people of that Island were very passionate about astronomy, and, so was Siffrin.

This was no ordinary tragedy. It wasn’t the result of war, famine, or any earthly disaster. The very fabric of reality had been rewritten, and the Island’s obliteration had been orchestrated by the Universe itself - an ancient, unfathomable force that governed the world from the shadows. And the reason behind this annihilation was as cruel as it was cold and terrifying.

The people of the island were not evil. They hadn’t waged war or committed heinous crimes. Their only offense - if it could be called that - was their knowledge. The Island North of Vaugarde was the only nation known to openly worship the Universe, and in their reverence, they had been granted access to secrets that no other land could even dream of understanding. They knew the laws that governed wishes and time, two of the most elusive and dangerous concepts in existence.

In the beginning, it had been innocent. Their culture had thrived on the idea of wishes - small desires that could be granted through careful rituals. The saying of "wishing upon the stars" originated from the Forgotten Country, despite that fact being forgotten by all. Over time, though, they began to unravel even deeper truths. They uncovered the nature of Wish Craft, the ability to shape reality in small but profound ways. With Wish Craft, they could turn dreams into reality, manifest their desires into the physical world, and even alter the course of their own destinies. It was a skill taught to nearly everyone in the country, a common practice passed down through generations, carefully so, as to not anger the force granting the wish, which- would be the Universe. As shocking as it is, it wasn't always as cruel and calculating in granting wishes as it would be in the present, enjoying the struggles of humans.

More alarming still was their mastery of Time Craft. While Wish Craft allowed them to mold their desires into the world, time craft gave them control over the flow of time itself. It wasn’t as simple as turning back the clock or leaping into the future, but it allowed those skilled in the art to manipulate time’s currents. They could slow it down, glimpse potential futures, or, in some cases, undo small moments. Time craft was a delicate, complex practice, extremely fragile and difficult to master, but for the people of the Island, it had become almost second nature.

And that was precisely what angered the Universe.

The Universe is a force beyond human comprehension - an entity that operates on laws far removed from mortal understanding. Its power is absolute, its reach infinite. For eons, it had whispered these secrets - about wishes and time - to a select few individuals, scattering these gifts across it's country. To the Universe, these gifts were not meant to be widespread. They were mysteries meant only for the chosen, for those deemed worthy or lucky enough to receive them, to become New Gods.

But on the Island, this sacred knowledge had become commonplace. What was once whispered to a rare few had now become the foundation of an entire culture. Children were taught Wish Craft as part of their upbringing, and as they grew, some would go out of their way to master Time Craft as well. The very fabric of their society was built on it.

The Universe watched as the Island's people honed these abilities. And with each passing generation, more of them grew stronger, more adept at bending reality to their will. Time Craft was no longer the domain of a secret few; it was becoming something more dangerous. The power to alter time, even in small ways, was something that could upset the natural order of existence itself. And, worse, the people were teaching these powers to others. Knowledge that had once been scattered like the wind was now condensed, passed freely among an entire population.

The Universe’s whispers had turned into a roar of rage.

The people of the island, unknowingly, were crossing a line that could not be uncrossed. They were creating Gods.

Every person who truly mastered Time Craft became something more than human- New Gods- though still infinitely weaker than the Universe itself. Each one was crowned, in a way, a New God of their own destiny, capable of bending time in one specific way to suit their needs. The Universe, in its infinite wisdom, foresaw the danger that such power could bring.

If the knowledge of Time Craft and Wish Craft spread beyond the island - if others learned what they knew - the world would plunge into chaos. Wars would be waged over control of time. The balance of power in the world would shift irrevocably, and the natural laws of existence would be torn apart. And worse still, the Universe’s own supremacy would be challenged. It was the architect of reality, the supreme force, but in these people’s hands, its carefully woven threads were fraying.

The island’s people had to be stopped. Their knowledge, their very existence, had to be erased.

And so, the Universe acted. In a single, devastating strike, it purged the Island from the face of the Earth, alongside all of the people being unlucky enough to be within its borders at the time. The land itself disappeared into the void, leaving no trace behind, the ocean closing around the territory it used to be in. The people who lived there were swallowed up in the purge, their lives extinguished in an instant. And for the few survivors - like Siffrin and the King - their punishment was perhaps even worse. The Universe stripped them of everything. Their memories, their identities, their sense of self were shattered. They could no longer remember who they were, where they came from, their family- nothing.

Irritably, some of the rituals still remained something akin to muscle memory to them. They didn't knew it was correct, or what it was- not at first. Some would end up using it, and realize exactly the power humanity actually holds.

The world, too, was affected. The memory of the Island North of Vaugarde was erased from the minds of nearly everyone. Even those who had once traded with them or sailed past their shores found their memories gone, replaced by a vague sense of emptiness. It was as if the Island had never existed at all.

But not everything was completely lost.

The Universe knew that a few survivors remained, those who had escaped the Island’s destruction by some stroke of fate. Siffrin was one of them, a young boy at the time who had managed to cling to life even as his past was torn from him. And in the deepest, darkest recesses of their minds, some of these survivors retained the smallest slivers of knowledge. They had forgotten who they were, but a faint memory of the rituals, the methods of Time Craft and Wish Craft, still lingered somewhere in the back of their consciousness, though they could not access it easily.

The Universe was aware of these remnants, these loose threads that hadn’t been tied up in the purge, some of them going out of their way to write books about those forbidden forces that ultimately had been their kind's downfall. But it chose to do nothing. It was confident that these survivors, scattered and broken, posed no real threat. The knowledge they held was incomplete, fragmented, and without a society to foster that knowledge, the risk was minimal.

For now, the Universe would let them be. But it watched them, always.

It watched Siffrin, especially.

The Island North of Vaugarde had been erased from existence because it had grown too dangerous. Not by malice, but by the sheer power of the knowledge it had shared. The people of the Island had tampered with forces that had sealed their own fates.

Siffrin, like the other survivors, would live on, haunted by the shadow of a past he couldn’t remember, trapped by the weight of a home that no longer existed.

- - -

Ma'habre reference right there- i thought nothing else would fit more than the forgotten Island being "The City of Gods," especially taking it's past into consideration :D so my dude Siffrin and his party travel there during the loops, with Siffrin being desperate to find out more about the home that he lost, just like the main cast travels to Ma'Habre in Funger!!!

ALSO a kind soul bearing the username randomartist-1 ( Shimejis made by japaneseforthree on tumblr!!! ) on tumblr gave me access to Loop Shimejis, they steal my windows and make fun of my grammar and I've never been happier :D

Chapter Text

- - -

The bustling crowd in the market square was oppressive, almost suffocating. The noise, the relentless chatter, the overwhelming smell of smoke and sweat mingled in the air as the party wove through the throngs of people. Mirabelle clung to the back of the group, her head down, trying to stay unnoticed. Her anxiety was palpable- every step through this place made her feel like she was sinking deeper into a quicksand of doubt and guilt.

They hadn’t even been in town long, barely enough time to gather supplies and rest. The lingering curse had left this area in ruin, the scars of it evident in the haunted faces of the townspeople, the crumbling buildings that had seen far better days, and the stretch of graves visible just outside the town.

Siffrin walked ahead of her, leading the group as always, occasionally glancing back, a worried look clouding his features. Isabeau was close to Mirabelle’s side, as always, his presence a protective shield.

And then it happened.

"Hey!" a voice suddenly cut through the noise of the market, sharp and commanding. The crowd seemed to still, as though all eyes had turned in their direction. "I know who they are!"

Mirabelle’s heart lurched painfully in her chest. She froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat as a chill crawled down her spine. Her eyes darted to the source of the voice- an older woman, standing among a small group of villagers, her face twisted with recognition.

"They’re the ones- the Saviors," the woman continued, her voice growing louder, sharper. "That’s her!" Her finger shot out like an accusing dagger, pointing directly at Mirabelle.

There was a pause, a ripple of tension in the air. The crowd seemed to turn as one, their eyes locking onto Mirabelle, and in that single moment, the weight of their collective judgement came crashing down on her. She could feel it- a tidal wave of blame and anger surging through the air. The silence only lasted for a heartbeat before it shattered.

"That’s her!" someone else shouted. "The one who was supposed to save us!"

Mirabelle took a step back, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her throat tightened, and she could feel panic clawing at her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. Isabeau immediately stepped forward, his body moving instinctively to shield her, his eyes scanning the crowd with a protective, serious edge.

“Mira, don’t listen to them,” he whispered, his voice pinched with tension. Bonnie raised their voice, their hand reaching out to take Mirabelle’s. "Belle! What’s going on?"

But the crowd was already closing in, their faces twisted with rage.

"You were too slow!" one man shouted, his voice hoarse with anger. "All those deaths- our friends, our families- they’re all on you!"

Odile’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as she moved a hand in between Mirabelle and the crowd.

"She didn’t stop it in time," a woman spat, her face red with fury. "We lost everything because of you!"

Mirabelle’s breathing quickened. She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t even muster the strength to defend herself. She tried to speak, tried to say something- anything- but her words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the walls of guilt that were now crashing down on her. The people she had tried so hard to save.. now turned on her, their pain transformed into hatred.

Siffrin stepped closer to her, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Wait, please," he said, his voice as calm as he could manage. "It’s not- this isn’t her fault. We did everything we could."

"Everything you could?" a man in the front of the crowd bellowed, his eyes blazing with unshed tears. His voice cracked as he took a step forward. "You call that ‘everything’? My wife and child died because of you! We were waiting for help, waiting for someone to do something- and where were you? Wandering around, taking your time, while we buried our loved ones! You let the curse spread all the way here!"

Mirabelle flinched as though struck. The man’s words were like daggers, each one driving deeper into her heart. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The guilt, the weight of her failure- it was suffocating her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away furiously, refusing to let them fall.

"This is all because of YOU!" the man continued, his voice growing more venomous with each word. "You stupid, dirty slu-!"

His insult was abruptly cut off by the sickening smash of his head slamming into the ground.

Petronille stood over him, her hand still gripping the back of his neck, her hammer gleaming ominously in the other. Her face was a storm of barely contained fury, her jaw set, her eyes hard as stone.

"Watch your mouth," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. The man groaned in pain, his hands scrambling at the dirt beneath him, but Petronille pressed harder, forcing him to remain where he was, his cheek grinding against the ground. She looked up, her gaze sweeping the crowd, daring them to make a move.

"Anyone else has something to say!?" she barked, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.

The villagers hesitated, their anger momentarily dampened by the sheer intensity of her presence, but the tension in the air remained thick. The resentment, the sorrow- it hadn’t disappeared. They still blamed Mirabelle.

Siffrin was the first to snap out of it. He pushed through the crowd, grabbing Odile’s sleeve. "We need to leave," he whispered urgently. "Now."

Odile nodded, her expression tense as she scanned the faces around them. "Move. Stay together," she ordered, her voice calm but firm.

Isabeau was already at Mirabelle’s side, his hand on her shoulder, guiding her through the crowd. Mirabelle walked ahead numbly, her body trembling, her breaths shallow and fast. Bonnie squeezed her hand tightly, anxiously, shaken by the sudden hostility, but determined to stay by her side.

Petronille brought up the rear, her hammer still hefted in her hand, a clear warning to anyone who might think of getting in the way. The crowd parted reluctantly, but their stares lingered, full of bitterness and accusation and hatred. The murmurs of anger didn’t stop as they walked away, but Petronille’s presence kept them at bay.

In a small, short moment of self-reflection, Petronille realized- this reaction from the crowd was.. completely justified. She remembered just how angry she was- how ready she was to rip each of those stupid Saviors to shreds upon hearing about them dragging her sibling into danger.

But.. that anger.. that hatred's passed. Mostly. Now that Bonnie was safe, and now that she knew that out of all of them.. Mirabelle was the last person to blame for it.

The moment they cleared the town gates, Mirabelle’s composure shattered.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the ground, hanging her head and hugging her arms as sobs wracked her body. She tried to smother it, tried to stifle the tears, but it was impossible. The weight of their hatred, their disappointment- it was too much.

She failed them. Even if she managed to take down the King, alongside her party- she still failed.

"U-Uh!! Oh no-" Isabeau knelt beside her quickly, his arm gently wrapping around her shoulder. "Mira, you’re alright! Please don’t blame yourself- you did nothing wrong! Y-You know that if you’ll cry, I’ll cry, too.." he gave a sad smile, but Mirabelle could only cover her face in her hands.

Siffrin crouched beside her, his face full of concern as he gently tugged at her wrists, trying to pull her hands away from her tear-streaked face. "Mira," he said softly, "please- look at us. It’s okay. It’s not your fault."

Bonnie sat beside her, their own hands trembling slightly as they squeezed her waist, hugging her tightly.

Mirabelle only cried harder, her sobs coming in heaving, uncontrollable waves. "I-I’m sorry," she choked out between gasps. "I’m so sorry. I tried- I-I tried to help them. I didn’t mean t-to-"

Odile, who had been standing at a distance, her expression tense and annoyed from the crowd’s outburst, now stepped forward. Her gaze softened as she looked at Mirabelle, her usual sharpness replaced by a quiet empathy.

"Mirabelle," she said, her voice even but gentle. "It’s not your fault. You did everything you could. We know just how much you cared about every single citizen- you accepted your fate as a Savior for them, accepted all the struggles and problems and faced them head on. For your country, your home. You did nothing wrong, Mirabelle.”

Mirabelle shook her head, still buried in her hands. "But.. I was too slow," she whispered. "I-I didn’t stop it in time..! I didn’t think ahead- d-didn’t go to gather the orbs, when I left the House- m-months before the King took over! It’s because of me- if I went straight to Dormont, if I had those orbs by the d-day he attacked- the curse wouldn’t have spread as much as it did..!!"

"You did your best," Odile interrupted firmly. "You made the choices you thought were right. There was no way to save everyone. Casualties.. are expected. Unavoidable, in dire times of war, or crisis.”

At the side, Petronille scoffed loudly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Casualties? How dare you call them that? Those people have sealed the fates of their own family members. They’re dead now, because of them." Her voice was cold, her eyes glinting with bitterness.

Odile’s gaze snapped to Petronille, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Petronille’s lips curled into a grim smile. "The curse freezes them, right? Puts them in a motionless state, makes them cold to the touch. Those idiots thought they were dead. So they buried them. I was lucky enough to live in a village that took care of the frozen, rather than buried them, in hopes of a miracle, or a solution. If they buried me then, when they found me- I would’ve been long gone by now.”

A horrified silence fell over the group.

Mirabelle slowly allowed her hands to fall from her face, her eyes wide as she tried to breathe, still processing what she was hearing.

Odile’s blood ran cold as she stared down at the grass below her feet, before her eyes travelled across the countless, shallow graves, scattered all around the outskirts of the town.

"..they buried their loved ones alive.”

- - -

BOOM TRAUMA

yeah essentially what I told yall, the public thought that the curse was lethal- if the person wasn't freed from it asap to restore their heartbeat, they'd die within minutes. At least so was believed. So for those that managed to save themselves from the curse ( via special shields and shit ) and protect themselves from the constant onslaught of Sadnesses invading their villages, they thought that they were surrounded by corpses of their friends and family, so they gave them a burial, unknowingly sealing their fate. Petronille is one lucky mf

Chapter Text

- - -

The days had blurred together in their endless march from one battle to the next, but there was a subtle shift in Petronille’s attitude that even she had begun to notice. It wasn’t dramatic- she was still as sharp-tongued and quick-tempered as ever- but there was a growing sense of ease around the party, a warmth that was starting to slip past her usual walls.

The truth was undeniable. Out of everyone in the party, Petronille seemed to be warming up to Isabeau the fastest. She still snapped at him, still growled when he got too close or too cheery, but the edge had softened. She didn’t mind his company nearly as much as she used to. Of course she'd warm up to him first- it was difficult to hate someone like him- Isabeau, The Defender from Jouvente, with some really bad puns in his pockets, and a heart made of gold.

The party has just stopped at a small, humble village for the night, managing to make it before night time, quickly unpacking the few bags they carried and deciding to relax for the rest of the day. And after that one particularly exhausting day of travel, Isabeau finally brought it upon himself to approach Petronille, in a specific matter. He was smiling, as usual, but there was something more careful in his expression this time. Petronille was sitting nearby a fireplace, the warmth doing nothing to help with the deep ache in her bones, but it was.. comforting, she guessed. She wasn't planning on doing much today, she had been pretty worn out, after all, so she just settled on trying to fix her braid a little. But of course, the Big Puppy that Isabeau was, he had to disturb her. When she heard his familiar footsteps, she sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, not bothering to turn or look up, as he stood behind her.

“What.” she grumbled, feigning annoyance though her heart wasn’t quite in it. It was just exhaustion though, right?

“Hey, Firecracker! I have something for you,” Isabeau said, a hint of excitement in his voice as he came moved to be in her line of sight, causing Petronille to exhale, letting her hands drop from her braid.

She finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Something for me? Last time you said that, you gave me that ridiculous scarf that looked like it belonged to an old grandma. Even O Preacher Odile wouldn't be wearing it.” She knew that it was honestly the best choice she could've gotten in that small ass shop they went to when they dragged her clothes shopping, and he was most likely choosing function over look- but still. She couldn't help but jab at him for it.

Isabeau grinned, unbothered by her jab. “No scarf this time! Promise!” From behind his back, he pulled out something folded- a coat, dark and sturdy, neatly folded. He held it up for her to see, his grin widening as he offered it to her.

Petronille blinked, confused. She gave him a suspicious glance, eyes narrowing as she took the piece. She exhaled, realizing that it was some sort of a coat- something warm, likely meant to protect from cold really well. Of course, immediately, a wave of disappointment went through her, not because of the gift, per se- because it would be useless. She'd still be cold. Though, seeing just how hopeful Isabeau looked- ugh, she wasn't heartless. He did seem to be very excited to give it to her. So.. she found herself looking it over.

She unfolded it, taking a better look at it, holding it before her. She blinked, frowning as she looked it up and down. The coat looked... nice. Really nice. It was thick, made of some durable fabric that looked like it could withstand the worst of the elements. And it wasn’t just practical- it was well-crafted, with clean, careful stitching and a faint shimmer of something more. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where the hell did you get that?” she asked, eyeing the coat suspiciously. The village they were staying at seemed to be pretty humble, the folks here definitely weren't very bothered with being stylish or anything, and the coat definitely looked like it could've costed a fortune.

Isabeau scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I, uh... made it. For you.”

Petronille’s jaw nearly dropped. She allowed her hands to drop down back to her lap, holding the coat there, in order to be able to look at him. She stared at him, then at the coat, then back at him again. “You made this?” she repeated, incredulous. “With one arm?”

He chuckled awkwardly, shrugging. “Yeah, it took some time, but I figured it out. You know, picked up some tricks along the way. And everyone helped me a little, too! Anyway, I've been.. thinking. Y'know. About what you told us. About feeling cold.” He cleared his throat, looking a little nervous now. “So I thought, maybe if I could find a way to craft something that could help, it might... you know. Keep you warmer. Through special craft means, and stuff. Like Sif’s cloak, but different. Thermoregulating stuff.”

Petronille was speechless. Her mind raced to process what he was saying. He had made this? For her? The idea that this dumb, cheery Defender had spent time- likely a lot of time- crafting something specifically to help her was... well, it didn’t make sense. She had always pushed people away, made it clear she didn’t need their help, didn’t need anyone fussing over her. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her with a carefully made coat, just for her.

Isabeau, sensing her hesitation, gave a nervous smile. “Look, I know you said extra layers don’t really help with the kind of cold you’re dealing with, but I did some research, and I think this one might work. There’s crafting woven into the fabric, like Sif’s cloak- it’s supposed to regulate body temperature.” He smiled hopefully. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

Petronille slowly brought herself to look down at the coat again. It was heavier than she expected, but soft, the material warming to her touch almost immediately. For a long moment, she just stared at it, still trying to wrap her head around this whole interaction. She could barely form a coherent thought, much less figure out how to respond.

Hesitantly, she stood and shrugged it on, the fabric settling over her shoulders. Isabeau couldn't help but let out a small laugh, seeing as it was just a tad big for her- but in reality it just made it fit more comfortably.

"Ah, sorry if it's- y'know, if it doesn't fit perfectly. I knew asking to take your measurements would likely leave me armless, plus it would ruin the surprise! So I tried my best to speculate," He gave her a grin, both nervous and amused as he looked at her dumbfounded expression. She adjusted the fit, the coat- despite being a bit big- felt very comfortable. And within seconds, she felt it- a subtle shift in the temperature inside the coat. The dull, bone-deep ache she had grown so accustomed to began to ease, just slightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt... warm.

Her eyes widened, and she looked down at the coat in disbelief, her breath catching in her throat. It worked. It actually worked.

Isabeau stood there, watching her expectantly, his grin hesitant but hopeful. “So... does it help? Do you like it?”

Petronille opened her mouth to say something, anything, but for once, the words didn’t come. She was at a complete loss, her usual sharp retorts failing her. Instead, she just stood there like a dumbass, staring either at him or at the coat, feeling the warmth spread through her like a foreign sensation. It wasn’t much, just a subtle difference, but it was more than she’d felt in months. Her throat tightened, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she thought she might cry.

Isabeau, still waiting, looked a little more nervous now. “Uh... Petronille? You okay? Did it.. did it help..? Should I be worried?”

She gulped, forcing herself to look up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “..I… yeah. I. I like it,” she admitted, her words awkward and stiff, but genuine. “..I’ll keep it.”

For a second, Isabeau seemed stunned, but then his face lit up with a wide, boyish grin, and he pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! I knew it!” He beamed at her, looking more excited than she’d ever seen him. “I’m so glad it worked! I wasn’t sure, but- yes! Glad you like it, Nille!"

Petronille watched him, still stunned, her hands gripping the edges of the coat as if it might slip away at any moment. She felt warmth, but it wasn’t just from the coat- it was from him. From the fact that he’d cared enough to make something for her, to help her in a way no one else had even thought to. The weight of that realization was overwhelming.

Isabeau, oblivious to the emotional whirlwind in her chest, was still grinning like an idiot. “I’m just happy the crafting worked,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if it’d be enough, but I guess it’s better than nothing, huh?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Petronille felt the urge to cry- not from despair or frustration or even anger, but from something softer, something she didn’t quite know how to deal with. She quickly swallowed the lump in her throat, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to maintain her composure.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her voice gruff. “Better than nothing.”

Isabeau gave her a warm, knowing smile, as if he understood more than he was letting on. But he didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, radiating that same, unbreakable kindness, like the sun on a cold winter day.

Petronille didn’t know how to thank him, didn’t know how to be grateful without feeling like she was letting those people in way too much than she was comfortable with. But Isabeau.. didn't seem to need thanks. He just seemed happy to have helped, and that, more than anything, made her feel something crack in her chest.

And Petronille, always so quick to snap, to yell, seemingly so distrusting, and sometimes even hateful towards others- began to find it difficult to hate.

- - -

WOOOO WHOLESOME DUO!!! I wanna name them Rock duo. cuz of their craft type. Anyone else have any other suggestions??? I just really love their duo I wanna name it

Chapter Text

- - -

The inn room was quiet, the faint crackle of a dying candlelight the only sound breaking the stillness. Isabeau had been unusually quiet that evening, his usually cheerful demeanor noticeably subdued. He had been mulling over something for a while now, and the weight of it pressed down on him more than he would have liked to admit.

Siffrin, of course, realized.

He had been nervous to speak up at first- wondering if perhaps Isabeau would prefer to be left alone- it was incredibly rare for him to get this.. this quiet. However, as hours passed in that awful, suffocating silence, Siffrin found himself being unable to ignore it anymore. He gripped onto his shirt nervously, as he finally found it in himself to ask. And as he raised his head and opened his mouth, Isabeau seemed to mirror the movement at the same time.

“Isa-?”

“Sif-?”

The two paused, staring at each other, before Isabeau gave a sudden, clearly anxious laugh.

“Oh, sorry!! What is it?” He asked, causing Siffrin to flinch and holds his hands up, just as nervously.

“No, no! You go first-! Honestly, i just-” Seeing the Fighter giving him an encouraging smile, raising his brows, Siffrin sighed, and allowed his hands to drop to his sides.

“..just.. wanted to make sure you’re feeling okay. You seemed to have a lot on your mind for a while, so..” he looked to the side, before back at the taller, frowning softly.

“..are you.. okay?” Isabeau stared at him for several long seconds, unmoving, the smile slowly fading from his face. He averted his gaze, and oh- Siffrin knew that something was going on. Eventually, Isabeau spoke again, but still refusing to meet the Traveler’s eye.

"Sif," Isabeau started, his voice light but tentative, his fingers nervously tapping his knee. "I think.. we really should talk about us, you know?"

Siffrin froze on the spot, the very second his brain caught up with the words. His heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickened anxiously as he stood there.

His immediate thought was that this was it- the conversation that would end everything before it even began. He braced himself, his thoughts spiraling into worst-case scenarios before he could stop them, his eye wide as he stared at the man before him, before sliding down at the floor.

He’s going to tell me how disgusting I am. He’s going to leave me, tell me he’s sick of me, tell me I’m not worth his time, tell me he’s-

Before Siffrin could get lost in his thoughts entirely, he felt a warm hand gently land on his shoulder. He snapped back to reality, flinching, blinking rapidly as he looked up at Isabeau’s concerned face. When had he got up from the chair?

"Hey, no- no freaking out, okay?" Isabeau smiled a little nervously, though it was softer than his usual bright grin. "I can practically hear you spiralling, Sif. I just.. I just want to talk. That’s all. Can we.. talk?"

Siffrin’s bottom lip trembled, his mind still struggling to latch onto Isabeau’s words. But the warmth in his gaze, the sincerity, slowly began to seep in, soothe his nerves if only a little. He nodded slowly, though his hands fumbled restlessly on his sides, fingers twisting together in knots.

Five minutes later, they were sitting on the bed, facing each other, the weight of the conversation pressing down on both of them. Isabeau was visibly nervous, his usual carefree persona replaced with something more serious, more hesitant. Siffrin stared at him, wide eyed and as stiff as a plank. He was not good with conversations like those. They stressed him out so much. Though, he tried his best to silence his thoughts, to focus on thr task at hand. Talk. talk about.. them.

"So.." Isabeau began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "I know I kinda sprung my feelings on you a while ago- my whole.. confession thing. I just- I’ve been thinking a lot, and, I guess.. I just want to know where we stand, you know? Like, how you feel? Have you had time to.. um.. make up your mind..?" He was rambling now, his words tumbling out in a flustered mess, as he moved his hand up nervously.

"I-I mean, no pressure! Seriously, no pressure! I don’t want to force you into anything, and I know you might not be ready for dating or, or-"

Siffrin barely heard him. His mind was stuck on one word. Dating.

He thought about it- really thought about it. The memory of that conversation on the roof of Dormont’s House would haunt him every once in a while, and even when Siffrin tried to think about it to figure things out- he couldn’t help but shrink in on himself, spiral, and eventually his brain would simply shut the thought off altogether.

He loved Isabeau. He was sure of it. But there was something gnawing at the back of his mind, something that made his chest tighten and his stomach churn with doubt.

I can’t give him what he wants, Siffrin thought, his heart sinking as he glanced down at his hands.

Isabeau was still talking, still nervously rambling, but Siffrin couldn’t hear him anymore. His thoughts were louder, drowning out everything else.

He deserves someone better. Someone who can give him what he wants. Someone normal. Not someone who’s broken, who’s.. He bit his lip, trembling.

Finally, he managed to break through Isabeau’s flustered rambling with a soft, anxious little voice.

"I’m sorry," Siffrin whispered, his throat tightening as he struggled to find the right words. "I don’t think I have what you’d expect from me."

Isabeau stopped mid-sentence, blinking at Siffrin in confusion. "..What do you mean?"

Siffrin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he spoke. "I’d love to date you, Isa. You’re.. you’re the kindest, funniest, the most handsome person I’ve ever met. You have a heart of gold. I’ve never known anyone so genuinely caring, and selfless like you- but.. I feel like you’d be happier with someone.. normal. S-Someone who doesn’t have the things I do. Someone who’s not forgetful, or emotionally immature, or.." He trailed off, biting his lip as the memories flooded back.

..or someone who hasn’t sold his body, like a mere product to be used and discarded.

The things he had done. The things he had forced himself to do.

Sensing Isabeau’s eyes on him, he shifted anxiously. He hesitated for a moment, then motioned vaguely toward his body, his face contorting in shame. "I can’t give you what you want. I’m.. I’m not even.. desirable. I haven’t been for a long time."

Isabeau’s expression changed slowly, all shade draining from his face as he processed Siffrin’s words. His brow furrowed in confusion, concern.

"Sif.. what.. what are you talking about? I don’t-"

Siffrin’s lip trembled, and he looked away, unable to meet Isabeau’s eyes. "I’m not.. I’m not a virgin anymore, Isa.” He whispered, shoulders as tense as they can get, as he finally said it, finally revealed it- how gross he is. Awful. Undeserving someone as good as Isabeau- undeserving of his love.

” I.. when I was younger, after I.. after I got to Vaugarde.. I had to.. I sold myself. For money. To survive. M-Many times. I-I’m sorry. I had to. I.. I’m not.. I’m not what you think I am." His voice was barely a whisper by the end, filled with a quiet, heartbreaking shame.

Isabeau stared at him, frozen. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what Siffrin had just said.

His chest tightened painfully as the realization hit him, and he felt his throat constrict with emotion.

"Sif.." Isabeau’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he reached out, gently taking one of Siffrin’s hands in his. "Siffrin, I.." He shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I would never- I’m not.. I don’t want to date you for.. for sex!" He squeezed Siffrin’s hand tightly, his eyes wide and earnest.

"That’s not- that’s not what I care about. I don’t care about that at all..! All I care about is you!"

Siffrin’s breath hitched, his eye widening in shock as he looked up at Isabeau, barely able to process what he was hearing.

"I don’t care if you’re not a virgin, or if you don’t want to.. you know.." Isabeau’s face flushed slightly, but he pushed through it, his voice full of conviction.

"All I want is for you to be happy, Sif. I want to hold hands, and hug, and kiss, and make you laugh, and go on stupid dates, and give you snacks, and make you clothes, make you happy- and just be with you. That’s all I want. I don’t care about anything else. I care about you."

For a moment, Siffrin thought he might not be hearing it well. Surely, this is a dream, right? He had thought that this is the end- this is where Isabeau calls him out on all of his shortcomings and tells him off- not.. not this..

Siffrin stared at him, his throat tightening as tears welled up in his eye.

"But.. but I thought.. relationships are supposed to.." He found himself tangled in his own words, his voice cracking with emotion. "Aren’t they supposed to have.. you know, that?"

Isabeau shook his head frantically. "Not if you don’t want them to, Sif! What matters is what makes us happy, together. That’s all that matters to me. I want you to feel safe, and loved, and-" He hesitated for a moment, his voice softening as he looked into Siffrin’s eye. "I want to show you what a real, happy relationship is like. What dating is like, to me. Built on real feelings. On trust, and kindness, and love."

Siffrin’s lip quivered, and he looked away, his voice barely a whisper. "I.. I’d be disgusted with myself. If I was on your place. I sold myself, Isa. I did it for money. How could you want someone like me?"

Isabeau’s heart clenched, and he could feel tears stinging the corners of his own eyes as he reached up, cupping Siffrin’s face gently in his hand.

"Sif.." His voice trembled with emotion. "You didn’t deserve that. None of that was your fault. And I.. I don’t care what you’ve done. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you for who you are, right now. And I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. Just like you make me happy every day!”

Siffrin recoiled slightly, his shame overwhelming him, but Isabeau pulled him into a tight, protective hug, refusing to let him pull away.

"I’m so sorry," Isabeau whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so, so sorry.. you had to go through that.. I-I wish I could have been there for you. I wish I could have protected you." He held Siffrin tighter, his hand gently running through his hair, trying to soothe him.

"But I’m here now. And I love you, no matter what. I just want you to feel loved. That’s all." He bit his lip, trying to hold it in- he had to be strong now, for Sif! If he’ll start crying, he won’t be able to put into words everything he wants to say. And so, with a tight throat, Isabeau smiled softly, as he held the other tighter.

“So.. will you let me love you, Sif..?”

Siffrin clung to Isabeau’s shirt, his body trembling. Despite trying his best to hold it in, he couldn’t, couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He wasn’t as good at keeping emotions at bay as he was before the loops. He couldn’t wrap his head around it- couldn’t believe that someone like Isabeau could love someone as broken as him. But the warmth of Isabeau’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart, the sincerity in his voice.. it was real. It was all real.

He let himself cry.

He buried his face in Isabeau’s shirt and held onto him, desperately. Truly, whatever had he done to deserve someone like him? All of that effort, all of that suffering, all of that fear during the loops- he suddenly realised that it was all worth it. As much as returning to the loop cycle would be one of the last things he’d ever want to go through- losing his family was the last thing on the list, undoubtedly.

So, he held onto Isabeau, and cried and cried and cried, until he couldn’t anymore. Isabeau held him through it, never speaking, never letting go, simply running his hand through his hair and letting them simply.. exist in each other’s presence.

Eventually, Siffrin’s sobs quieted, and he pulled back slightly, his eye red and swollen from crying. He looked up at Isabeau, his voice soft and trembling.

"M-Meeting you.. and the others.. it was the best thing that ever happened to me, Isa. I wouldn’t trade it for anything." Despite his state, he said it with such conviction, that it felt like the most genuine truth in the world.

Isabeau smiled softly, brushing a tear away from Siffrin’s cheek. “I feel the same way," he said, his voice full of warmth and love. "I love you, Sif. More than you’ll ever know. So please.. let me show you- through my own ways.” His own ways. Oh, how badly Siffrin wanted that- how much he’d love to see it. Feel it. The hand holding, the kissing, the hugs, the time spent together.. he feels like he is in a dream. He might still be- or maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, or it’s the Universe’s another cruel joke. It’s another, merciless jab at him, and he would wake up in a second, with his Housemaiden hovering above him, to wake him up from the restless little nap in the meadow.

Siffrin choked on a soft sob, but he managed to whisper back, "..okay," he gave a weak smile, leaning into the hand that held his cheek with so much care, that he thought that he might die with how cherished it made him feel.

“..okay?” Isabeau smiled back softly, his eyes so soft as he looked down at the Traveler. Siffrin gave a wet laugh, paired with a shaky nod. “..okay.” What else was there to say? And yet, oddly enough, that single, short word, seemed to mean more than a thousand words. He couldn’t stop himself from tearing up again, but his heart felt.. light.

“..I-I love you too, Isa..”

And with that, Isabeau grinned, eyes brightening as he pulled Siffrin close again, holding him tight as he gently ran his hand through his hair, earning a soft little pleased hum from the shorter. He thought he felt Isa stiffen under him, and as he glanced up, he noticed that the man’s cheeks seemed.. darker than usual.

“..cat Sif..” He said with a barely contained grin, causing Siffrin to pout softly as he let out a whine, hiding his face against Isa’s chest.

“..noooo.. not the cat Sif..” He grumbled softly as Isabeau let out a soft laugh, though the Traveler’s complaints and embarrassment were almost immediately smoothed out by more headpats. The two of them sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of their love wash over them, soothing the pain and fear that had weighed on them for so long.

And Siffrin felt safe. He felt loved. He felt understood. He felt cherished. And he knew, deep down, that with Isabeau by his side, he could finally begin to heal.

- - -

FLASHES YOU WITH GAY BEAM!!!!

I felt like a chapter like that was in order. Reminder it’s been lowkey like at least 2-3 months since Siffrin escaped the loops and they’re talking about their feelings just now

Also no art today uwuwuwwuwuu

Chapter Text

- - -

The next day had a different kind of tension hanging in the air. Isabeau and Siffrin were sitting across from each other again, but this time, the atmosphere wasn’t heavy with deep confessions or heart-wrenching revelations. Instead, it was.. lighter. An odd kind of nervousness that felt both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Isabeau, ever the expressive one, was fidgeting on his side of the bed, his knee bouncing as he looked at Siffrin with a mixture of excitement and bashfulness. Siffrin, on the other hand, was stiff, his back impossibly straight as he sat with his hands in his lap, trying to seem more composed than he actually was. He wasn’t fooling anyone- least of all Isabeau.

This wasn’t a conversation about trauma or revelations from the past. This was something they had been meaning to get around to ever since that day in Dormont, when Isabeau had suggested they should.. “practice.”

And now.. well, here they were. Sitting on the bed, trying to figure out how to start.

It was Isabeau who spoke first, breaking the silence with that sweet, encouraging tone of his. “Siiiif. You.. you good? You ready..?” His voice was soft, careful, as if he was handling something precious. His bright eyes were focused on Siffrin, full of warmth.

Siffrin nodded, though it was clear he wasn’t quite sure how to actually start. He exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, and then, with a nervous determination, he moved up onto his knees and leaned in. His hands landed on Isabeau’s shoulders, unsure of where to go, and he was just about to lean closer when Isabeau’s expression shifted. His eyes softened, but there was a serious edge to them, a sincerity that made Siffrin’s nerves spark all over again.

That seriousness- while encouraging- did nothing to soothe Siffrin’s nerves. His anxiety flared up, and despite his best efforts, he froze. He stayed frozen for several seconds, before he hung his head slightly, mumbling something under his breath that Isabeau couldn’t quite catch.

It still made Isabeau laugh softly, the sound gentle and full of affection. He reached out, his hand resting on Siffrin’s shoulder as he tried to pull himself together. “Sorry, sorry,” Isabeau chuckled, his laughter bubbling out despite his best efforts to keep it in. “You’re just.. You’re so cute when you’re shy, Sif!”

Siffrin’s face darkened immediately, a pout forming on his lips as he looked up at Isabeau with an incredulous expression. “..I’m not cute,” he muttered, grumbling under his breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“You are!” Isabeau insisted, beaming brightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His voice was full of that infectious joy that always seemed to seep into his words, no matter the situation.

Siffrin huffed, his shoulders tensing as he looked away. “I.. I can’t do this. I’m probably terrible at it anyway. I’ve never really.. kissed anyone before,” he admitted quietly, his voice filled with frustration.

He didn’t want to count that one time he did.

Isabeau’s smile softened, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter, more intimate. He thought for a moment before hesitantly speaking up. “Do you remember.. what even got us here, practising like this?” he asked, his voice gentle, though there was a nervousness in his tone.

Siffrin frowned, unsure where Isabeau was going with this. However, he had a pretty good idea of what the other meant, and it terrified him.

Isabeau shifted slightly, his fingers fidgeting in his lap as he glanced away for a moment before returning his gaze to Siffrin. “You told me, when I confessed, back at Dormont.. That during one of your loops.. you kissed me,” he said, his voice careful, as if he didn’t want to tread too far into sensitive territory. “You said you were frustrated because.. well, because I avoided touching you. I thought I was respecting your boundaries, but you wanted to be close, and I just.. didn’t get it.”

Siffrin’s breath hitched, and he visibly recoiled, his body curling in on itself in shame. He remembered. He remembered the frustration, the anger, the loneliness. The way he had snapped and kissed Isabeau, desperate for something- anything to break the cycle of endless waiting, endless longing. And he remembered Isabeau pushing him away, the crushing rejection that followed.

Isabeau, noticing Siffrin’s reaction, quickly reached out and cupped his cheek, pulling him back gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against Siffrin’s skin. “I didn’t.. I didn’t mean to push you away like that, Sif. I’m sure I didn’t. Because I wouldn’t want to push you away! Even if you’d be the worst kisser on Earth- which I am sure you’re not. I was just surprised.”

Siffrin refused to look at him. He did speak a moment later, his tone quiet, and bitter. “..it still doesn’t make it right. I.. I forced myself onto you, Isa.” He whispered, to which Isabeau only gave him a soft smile in return, tilting his head almost playfully. “..well.. would you like to.. make it right..? Recreate that?”

Siffrin looked up at him, his eye wide and filled with uncertainty. Recreate? Recreate what? The kiss..? Why.. why would Isabeau want something like that? He was sure that anyone forcing a kiss would be extremely unpleasant..! Then again, seeing the soft, trusting eyes of his partner, Siffrin couldn't help but close his mouth, before he could protect. He stared at the taller for a couple of seconds, before speaking, almost fearfully. “Would you.. would you really like that?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “To.. recreate that?”

Isabeau flushed brightly, his face heating up as he glanced away, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. “I-I mean.. yeah,” he stammered, his voice a little higher than usual. “I.. I would really like that.” He added a bit quieter.

Siffrin stared at him for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. The memories of that loop, of that kiss, flashed through his mind- memories that were both painful and frustrating.

Could he do it? Could he bear to do it again? After everything that had happened? After the talk they had yesterday? What if he ruins it? What if Isabeau sees him for who, for what he truly is?

Siffrin swallowed hard, his throat tightening.

He wanted to kiss. He really wanted to feel how it is- but he knew that in order for it to happen.. the first wall needs to be broken down first. The first kiss needs to happen. And then.. it'll become easier, as time goes on, hopefully becoming a gesture Siffrin can be comfortable with, to both give and receive. He.. really likes the thought of kissing Isabeau. But..

“..i’m scared.” Siffrin admitted eventually, his voice hushed, as he looked away again, shamefully.

Isabeau’s expression softened, and he leaned in closer, his hand still resting gently on Siffrin’s cheek. “You don’t have to be scared,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and reassurance. “I won’t push you away, Sif. I promise.” He said, before suddenly sputtering, and moving a hand up in the air.

“I-I mean- you totally don’t have to!! I get that.. reliving something like that must be.. a-awful- it was a negative experience for you, after all! P-Perfectly understandable!! I just thought that, UH- fixing this.. situation- making it better- could help?? Sorry, oh man I could’ve worded that a lot better-” He fussed, he always worried, always made sure Siffrin was okay. And what did Siffrin do? He forced himself onto him.

Though.. a part of him wanted to.. fix it. He wanted to make it better, make it right. He wanted to, so, so badly- and with Isabeau’s consent now.. he could make it right.. couldn’t he..?

Siffrin bit his lip, his heart still racing as he tried to calm himself. He closed his eye, trying to fish for that memory- one of those memories hidden away in the back of his head- desperate to push it back, and at the same time, it wasn’t forgettable. He knew that this memory would stay with him until the end. And he was okay with that, that’s what he deserves.

And.. and yet..

“We were.. s-standing by the Favor Tree,” he said quietly, recalling the details of that loop, effectively rendering Isabeau completely silent as his mouth closed with a soft clink, listening carefully. “You did.. that thing, with your hand. And it made me.. frustrated.”

Isabeau tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “..What thing?”

Siffrin hesitated for a moment. He pictured it, that motion- that movement that infuriated him so much, that made him want to claw at his hand and cry and sob and beg him to bring it back. Call him a coward, and beg him to stay, grab his hand and put it back where it belongs- on him him him-

He cuts that thought process.

As selfish and greedy and disgusting as always, Stardust.

“You.. you laughed at something I said. A joke. And then you.. you did that hand movement, like you were going to put your hand on my shoulder, but you stopped halfway through.”

Isabeau’s eyes widened slightly as he listened, and then, with a curious expression, he raised his hand and mimicked the movement. “Like this?”

It was perfect. Too perfect.

It struck Siffrin completely frozen.

For a brief, agonising moment, Siffrin felt like he was back in that loop, reliving that moment all over again. The frustration, the longing, the hopelessness- it all came flooding back, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed onto Isabeau’s collar with more force than he intended, pulling him down sharply. He barely caught the sound of Isabeau yelping in surprise at how sudden it was, but he definitely did pay attention to just how dark his face had gotten right after- after their lips crashed together in a heated, almost brutal kiss.

Their lips crashed together, the kiss rough and desperate, full of the raw emotion that had been building up inside Siffrin for so long. It was messy, uncoordinated, and filled with an intensity that startled Isabeau at first, and left him breathless. But as quickly as the shock hit him, he relaxed into it, his arm wrapping gently around Siffrin’s waist, pulling him closer, thumb rubbing circles into his skin, hoping to comfort him, to encourage him.

For Siffrin, the kiss felt like a release- like he had been holding his breath for an eternity, and finally, finally, he could let it out. The warmth of Isabeau’s lips against his own, the steady presence of his hand on his waist, the feeling of being grounded in this moment, accepted accepted accepted- it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

When they finally pulled apart, Siffrin’s breath was shaky, his hands still clutching Isabeau’s collar as if he was afraid to let go. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest.

It took them a few moments to catch their breath, never daring to break eye contact as Siffrin tried to wrap his head around the situation.

The frustration was gone. The guilt remained, but it felt.. soothed, if just a bit. He felt lighter.

However, as he finally forced himself to look back up at Isabeau, fearful of his expression- he suddenly paused, and blinked up at him. Isabeau.. was completely frozen. Eyes blown wide and staring ahead, shoulders tense and face as dark as it can get. For a moment, Siffrin was worried that the other might faint, reaching out in a bit of a panic as he gripped his shoulders, trying to steady him in case he would.

"..I..Isa-??" He breathed, shame quickly filling his form as he looked down. Stars, how humiliating- was he really that bad at it? Well, he knew that much already- he'd be surprised if he was any good at it- but then again.. he felt like he might've ruined the moment. Maybe they shouldn't try to recreate that scene, give up on trying to fix it, fix him- and let Isabeau take the lead instead.

Does Isa know how disgustingly selfish he is already? Was this enough to prove it to him?

However, before the Traveler's thoughts could plummet into a darker void, he suddenly felt a hand cupping his cheek, urging his face to tilt up. Siffrin let out a breath, looking up at Isabeau as he realized that the man was still processing it. Siffrin let out an embarrassed sound, shrinking in on himself slightly.

"..S-Sorry Isa-" He began, but was suddenly cut off with a sudden shout, that literally almost had his soul leaving his body.

"..That was SICK!!!" Siffrin jumped, eye wide as he looked at the Fighter, which grinned so brightly, pumping his fist in the air. He suddenly seemed so full of genuine, almost childish joy, as he looked down at the shorter- like he had been waiting for this for ages, and- Siffrin.. could definitely relate.

Then again, he couldn't help but sputter softly, his grip tightening slightly on the fabric of Isabeau's sleeves as he tried to find his voice. "..i..it wasn't.. bad..?" He asked in a tone way too high for his liking, but Isabeau only laughed, cupping his cheek once more.

"Oh, Sif!! I'm so happy we did that!! You have no idea, It feels like.. I've waited my entire life for this!!" And Siffrin stared, and he couldn't wrap his head around it, not quite. He only stared into those bright, joyful eyes, and almost that sight alone was enough to have him tear up- but he didn't. No. Not one bit. That would totally ruin the mood.

And as he continued to watch Isabeau's ridiculously endearing and infectious little jittering, he couldn’t help it- he laughed. It was a soft, breathy laugh, sounding a bit like a relieved sob- but it was genuine, and the tension that had been building inside him for so long began to unravel. He rested his forehead against Isabeau’s shoulder, still laughing softly as he held onto his arm, his frame trembling with the leftover anxiety that was slowly melting away.

Isabeau beamed, his heart swelling with happiness as he wrapped his arm around Siffrin, holding him close, lowering his tone a little bit. "You did great, Sif," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "Seriously, that was amazing. I’m so proud of you!"

Siffrin’s chest tightened at the words, and he felt.. good. He felt safe. He felt loved.

And in that moment, as they sat together, their hearts still racing, Siffrin knew that this- this right here- was exactly where he wanted to be.

- - -

ISAFRIN BOMB

Anyways the drawing is completely unrelated but I finally took it upon myself to draw porn for the first time in my life, and honestly I think it doesn't look THAT bad for a first try. Sooo yea, have this pls *throws this at you*

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin’s eyes darted around the city, heart still racing from the exhilaration of exploring this massive place, far larger than any they had visited after leaving Dormont. So, naturally, to him- it felt like a lifetime ago since he's been in such a crowded place. It felt like a maze of towering buildings and bustling streets. The energy was electric, and his party was scattered around, checking out the different stalls, performers, and vendors. Siffrin found himself momentarily mesmerized by a showcase- something about stars, astronomy, and charts of constellations. Knowing just how rare such knowledge was around Vaugarde- or any other place outside of his homeland- he was immediately drawn to it. The lights glittered like fragments of the sky brought down to Earth, and for a moment, it took his breath away, reminded him of the things the Universe above wanted him to forget forever.

But, the almost serene, melancholic moment was cut short, when he turned around, his breath hitching in a different way.

Where he was sure his family had been standing just a minute ago- they weren’t there.

He blinked, scanning the crowd, his heartbeat picking up a little bit after not being able to spot them at all. “It’s fine,” he told himself, trying to stay calm. They’re probably just around the next stall. He could've swore the next one had been a food vendor, so he was sure that Bonnie and Isabeau would be definitely drawn to it.

However, he quickly realized, that they weren't there either. None of his family members were around. Siffrin's brows pinched together, anxiety beginning to gnaw at him, as he rubbed his arm, feeling uncomfortably warm all of the sudden, even with his cloak still on. Where were they?

Trying to not let his mind spiral into dangerous territories, he forced himself to move, and start looking for the others, likely somewhere in the crowd.

After a few minutes, the panic that gnawed at him slowly took root. His chest tightened. Where had they gone? He retraced his steps, weaving through the thick crowd, but all he saw were unfamiliar faces. Taller faces. Everyone towered over him, in a seemingly endless, terrifying sea of strangers. He was small, too small to see over the heads of people moving around him like waves, pushing him along with the tide.

His breaths grew shallow. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. It was just a big city, and they would turn up soon. They always did.

They wouldn't leave him here. Right?

His feet kept moving. Faster and faster, his eyes desperately flicking through the blur of faces. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. “Isa? Odile?” He tried calling, but the noise of the city swallowed his voice. His throat felt tight, like it was closing up. “Mira?” His voice cracked as the panic set in further. "..Bonnie? Petronille!?" They wouldn’t leave him. They wouldn’t, they wouldn't!

He shoved his way through the crowd, his hands trembling as he pushed past shoulders and arms that felt like walls, barriers that were trapping him. He could feel the edges of his vision narrowing, his chest heaving with every desperate breath.

“Where are you?” he whispered, feeling the hot sting of tears forming. “Where did you go?”

Suddenly, his legs gave way beneath him. He tripped, hitting the ground hard, causing him to let out a harsh, pained gasp, frozen for a few seconds where he lay. The world spun as he scrambled to sit, looking around in panic, but he couldn’t breathe. Everything was closing in on him, the weight of the crowd, the noise, the endless sea of strangers moving like giants above him.

He covered himself from constant onslaught of bodies passing by, sometimes tripping over him in ways that left him trembling. He managed to scoot towards a wall of a nearby building, curling up and clutching his knees to his chest. He couldn't breathe. His hands shook violently as he buried his face in his arms, trying to force air into his lungs.

He couldn’t see them. He couldn’t find them.

The fear clawed at his chest. He didn’t want to be alone! He didn’t want to be abandoned..!

They promised! They promised they wouldn't leave him, they PROMISED..!!

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and that touch- the unexpected pressure- made him flinch, jumping almost a foot in the air. His mind screamed that he was trapped, that someone was pinning him down, and he struggled, he had to get up and look for them-! He tried to pull away, his breathing ragged, but then, he heard it.

“Siffrin.”

The voice. That familiar voice. He looked up, gasping, and there she was- crouched before him, her expression as stoic as always, but beneath that indifference, there was concern in her sharp eyes. It was her- he knew it was her, even though it took his brain a little longer to catch up than usual. The same glasses, the same lightless hair pulled into a bun, the same cloak, the same face. It was her.

Siffrin blinked at the woman before him, the world still spinning, and before he could stop himself, his breath hitched, and tears welled up in his eyes. His shoulders shook. It was her.

Odile’s frown deepened. “Siffrin, what happened? What’s wrong?” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge of worry beneath her usual coolness. She wasn’t used to seeing Siffrin like this. This vulnerable, this wide open- even after everything that happened in Dormont. They all knew that often the Traveler would rather die than share how he feels- but it seems like whatever happened had pushed him to the edge so much, that he couldn't keep it hidden within himself. And that concerned her.

Siffrin couldn’t form words. He just stared up at her, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His vision blurred, and all he could do was cling to the sleeves of her coat, his fingers digging in as if she were the only solid thing in the chaos.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling with desperation. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

"Leave?" Odile’s frown deepened as she stared down at the younger, realization flashing in her eyes. For all the times she’d seen Siffrin push through tough battles and face dangers, she’d forgotten how deep his fear of abandonment went. How much it haunted him. Gems, he went as far as to trap himself in a time loop in an attempt to keep them with him. It was easy to forget it happened, especially when it had happened months ago, and when they were all free now, happy, traveling together. Seemingly enjoying their perfect ending. However, seeing it now- all this fear, all this trauma, raw and in front of her, stirred something protective inside her.

After a beat of silence, Odile exhaled softly. “Siffrin, breathe. We did not leave you. We will not leave you. We got separated in a crowd, that’s all. I am here, now.”

But her words didn’t seem to reach him. His grip on her sleeves tightened, and his head dropped, almost in fear, as he trembled. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice choking on the words. “I’m being ridiculous- I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t-”

Odile’s eyes softened, her usual edge melting just slightly. “Stop apologizing,” she muttered, though there was no bite to it. “You did nothing wrong. Focus on breathing, Siffrin.”

There was an awkward pause as she seemed to debate what to do next. Her brows pinched together as she watched the other, trying to breathe, trying to find his voice, gripping onto her so desperately. For the first time in a long time, she felt at a loss- no words to say. What can she say, to possibly ease up such a panic, such intense fear gnawing at him? She was.. never good at feeling’s talk- it’s Mirabelle’s and Isabeau’s forte. However to someone who always relies on knowledge, and quick thinking- this wasn’t anything she could solve with cold calculation. Siffrin didn’t need that right now.

Then what did he need?

Of course, she knew what Siffrin needs- she’d seen it plenty of times with the others. Oh, how touchy had he became out of a sudden- after everything, after they had asked him to be more honest with them.

And what speaks louder than words?

Actions. She knows it- she’s seen it.

And as she looks down at the trembling thing before her, she knows what to do. With a soft sigh, she reached out, slowly moving an arm around the Traveler’s back and pulling him closer, letting herself be led by instinct than anything. She wasn’t fond of physical contact- everyone knew that- but this.. this felt right. And she couldn’t stand seeing Siffrin like this. Not after everything.

Siffrin gasped softly at the touch, and for a moment, he thought about pulling away. She hates touch- she hates hugs! He knew it, everyone knew it- so why was she doing this? He didn’t want to force her into something she hated, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Not yet. The warmth of her presence, the solidness of her arm around him, was the only thing keeping him grounded. He shakily held onto the Researcher, subconsciously leaning into her as he tried to somehow steady his breathing- make that terrifying fear clenching his chest leave.

Odile shifted a bit, clearly not used to comforting anyone like this. She rested one hand on the top of his head in the oh-so familiar gesture, which felt more natural to her, while the other around his back. And though it felt awkward at first, she slowly settled into the touch, holding him as he trembled against her. Siffrin’s breath stuttered, and he couldn’t help himself but lean into the hand in his hair.

Odile huffed softly, taking notice of the movement. “You really do act like a cat sometimes.” she muttered, a bit of her usual snarkiness sneaking it’s way into the situation, but her tone was gentler than usual.

Siffrin let out a shaky breath, his chin tucked into the collar of his cloak as he hid his face against her shoulder. Despite the tears, despite the panic that still echoed faintly in his chest, he couldn’t help the breathy, wet laugh that escaped him, perhaps trying to find something else to focus on.

“..I’m not..” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. This was the second time someone brought up the catboy joke recently- that was not a good sign.

Odile raised an eyebrow, her lips quaking into a faint smirk. “Oh, you definitely do. Just look at you.” She needn’t comment further, because both of them knew she was right. Just look at him. Leaning into the hug like a needy cat.

Siffrin laughed again, a little stronger this time, the sound muffled against her coat. It was small, but it was a start. And as minutes passed, he found himself calming down fully- he knew, freaking out like that was irrational. He knew it- he just.. couldn't help it. But now that he knew- he felt Odile being right there- that fear eased up significantly.

Odile, finally let out a soft exhale, her hand moving from his head to give a gentle, almost teasing pat. “There you go. Feeling better?" She asked, unable to hide a small smirk as she looked down and saw Siffrin give a bit of a shameful, flustered nod. "Good. Now, let’s find the others. I promise we will find them in no time.”

Siffrin nodded again slowly, reluctantly pulling back, though his grip on her sleeve did not leave. When the two of them got up, the Researcher did not comment on it, and simply gave him a knowing side glance. She then turned to enter the crowd again, the overwhelming sense of dread lessening, replaced by something calmer, something warmer. Siffrin smiled shakily, his grip tightening on her sleeve, as to not get separated in the crowd.

Odile supposed that it was her turn to take on the leader role, if only for a little bit.

- - -

mommy? sorry.
mommy? sorry.
mommy? sorry.

MOMMY ODILE BEING THE MOM OF THE GROUP WOOOO

Chapter Text

- - -

The inn was warm, and the soft crackle of the fireplace paired with the gentle murmurs of travelers added to the comfort that blanketed the room. Mirabelle sipped her tea quietly, her hands wrapped around the mug for warmth as her friends chatted and relaxed nearby. It had been a long journey, and they were all grateful for a break from the road. Even Odile, usually reserved and ever-watchful, had allowed herself to sit back with a rare look of ease. There was a faint smile on her face, as she read her book, the chatter of the rest of the party providing a pleasant ambience.

But just as the group had begun to settle into the quiet evening, a commotion broke out by the inn’s entrance- the next room. The front door banged open with a suddenness that startled everyone in the room, Mirabelle letting out a harsh yelp and Siffrin jumping a foot in the air, already on high alert. A man, panting and disheveled, stumbled in. His eyes were wild, darting around as if searching for someone, and his hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“Excuse me- excuse me!” he called out frantically, his voice trembling. He approached the innkeeper, a petite woman with an apron stained from a long day’s work. Her eyes widened in alarm as the man leaned close, his urgency palpable. “Please..! I’m looking for Mirabelle- the Blessed Housemaiden from Dormont-! She- she has to be here!”

The innkeeper looked bewildered, but refused to tell the man whether the woman in question was present or not, quietly asking him to calm down. She stammered something, clearly taken aback by the intensity of his request.

In the next room, Siffrin, Mirabelle, and the others were just out of sight but not out of earshot. As the man’s words reached them, Mirabelle’s heart began to pound. Her? They were looking for her? She could feel her anxiety spike, her grip tightening around her mug until her knuckles turned darkless.

Siffrin noticed her reaction immediately. Setting down his own cup, he leaned forward, his eye narrowing dangerously as he tried to look out towards the inn's lobby. He then stood, his brow furrowing and his gaze darkening. “Stay here,” he muttered to the others, his gaze stopping on Mirabelle the last. His expression was one of quiet protectiveness, his stance tense as he prepared to confront whoever had disturbed their peace.

But before he could take a step toward the next room, Mirabelle’s hand shot out, clutching his cloak shakily. “Siffrin,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes, though anxious, held a glint of determination. “I.. I'll handle it! O-Okay..?"

He hesitated, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But despite her fear, Mirabelle’s gaze was steady, her resolve evident. Although hesitant and clearly debating for a moment, Siffrin eventually let out a sigh, and nodded reluctantly. “..fine. But I’m not letting you go alone,” he replied, leaving no room for argument, despite the usual softness present in his tone.

Isabeau and Bonnie were quick to stand alongside Siffrin. Bonnie, their small figure tense, narrowed their eyes suspiciously and clenched their fists, already prepared to shield Mirabelle from whatever danger might come. They weren't scared, they were a brave kid! Isabeau, ever curious and protective, hovered behind them, his expression a mix of concern and quiet curiosity.

Petronille and Odile watched the group as they prepared to confront the stranger. Petronille rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “It’s probably nothing,” she muttered with a dismissive scoff. “Or maybe another one of those fanboys that Fluffhead's always attracting.”

Odile, however, fixed Petronille with a serious look, her tone firm, as she put her book down on her lap, closing it. “It’s not that simple. Since Mirabelle was chosen as the Blessed One, she’s been a target for all sorts of people- King’s cultists, those driven mad with grief.. They blame her for things she’s never even done. The last crowd she faced nearly tore her apart. And if I recall, you were the one who nearly beat that man half to death when he tried to turn the crowd against her.” She spoke quietly, making sure that the others would not be able to hear her words.

Petronille’s face darkened, the memory flashing in her mind. She looked away, crossing her arms defensively. “I just wanted him to shut up,” she grumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

Odile raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Petronille’s attempt to downplay her actions. She did not comment further, and instead turned her attention back to the scene unfolding in the other room.

Back in the entrance, the innkeeper was growing increasingly flustered as the man continued to beg her for information. “Please, I need to know if Lady Mirabelle is here! It’s urgent- she has to see this letter! I was sent by the Head Housemaiden of the House of Change in Dormont- Please, if she’s here, let her know it’s a matter of life and death!”

The intensity of his words left the innkeeper speechless, her gaze flicking nervously toward the rooms in the back. At that moment, Mirabelle appeared in the doorway, her friends close behind her. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself, and stepped forward. “I’m here,” she announced, her voice steadier than she felt. “..I think.. you're looking for me? W-What’s wrong?”

The man’s head whipped around, his eyes locking onto her with relief and urgency. He rushed toward her, but Siffrin was quick to move in front of Mirabelle, his expression hard as he positioned himself protectively between them, despite the man being a lot taller. Isabeau placed a hand on Siffrin’s shoulder with a nervous little chuckle, keeping him in check. Bonnie, ever the blunt one, crossed their arms and frowned at the man, pouting.

“What do you want with Belle?” they asked, their tone sharp and suspicious.

The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace, though his breathing was still labored. “I’ve been looking for you all over!” he said to Mirabelle, glancing nervously at Siffrin and the others. “The Head Housemaiden- Euphrasie- she sent me with a message. It’s.. urgent. Very urgent.”

Mirabelle’s eyes brightened for a moment at the mention of Euphrasie. She had received letters from her before, but never one that required a messenger to hunt her down. The weight of the man’s tone, the urgency in his gaze- it was different this time. Her heart sank as she slowly reached out to accept the letter, her hands trembling slightly. The man shifted anxiously, shifting from foot to foot, watching her with a look that suggested he was all too aware of what was written inside.

By now, Odile and Petronille had joined them, with the entire group gathered around Mirabelle as she carefully unfolded the fancy parchment. Bonnie stood on their tiptoes, trying to peer over Mirabelle’s shoulder. “I can’t see anything! What's written there??” they complained, hopping up and down in frustration.

Mirabelle took a deep breath, then began to read. The words were written in Euphrasie’s familiar, elegant hand, but as her eyes moved down the page, the warm memories of her mentor faded, replaced by a chill that settled deep in her bones.

The letter was not the usual well-wishes or advice. It was a warning.

"..Dearest Housemaiden Mirabelle.." She began with a shaky voice, gulping, before continuing on with the message. "..I sincerely hope this letter finds you in good health. Since the day you departed Dormont, not a moment has passed that I haven’t missed your presence. I would have loved to begin this letter with warm wishes for your future journeys alongside your noble companions.. but alas, fate has dealt us a cruel hand." Her breath hitched, but she continued on.

"..It's th.." Her eyes widened as she read the name, her blood running cold as she felt as if she'd been dosed in hot and cold water all at once- reading over the text again and again and again, but.. it did not change. The name remained.

"..It's.. the King.." She covered her mouth, fear striking her, as the rest of the inn seemed to freeze in terrifying, cold silence. She needed to take in a deep breath, in and out- just like Siffrin always did it-! Then.. she continued.

"He has somehow.. escaped. I cannot fathom how, but on the 26th of October, the room within the House in which he lay frozen was found ominously empty. Whether he managed to unravel the curse that held him, and slipped past Dormont's boundaries unnoticed, or the curse had been simply temporary- I cannot say. The thought chills me to my very core. And yet, I have a dreadful premonition, a sense that this is far from over. The King has always been relentless; I fear he would not simply abandon his plans now that he is free. Please.. heed my warning, Mirabelle. Stay vigilant, and if needed.. please, be prepared for the p-possibility of having to face him again.." Her voice cracked by the end, as she sucked in a breath. Her hands shook badly around the fancy piece of paper, as she found herself reading the last line over and over and over again in her head.

Be prepared for the possibility of having to face him again.

No.. this had to be a bad dream!

Around her, the entire inn had fallen silent. Everyone stared at the letter, their faces a mixture of shock and fear as they absorbed the implications of Euphrasie’s words.

Siffrin looked particularly shaken. His face was ashen, his normally calm demeanor shattered by the news. He seemed paralyzed, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief, his breathing growing shallow. Isabeau tried to force a shaky smile, his voice uncertain as he turned to the messenger. “This.. this is a joke.. right?? Or a misunderstanding??” he asked, as if desperate for reassurance.

But the man only shook his head solemnly. “..No. The King vanished days ago, and The Head Housemaiden feared the worst. She sent me immediately. I traveled day and night to get this letter to you, Lady Mirabelle.”

A sense of panic rippled through the group. Bonnie clutched Siffrin’s cloak, their small hands trembling as they looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Frin.. W-What.. does this mean for us..?” they whispered, their voice barely audible, so unlike their usual loud and blunt approach.

Isabeau tried to keep his composure, speaking softly to calm the others. “We don’t know anything for certain yet. Let’s.. let’s not jump to conclusions-”

But Mirabelle could only stare at the letter in her hands, her mind reeling. Beside her, Odile stood in silence, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was outwardly calm, but the tight grip she had on her book, the faint twitch of her eyebrow, the way her lips pursed, betrayed the storm brewing beneath her reserved facade.

In contrast, Petronille’s face twisted with rage. As she slowly processed the contents of the letter, her breathing grew shallow, her fists clenching on her sides, eyes sharpening with unspoken fury. She looked at Bonnie, her sweet, baby sibling, holding onto the Traveler with such quiet fear that they obviously tried to hide- it made her blood boil in her veins. She clenched her fists so tight her knuckles felt numb, her voice sharp and filled with venom. “..If that bastard dares to start anything again, I’ll find him, and rip him to pieces myself!!” she spat, her anger flaring.

But as she looked at Siffrin, her words faltered. His usually composed face was contorted with terror, his eyes glazed over as he muttered something under his breath, too quiet for anyone to hear. Isabeau reached out, placing a hand on Siffrin’s shoulder, trying to ground him. “..Oh, Sif.. I-It's okay- just- calm down, okay..? Look at me-” he urged softly.

But Siffrin didn’t respond. Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath, his shoulders heaving as he began to hyperventilate. He took several unsteady steps back, his hands trembling as he gripped his hair, his eyes unfocused. “No.. no, this can’t.. he’s.. he’s supposed to be-” His voice cracked, and he stumbled, sinking to the floor as his legs gave way beneath him.

Mirabelle, suddenly snapping back to reality, flinched, her head whipping over to look at the terrified Traveler, Isabeau crouching next to him and gripping his shoulder, trying to somehow bring attention to him instead of the looming threat. The Housemaiden dropped the letter and rushed to her friend's side, her heart aching as she saw the usually unflappable Siffrin brought to pieces.

"S-Siffrin! Stop, you're going to hurt yourself-!" She whispered, trying to gently pry his hands away from his hair- but paused when the other looked up at her, and the look on his face.. oh, it had her heart clenching painfully. Slowly, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, and Siffrin immediately buried his face in her shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, clinging to her desperately. She stroked his hair gently, whispering words of comfort, though her own voice shook with fear.

Bonnie clung to Siffrin’s cloak, their face pale and eyes wide, while Isabeau knelt beside him, trying to somehow bring him some comfort with his presence. Odile stood a step back, her gaze distant as she processed the gravity of the situation.

Suddenly, Odile’s voice cut through the silence, calm and steady. “We can’t let this news shake us. The King may have escaped, but that doesn’t change what we went through, or what we’re capable of. We’ve faced him before, and if it comes to it, we’ll face him again.” Her gaze fell to Siffrin specifically, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Loops, or no loops.”

Petronille, watching Siffrin’s breakdown, felt a pang of confusion and unease. She didn’t understand the depth of his reaction- the influence of the King attempting to take over the country had affected her, yes, but not like.. this. This felt.. different. She had always seen Siffrin as unbreakable, calm, sly and composed. But now, seeing him so vulnerable, she realized that her anger was a world apart from the fear that the Saviors were feeling. They had obviously withstood things that granted them a greater understanding of the situation- a grave situation.

She wanted revenge, justice for the pain the King had caused. For endangering her sibling, for killing or psychologically damaging the people of her village, for freezing her and many others in time, for all the deaths and suffering he'd caused- But the others- they had moved past that anger, that desire for revenge, into something deeper, something darker.

Siffrin’s breathing finally began to steady as Mirabelle held him, his family's quiet presence bringing him back from the edge. Slowly, he lifted his head, his red-rimmed eye meeting Mirabelle's. She squeezed his hand, offering him a small, shaky, sad smile.

In the quiet that followed, Petronille looked at the others one by one- Bonnie’s fearful grip on Siffrin, Isabeau’s comforting hand on his shoulder, Odile’s silent, watchful stance, Mirabelle's desperate attempts to bring Siffrin back from that terrifying mindspace- and felt a flicker of understanding, though it was tinged with bitterness. They weren’t just Saviors. They were Survivors, haunted by a past that had scarred them more deeply than she’d realized. And Siffrin seemed to be more effected than any of them, perhaps more than all of them combined. And the King’s return was not just a threat- it was a reminder of the nightmare they had barely escaped.

Slowly, Petronille’s anger ebbed, replaced by something she could not quite name. If the King was truly back, she would fight alongside them. Not for herself, but for them- her sibling, and those.. strange people that she'd joined- for the broken pieces of their past they carried, and for the peace that all of them, desperately deserved.

- - -

WOOO WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT THAT WOULD'VE HAPPENED. NOT ME AT ALL AHA

Chapter Text

- - -

A memory clawed its way back into Siffrin’s mind, unbidden and unwanted, as he sat numbly with Euphrasie’s letter clenched in his hand, having a feeling that he's read through it a good dozen times by now. Even as his companions surrounded him, worried frowns on their faces, he felt utterly alone, sinking into a recollection he had tried to bury, knowing it was bound to surface again one day. He wished he could burn away the memory as easily as parchment, but no fire could purge this from his mind. It was as if the letter had pried open the dark recesses of his past, forcing him to relive the bleakest days of his life in excruciating detail.

He remembered it, clear as day, clear as if it had happened yesterday, or maybe today- when in reality it's been months since then.

Days after he had finally broken free from the loops, Siffrin found himself trapped in Dormont not by Time Craft, or Wish Craft, or the Universe- but by sheer physical weakness. Craft exhausted, he had been struck down by a fever so intense that even standing was a struggle. His family, and especially Odile, had been adamant that he rests, practically chaining him to his bed at the Clocktower. He had been too weak to resist, sinking into restless dreams that intertwined with memories of endless loops and horrific deaths, visions from which he awoke gasping and drenched in sweat, often in the state of a panic attack, needing his companions to calm him down.

By the fifth day, his fever had lessened somewhat, though he still felt as though he were floating underwater, detached and disoriented. He couldn’t bear to simply lie there, trapped and idle. There was something in him- an itch, a gnawing restlessness he couldn’t explain, driven by a sense of unfinished business. He knew he shouldn’t get up. He knew Odile was likely keeping watch downstairs, waiting for him to attempt something reckless. So he’d come up with a cunning- or so he’d thought- plan; the window.

Brilliant idea, Stardust!

He’d swung his legs over the sill, shivering as the dewy morning air brushed against his fevered skin, and lowered himself down, barely managing a half-graceful landing. The impact jarred his ankle, sending a dull ache up his leg, but he ignored it. That pain was trivial compared to the tempest raging inside him. He had a destination in mind, though he could barely articulate it to himself, and his feet began moving almost of their own accord.

The world blurred as he walked, and his body felt strangely light, as if he might drift away at any moment. Buildings swayed, shades bled together, and every step seemed to take an eternity, yet he trudged onward, weaving his way through Dormont’s humble paths. The townsfolk blurred past him, mere smudges in his feverish vision, and he took care to avoid his friends, not wanting to face their questions or concerns, and likely- being brought back to the Clocktower. He had a goal, though he barely understood it himself.

The House, was his first thought. The cursed place that had haunted his every step, every breath, every heartbeat for what felt like a thousand lifetimes. His memories of it were tangled and fractured, like glass shards glinting with jagged, blood-red edges. But something in him- some deeply buried need- pulled him there. By the time he arrived, he could scarcely remember the journey. It was as though the House had drawn him in like a magnet, ensnaring him once again in its hold.

A blink of an eye or perhaps an eternity later, he was navigating the familiar hallways instinctively, led by muscle memory more than anything, his fevered mind barely processing the turns and doorways. After countless repetitions of this maze, his body moved as if on autopilot, as though he were once again trapped in a loop, bound to repeat this ritual of suffering forever.

When he reached the final room, his body shuddered. There, frozen in the depths of his curse, was the man responsible for endless nightmares. Kneeling, arms spread in mockery of a saint, the King looked as if he was mid-embrace, welcoming something only he could see or remember, lost in the distant echoes of his own mind. Rage bubbled up within Siffrin, raw and unrestrained. It was beyond mere anger; it was a need, a compulsion to inflict suffering on this man, the architect of so much pain.

What was eternity frozen in time compared to the agony he had caused? To the lives destroyed? Siffrin remembered each death, each life snuffed out like a candle, each of his family members torn apart by the King’s cruelty. Even though none of it had technically happened in the present, the memories clung to him like cobwebs, impossible to shake.

The King had killed them- again and again. He had crushed them in the most brutal, lingering ways, leaving them broken and bleeding, their cries echoing in Siffrin’s mind long after the loops reset. Even though the current timeline was untouched by these horrors, they had happened in some twisted iteration of reality. And that was enough.

Without thinking, Siffrin drew his dagger, the blade cold and unforgiving in his fever-warmed hand. He moved forward slowly, his breathing shallow and labored, his steps faltering as he tried to steady himself. He stood over the King’s kneeling form, and something dark, something primal, surged within him. His expression was blank, devoid of the compassion he usually wore, that was stripped from him during his final loop.

And then, he struck.

The blade dug into the King’s hand like a rock hitting a mirror, precise and deliberate, just enough to cause pain- but making sure that he did not use enough strength to have it shatter, like glass. He wanted the man to feel it. He knew he was aware, even though he was frozen. He wanted him to suffer. Every stab was calculated, placed carefully in spots that would maximize agony without granting the release of death, or shattering in the frozen state that the man was in. His fevered mind saw the King’s face twist in imaginary pain, the frozen expression warping in his mind’s eye as he drove the blade in again and again. He became lost in a frenzied rhythm, a pattern of hurt that blurred into timelessness, each stab feeling like both a moment and an eternity.

Time slipped away. Minutes, hours- he couldn’t tell, he didn't care. His body moved on its own, the blade rising and falling with mechanical precision. His own face was blank, almost serene, like a mask hiding the tempest within. The only thing he knew was the need to hurt, to make the King feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused. Siffrin couldn’t say when he had lost all sense of reason, when he had surrendered himself entirely to the blood-drenched haze.

He lifted the dagger one last time, finally aiming for the King’s head, his hand steady despite the fever thrumming through his veins. But then-

“Siffrin!!"

The voice jolted him out of his trance, the harsh shout shattering the silence and sending his dagger clattering to the floor. He turned slowly, vision swimming, and found himself staring into Mirabelle’s wide, horrified eyes. She stood at the entrance to the chamber, one hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide. It was clear she had been standing there for a while, likely completely frozen in shock and fear.

Siffrin felt the fog in his mind lift just enough to comprehend the situation. She shouldn’t have seen him like this. She shouldn’t know the darkness that lurked inside him. He was the calm one, the one who kept his friends safe and shielded from his own turmoil, by any means necessary. But now, here he was, exposed, a monster in the same room as the monster he hated.

Before he could speak, Mirabelle had crossed the room, ( when had she the time to get right in front of him-? ) speaking something he couldn't hear, reaching out to touch his forehead. Her hand was cool against his fevered skin, a balm against the burning rage that consumed him. Instinctively, he leaned into her touch, as if she could soothe the torment festering inside him. His body sagged, the adrenaline ebbing away to leave only exhaustion and a lingering bitterness.

The last thing he remembered before everything went dark was Mirabelle’s arms steadying him as his knees buckled, her soft voice murmuring something he couldn't understand, as he slumped against her, fever-dazed and helpless.

When he awoke days later, back in the Clocktower, he knew he would have to face scolding and questions. Likely a lot of questions. Odile's questions. She wasn’t one to let things slide, especially when it came to him and the secrets he kept. As expected, she came to him with that steady gaze of hers, the one that saw through his evasions and half-truths. Siffrin wanted to pretend he didn’t remember, to brush off what had happened as a fever dream- something that he couldn't recall anymore due to his state, but he-

He promised. Stars, he promised.

So, he told her. In halting, broken words, he described the horrors that haunted him from the loops, the things the King had done that no one else remembered. He spoke of the deaths he had witnessed, his voice thick with the weight of unshed tears that eventually gathered, as Odile sat silently, her face growing paler with each little story she'd hear. He barely glanced at her, focused on the floor as he recounted the unspeakable things they had endured, the nightmares that still lurked just behind his eyelids.

He spoke briefly of Bonnie- not much- he couldn't.. bring himself to think about it any more than he had to- of a hand tightening around a small, fragile body until there was nothing left but silence, blood and broken bones. His voice cracked, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Odile’s gaze. She remained silent, her usual note-taking abandoned, her book lying closed on her lap underneath trembling fingers. The quiet between them was heavy, filled with things neither of them dared to say. She said nothing. It was.. in a way, a bit of a reassurance- no words needed to be spoken, no comments. It was just.. that horrible. And he knew, that in that moment.. she must've felt the very same hatred that he felt.

Eventually, in a low, hollow voice, he asked her not to tell the others- at least not about Bonnie. They didn’t need to know just how deeply he had failed them, how much he had let them suffer in those loops. They didn’t need to bear the knowledge of his weakness, his inability to protect them when it mattered most. This burden was his alone to carry, and he would bear it, even if it broke him.

Odile could only nod slowly, after a few moments, though her eyes shone with something unexpected- an understanding that made his chest ache. She would keep his secret, but the weight of it lingered between them, a silent reminder of the scars they both bore from Dormont and the horrors it had wrought upon them.

After she left, quietly telling the Traveler to take some more rest, Siffrin sat alone in the Clocktower, his gaze drifting out the window to the House that loomed in the distance. Though he had freed himself from the loops, their shadows still clung to him, coiling around his heart like a serpent, a constant reminder of the things he could never forget.

And somewhere deep within him, he knew that his hatred for the King- though dulled for now- would never truly die. It simmered beneath the surface, waiting, like embers beneath ash, ready to flare up the moment he allowed himself to remember.

And now, that Siffrin had been sitting on that chair in the inn's lobby, months after everything had happened- he realized that this hatred did not fade one bit. Not even a little bit. And deep down.. he was.. a little glad, as much as he was equally terrified of their unavoidable encounter.. he knew..

He knew that this time, if the bastard tries anything- they'd let Siffrin body him without restraint.

...Siffrin needed a lot of hugs that evening.

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Just thought that was funny lmao

Chapter Text

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The night settled thick and quiet over the rented room, casting long shadows across the walls and filling the spaces between their breaths with a profound stillness. The group had managed to find temporary solace together after the devastating news that the King had escaped. Though no one had spoken much after that revelation, the tension had hung heavy in the room, an unspoken understanding passing between them. For tonight though, they were safe. Tonight, they could rest. But come dawn, they would have to face whatever horrors awaited.

The room they were staying in wasn’t meant for so many people. Two double beds and a single twin bed, squeezed together in one cozy, if cramped, space. Bonnie had jokingly, though with their usual pout, said they were like sardines, all packed in together, but beneath their smile, they looked as shaken as everyone else. They each knew the implication of the King’s freedom, what it meant for them, and how much harder their journey would be now. And so, when it came time for sleep, they’d made arrangements- simple, practical, born of the need to stay close to each other, as well as pure habit.

Siffrin and Isabeau shared of course, with Mirabelle on the bed to their left and Bonnie and Petronille sharing the bed on the right. Odile, always the last to settle, had taken the bed near the window. It offered her a view of the night sky, but tonight, the stars looked dim, muted, as if in mourning. She sometimes decided to take off the edge off her nerves with stargazing ( Siffrin really is rubbing off on them ), but not even the heavens could soothe her tonight. Eventually, though, her own exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted off, the images of the House's dark halls and the faint echoes of Siffrin’s stories lingering at the edges of her mind.

In the silence that followed, each member of the party slipped into uneasy dreams.

Mirabelle lay awake, watching shadows creep and recede across the ceiling, her fingers restlessly twisting the edges of her blanket. She thought she’d outgrown this- the clinging need for something to hold on to, something soft and warm to ward off the cold tendrils of fear. She’d told herself, months ago, that she didn’t need to clutch a stuffed animal or blanket to feel safe, that she’d grown old enough to face the night alone. But tonight, knowing the King was out there, she felt like a child again, small and vulnerable, unable to find comfort in the empty darkness.

She tried to will herself to sleep, closing her eyes tightly, telling herself that she was safe. She was among her dearest companions, after all- her family. But the shadows seemed to whisper, each creak of the old building making her pulse race. Her mind churned with memories of the past battles, close calls, and near-deaths they had all endured. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to drive the fear away, but instead, it only grew stronger. Her heart beat faster, the silence almost oppressive. She really should've taken her anxiety pills.

Without thinking much about it, she slipped out of her bed. Her feet touched the cold floor, sending a shiver up her spine, but she padded softly over to the bed where Siffrin and Isabeau were resting. Siffrin was curled up on one side, his breathing soft and even, his face buried into the pillow, while Isabeau lay with his arm tossed over the edge, his body sprawled out as if taking up all the space he could find. Siffrin was hogging all the blankets again. But the inn was warm enough that a blanket wasn't necessarily needed anyway. It was a small bed, barely big enough for the two of them, but Mirabelle didn’t care. She could do this..! She carefully slipped onto the edge of the bed, then settled right in between the two, lying down as quietly as she could.

Both Siffrin and Isabeau stirred, their sleepy eyes opening just long enough to recognize her presence. There was no question, no hesitation. Siffrin shifted closer, drowsily draping an arm around her, his forehead resting gently against her back, while Isabeau, with a soft smile and a sleepy murmur, pulled her in, wrapping an arm around her waist, and resting his chin on the top of her head. Sandwiched between the two, Mirabelle finally felt a warmth settle over her, like a heavy blanket tucked snugly around her shoulders. Her muscles relaxed, the tension melting from her shoulders, and she felt herself drifting into a dreamless sleep, as she buried her face in Isabeau's shoulder.

With the steady rhythm of their breaths surrounding her, she let her eyes drift shut, her worries fading into the darkness. She didn’t feel afraid anymore. Here, in the midst of her friends, she felt as safe as she ever had. Wrapped in their warmth, she was no longer alone. The King might be out there, somewhere in the dark, but here, for tonight, she was safe.

However, unfortunately, not everyone was doing as well as the three.

Across the room, Odile shifted restlessly, her face twisted in a grimace as she sank deeper into a nightmare she could neither control nor escape.

The dream began innocuously enough, scenes of Dormont’s familiar paths and the Clocktower rising tall against a starless sky. But as she moved through the familiar spaces, a cold dread began to seep into her bones. Figures lurked in the shadows, moving in her periphery, figures she knew far too well. Her friends. Her family. They were all there, but something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Then, she was suddenly in Dormont's House of change- and it felt like the horror was amplified tenfold, as she saw the King, standing right before them.

One by one, they fell.

She saw Mirabelle first, her face twisted in pain, her body bound by an unseen force as suddenly, a large hand has grabbed onto her limb, and lifted her up by the arm, far above the floor. Odile tried to move, to call out, but her voice was silenced, as if swallowed by the darkness itself. Mirabelle’s mouth opened in a silent scream, just before the hand plunged her back down, shattering lightless tiles, a harsh THUMP echoing throughout the room, over and over, alongside the sickening sound of bones snapping.

Then she saw Bonnie, horror immediately creeping into her bones. She tried to do something- but couldn't, couldn't- and could only watch as another large hand wrapped around their small body, and squeezed. Squeezed until nothing could be done to help, the child's screams silenced once and for all, making the Researcher utterly sick to her stomach. She could only watch, rooted to the spot, horror clawing at her insides as she realized she couldn’t do anything to help.

And then came Isabeau, seemingly just as despaired as her, but he seemed to be eager to put up one last fight, clenching his fist before himself as he wanted to lunge forward at the King- but before he could, a tear hit him, immediately locking him in place. His face became lightless, forever frozen in fear, emptily looking forward at some point before him, and then- he shattered, into a million pieces, like a broken mirror. A sickening sound, all things considered.

Finally, Siffrin appeared, standing in the center of the darkness, surrounded by the twisted, broken bodies of his friends. He looked at her, his face expressionless, but she saw the pain in his eyes. It seemed like he knew that death would claim him the last.

Finally, it was time for Odile herself. The King seemed to revel in her agony, wrapping his hands around her limbs and stretching them until she fractured, until her screams became nothing but echoes in the cold air.

Above all of that, stood the King, seemingly completely unaffected by all the suffering he was causing.. no.. he was revelling in it. The dream seemed to end just as the man's fist came down with a speed towards a completely motionless, blank Siffrin, covered in blood of his friends, surrounded by their corpses. There was no light in his eyes, as if he just.. accepted it.

And then, she woke up.

Odile's eyes opened with a gasp leaving her, her body drenched in cold sweat, her heart racing as though she’d just sprinted a mile. She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts as she tried to steady herself, to remind herself that it had only been a dream. But the images lingered, vivid and raw, each face etched into her mind, each scream echoing in her ears.

For a moment, she didn’t move, too afraid to even shift her gaze, worried that if she did, she might still see the broken bodies of her companions lying around her- or perhaps she'll find the beds empty, altogether. Slowly, she turned her head, blinking to clear her vision and fumbling for her glasses. She slid them on, relief flooding through her when she saw them, peacefully asleep in their beds, safe and whole.

She exhaled shakily, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle a choked sound that threatened to escape. She felt sick, but she refused to let a stupid dream have her throw up, especially on such a nice carpet. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. Just a figment of her imagination, fed by Siffrin’s stories she still remembered, by the horrible truths he’d confessed back in Dormont. But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a taunt, a cruel glimpse into what could be if they had failed back then.

Or maybe, it was a warning for a future encounter.

She glanced over at the bed where Siffrin, Isabeau, and Mirabelle were bundled together, their faces serene, bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and blankets. They looked so peaceful, so comfy in their sleep, and the sight only made her heart ache more. She could still see flashes of the nightmare overlaying reality, their sleeping faces flickering with the ghostly images of the horrors she’d just witnessed.

Unable to shake the feeling, she pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to force the images away. She needed to be strong for them, to keep herself together so they wouldn’t worry, but the weight of the nightmare felt unbearable. Her chest ached with the need to protect them, to shield them from the darkness that loomed ever closer now that the King was free.

After a long, shaky breath, Odile finally swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the floor to ground herself. She stayed like that for a while, breathing deeply, the cool air soothing against her overheated skin. She watched over her friends, ensuring they were still safe, still untouched by the horrors that haunted her dreams.

The room was blanketed in a hushed, early morning stillness, where even the faint rustle of Odile shifting on her bed felt loud against the quiet. The nightmare clung to her thoughts like a heavy fog, and the longer she stayed on the bed, the more the disturbing images swirled around her. She rubbed her temples, taking deep breaths, but the chill of dread remained, unyielding. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. As silently as possible, she slipped from under her blanket and padded across the floor toward the balcony. She was careful not to wake anyone.

Odile opened the door to the balcony, and an autumn breeze greeted her, crisp and cutting, as if reminding her of her own wakefulness. She shivered but felt a strange clarity settle over her. Her hands found the railing as she exhaled into the night, filling her lungs with the brisk air. She leaned against the rail, gazing out at the lively city below, its lights glimmering against the darkened sky. An irony struck her- here she was, using Siffrin’s breathing exercises to soothe herself. He always repeated it when he was anxious, almost like a mantra, and maybe it had rubbed off on her without her even realizing it. Yet another thing the party was picking up from him.

Just then, a quiet voice broke the silence. “Odile?”

Odile spun around, her eyes wide, pulse racing for a moment until her gaze fell on the familiar face. Siffrin stood in the open doorway, a faintly sleepy, look on his face, his hair slightly tousled- more than usual. Her heartbeat slowed, and she forced a steady breath, placing a hand on her chest with mock severity.

“Gems alive, Siffrin,” she muttered. Always so silent, that one. “You'll have this old lady go into a cardiac arrest one of these days."

Siffrin winced apologetically, though the slight, soft smile remained. “Sorry,” he murmured, then stepped out to join her, resting his hands on the railing as well. He didn’t say anything at first, just gazed out over the cityscape with her, his expression as calm as the night around them.

But even his quiet couldn’t distract Odile from her mind. She felt his glance on her after a while, his expression gentle, but with a touch of worry that was hard to miss. “Odile,” he said softly, “Did something happen?”

For a moment, Odile held back, still wavering between brushing him off or telling him the truth. Her usual instinct was to sidestep any personal vulnerability, but they had made him promise to be honest about his feelings, and it would feel hypocritical now to lie. She let out a slow breath, leaning further against the rail.

“It was just..” She hesitated. “..I had a terrible dream.”

Siffrin’s brow furrowed, his expression softening with concern, and to her surprise, he didn’t make light of it, nor did he try to diminish her fear. He just watched her, waiting patiently. She looked away for a moment, her words feeling heavy and inadequate, but eventually, they spilled out.

“I dreamt..” she started, her voice low. “I dreamt about the fight with the King." She could've swore she saw him stiffen next to him with the corner of her eye. "And he didn’t just.. defeat us, no. It was like he was savoring it- killing each of us, one by one, in these.. monstrous ways.” She felt her hands clench on the railing, her knuckles whitening with the memory. “It was brutal, and you-” She paused, swallowing, unable to continue for a moment. "..You looked like.. you looked almost.. you looked blank. As if you've seen it countless of times."

Siffrin stayed silent, though his face reflected her unease, his eye widening slightly as he absorbed her words. She noticed him shift, his posture stiffening, a tension she recognized all too well.

“I think.. it must have been some kind of ‘what if’ scenario. A 'what if' we actually failed to defeat him, in the end.” she continued, almost as if she needed to rationalize it. “Maybe it was just my mind dredging up fears. But..” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Whether it was just a nightmare, or a flicker of one of your loops.. I hope I’ll.. never know.”

Siffrin’s eye fell, his gaze troubled, and for a moment, he looked lost in his own thoughts. She could almost sense the anger radiating from him, a flicker of a grudge that burned deep and quiet within him, against a man who had hurt so many, especially them- all of them. She knew the feeling; she harbored it too. The two of them were likely the only people that even knew about the extent of the loops- how far the King went, how.. creative, he was, as he chose his ways of killing.

But before he could speak, she looked at him, her gaze softening. “I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth saying again,” she murmured. “Siffrin, You are.. strong. Unbelievably so. You endured it all. Not just once, but countless times. You survived through.. through our deaths and your own. And then you still managed save us all in the end.” She tried to keep her voice steady. She was honest. She honestly.. didn't know if there had been anyone who had endured quite as much as Siffrin.

Siffrin opened his mouth, his face flushing as he was about to argue, wanting to protest, to tell her that it wasn’t like that, that it was them who had saved him in the end. But she silenced him with a look, her smirk small but confident.

“Just take the compliment, would you?” she chided lightly. “To me, that’s the truth.”

Siffrin blinked, staring at her for a moment. Then, his mouth closed, and he found himself looking out over the city again, at a loss for words. A moment later, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to shield himself from the biting cold- or perhaps bring some comfort to himself. After a brief hesitation, he leaned against her, his head resting near her shoulder. The warmth was subtle but grounding, and he felt himself relax slightly, a sense of calm settling over him as he did. Odile did not push away.

“I don’t.. I don’t want to be considered as a ‘Savior,’ you know?” he admitted softly, his voice so quiet it nearly dissolved into the night. “I was the one who trapped myself in the loops, and if it hadn’t been for you all.. I wouldn’t have made it. I would have given up long ago.”

He paused, his voice trembling slightly as he continued, “I only made it because of all of you. Whenever I felt like giving up.. I thought of you. You all kept me going. I honestly don't think I would've even made it to fifty, if you wouldn't have been there with me. So if you’re calling me strong.. just know that you’re part of the reason I got this far.”

There was a brief silence, then a soft chuckle escaped Odile. She lifted her hand and gently ruffled his hair, the familiar, playful motion earning a surprised yelp from him.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she teased, though her voice held a touch of affection. “If we’re your motivation, then you’re ours too, you know.” She smirked, crossing her arms and glancing down at him with a slight twinkle in her eye. “Consider it an honor from the ‘Vice Leader’ to the Leader.”

Siffrin laughed at the comment, his laugh light but genuine, his cheeks turning a soft pink. “Oh? Vice Leader, really? Since when was that ever established?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her with mock incredulity.

“Oh, just now,” Odile shot back with a smirk. “I’ll have you know, it’s an official title.” Siffrin couldn't help but grin, his eye narrowing in that distinguishable way that had Odile taking in a long, deep breath in. Here he goes.

“Well then, Vice Leader, I am entirely helpless at the helm to argue with that,” Siffrin quipped, earning him a groan as she swatted playfully at his bangs, mussing up his hair, causing him to burst out into a fit of giggles.

Pushing his hair out of his face with a grin, he looked up at her, his gaze softening with gratitude. She returned the smile, a gentleness in her expression that was rare for her, and for a moment, they simply shared a quiet understanding, a sense of unity forged by all they had endured together.

Odile cleared her throat, straightening up. “Alright, enough sentiment,” she said, though her smile lingered. “We should get back inside. It’s freezing out here, and I don’t fancy waking up tomorrow with a cold.”

Siffrin shivered at the reminder of the chill, nodding quickly. “Agreed. Lead the way, Vice Leader.”

She chuckled softly, motioning for him to hurry up, and together, they slipped back inside. As they tiptoed through the darkened room, careful not to wake the others, Siffrin gave her a soft smile. “Night, Odile. And.. no nightmares,” he whispered with a soft smile.

Odile gave him a slight nod, a glimmer of warmth in her gaze as she half-whispered, “Same to you, Siffrin.” She said, before peaceful silence spilled across the room for the rest of the night.

Siffrin settled back into bed beside Mirabelle and Isabeau, he snuggled up close to Mirabelle, her familiar warmth a comforting presence. He moved the blanket over the three of them before drifting off, despite knowing that he would most likely hog the blankets anyway in his sleep. Odile lay down as well, putting her glasses aside and pulling her blanket up, her eyes slipping shut with a faint smile.

Unbeknownst to both of them, a pair of watchful eyes was observing from across the room.

Right next to a lightly snoring, peacefully sleeping Bonnie, Petronille lay on her back, eyes wide. Her hands were folded over her chest as she stared at the ceiling, her mind too restless to allow for sleep- as it is most nights. Though, she'd never expect to hear.. such.. fucked up things tonight. She’d overheard the entire conversation, each word reverberating through her mind with an almost painful clarity- and yet, she only had more questions. Loops? Dying? What did that mean..? How could it be, that 'Siffrin, in his loops, has seen his party die?' From what she figured out, it was no nightmare, either. It felt like a lunatic speaking, and yet, she was fully aware that the entire party shared knowledge that she had no idea of. Most likely, even Bonnie was caught up to it.

And Siffrin.. showed two, very contrasting sides of himself. Either- one, was the funnyjokesperson, sly and quiet, a bit shy, bashful, clingy- and the other.. seemed like an incredibly paranoid, anxious, traumatized mess, quick to overthink or spiral, or get into panic attacks. It.. didn't add up. They were just such.. contrasting sides, that she didn't see any other option other than the latter having been developed, somehow. Everything seemed to make sense, suddenly.

Asking someone from the party outright was out of the question- she didn't exactly want to.. bring up stuff like that. She may be.. cold, or spiteful, or rude towards them- but she wasn't heartless.

She'll just have to figure it out on her own, she supposed.

And as the room fell into silence once more, Petronille lay awake, her gaze hard, her heart hammering in her chest. Whatever lay ahead, she would be ready. They all would be, and together, they would face whatever the world threw at them.

A part of her wanted to promise herself.. that whatever happened in.. ugh, what was it again..? 'Loops'..? Whatever that meant- she would be there, to make sure it does not happen again. She'll be there to make sure that none of them has to die, ever again.

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we got sum Odile angst for the soul uwuwuwuwu

also i finally scribbled down some doodle so yeah here 💀

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Days had passed since Petronille received her new coat, a gift she accepted with surprising lack of any rude comments, given her usual prickly demeanor. The party, accustomed to her abrupt decisions, was only mildly surprised when she bluntly declared they would be changing the course of their journey. They had been on their way to Bambouche, that had been the course from the moment she joined the party, but now, Petronille informed them, they would take a detour to Forgecœur.

“We’ll be going to Forgecœur first,” Petronille had said, her tone offering no room for debate. “Afterwards, we’ll continue to Bambouche.”

She offered no explanation, no matter how much Bonnie would pester her, and none of the party bothered to press her on it further, seeing how unyielding she was to reveal the reason. They didn’t really care about their destination; for them, the journey was more important than the finish line, after all- it has been from the start. The bonds they were forging on the road together had become the real adventure, and wherever Petronille wanted to go, they would follow, if it meant keeping Bonnie by their side.

Forgecœur was a city of craftsmen, every corner bustling with the clang of hammers on anvils, the hum of mechanical gears, and the smell of molten metal. The city of metalworking and mechanical body craft. The streets themselves seemed to breathe craftsmanship, from the intricately carved stone lampposts to the mechanical birds that flew overhead, animated by unseen crafting methods. It was the kind of place where one could lose themselves for days in awe of the skill and ingenuity on display. It really was quite the contrast, considering the humble little village of Dormont that the party has long since bid adieu to.

The party expected they might linger in the city for a day or two, but Petronille had other plans. She insisted they stay longer, several days, a week at least. She disappeared for hours, sometimes entire days, without explanation, leaving the rest of them to explore the town or enjoy their free time at the inn they picked. The woman would always return looking especially exhausted, but she would try her absolute hardest to hide it, and immediately brushing off or changing the topic, if anyone brought it up.

During this time, Isabeau couldn’t help but notice how much Petronille seemed to cherish the coat. She wore it constantly, even when the weather didn’t call for it. It made sense, of course- even if they were here in the middle of summer, which they weren't- the warmth would never manage to battle the lingering effects of the Time-Freezing Curse. He had caught glimpses of her bundled up in her coat at night, sleeping peacefully, the fur collar nestled under her chin. He found it both hilarious and endearing, watching her stubbornly cling to the one source of warmth that worked to overcome the deep ache in her bones. Bonnie seemed especially insistent to cuddle up to her at night, and as they described it, "Nille is always cold to touch, but the coat is warm! So, I never get too warm or too cold at night." They'd say it with a proud little grin, as if they've just found the best possible solution to a problem.

He was glad. Glad that Petronille, despite her tough exterior, was finding some kind of comfort, or relief, even in something as simple as a coat.

But then, after days of her disappearing without word, something happened.

Petronille burst through the door of the inn one afternoon, startling everyone present, causing everyone to jump a foot in the air. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes blazing with some inner fire. She didn’t bother with explanations, didn’t acknowledge anyone else in the room. She just marched straight up to Isabeau, grabbed his arm, and started dragging him towards the door. "You, outside." It was not a request.

“Uh.” Isabeau stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he stumbled to keep up with her determined pace. “Wh- what’s going on? Nille?? Where are we going? Nille???”

“Shut up and move,” she snapped, not slowing her pace or offering any more of an explanation. "You're not being very informative there, you know!!" Isabeau gave an anxious laugh, but before he could say or do anything else, she dragged him outside, and the door slammed behind them.

The rest of the party exchanged confused, if not concerned glances.

"..What the crab." Bonnie stated, eyes narrowing.

“S-Should we be.. worried..??" Mirabelle frowned looking between the other three, unsure what to make of the scene that had just unfolded. Siffrin gave a nervous shrug, his eye remaining on the door.

Odile sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Gems alive, that one.”

Meanwhile, outside, Petronille was practically dragging Isabeau down the bustling streets of Forgecœur, pushing him along whenever he slowed. He had no idea where they were going, but her fierce determination told him it was important. She didn’t answer any of his questions, only snapping at him to keep moving faster whenever he hesitated.

“Seriously, Nille, what’s going on? Where are we- ”

“Shut up, and move!” she growled again, her voice laced with irritation as they rounded the corner of a narrow street and approached a nondescript building.

Without giving Isabeau a chance to process what was happening, she shoved him through the door. Inside, the air was warm, smelling faintly of oil and metal, the low hum of machinery filling the space.

A man stood behind a desk, friendly-looking, with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. “Ah, there you are, Miss Petronille. And you must be Isabeau!” he said warmly, stepping forward and folding his hands. “I’m Dr. Duvalier, body-crafting specialist.”

Isabeau froze, his blood running cold. He glanced back at Petronille, his wide eyes filled with confusion and mounting dread.

What

What was happening?

“Nille,” he said, his voice small, smaller than usual. “Why.. why did you bring me here?”

His thoughts spiralled, racing faster than he could control them. Do they want me to change again? Are they ashamed of me? Is this why she’s been sneaking off? The familiar anxiety clawed at him, and he could feel himself trying to put on a brave face, forcing an awkward smile that didn’t reach his eyes, as he desperately searched her face for a response- but she wasn't looking at him, almost stubbornly.

Before he could dwell too long on his thoughts, Dr. Duvalier spoke again, his voice warm and polite, as though he had no idea about the storm raging inside Isabeau’s head. “So, this is the kind gentleman you mentioned, yes? The one the prosthetic is for?”

Petronille rolled her eyes. “What do you think, genius? Did you think I brought him here for a manicure?” Dr. Duvalier laughed, though not unkindly.

Isabeau’s world seemed to tilt. He blinked, stunned. “Wait.. prosthetic?”

He couldn’t seem to form the words. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to click into place, but they didn’t make sense. It was like trying to solve a riddle with half the clues missing. A prosthetic? She- she- what???? He felt dizzy, his thoughts jumbling.

The doctor chuckled. “I must say, Petronille has been relentless these past few days. Pestering me nonstop to have me work graveyard hours on the order, Right, Miss Petronille..?" He gave her a withering look, clearly just a little bit annoyed, but amused just the same. The woman only looked away with a groan. "She’s even been working odd jobs all around the city to help pay for it. Helped me in the shop, actually- quite the skilled mechanic, that one. Not bad for someone who's so short-tempered and-"

"Shut up!" Petronille cut him off, her face flushed with embarrassment. It was true, she was used to taking old jobs, way back at Bambouche. Anything that she could get her hands on, she'd immediately take up the challenge and learn quickly. That included mechanical stuff. A lot of it, in fact. Fixing ship engines weren't exactly her strongest forte, but the knowledge she gained was enough. Petronille turned away, crossing her arms even tighter, clearly humiliated by the doctor’s revelation. "Just.. get to work already! We've got places to be.” She just wanted to get that done, and go right back on the course to Bambouche, and hopefully NEVER have this brought up again.

The doctor gave a knowing grin but didn’t push further. Isabeau, however, was still frozen in shock, his mind barely able to process what had just been said. She had been working for this? For him?

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Nille?” His voice was small, the vulnerability showing through, as a dumb little smile made it's way on his face.

Petronille huffed, refusing to meet his gaze. "Shut up. I don't want to her a peep from you."

The doctor, hummed knowingly, started preparing the equipment, but Isabeau still couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening.

“Stop looking at me like that!” Petronille snapped, her face turning red. She pushed him down into the chair with more force than necessary. "Just let him work, idiot!"

She turned on her heel abruptly, her back to him. "I'll be outside. Hurry up."

Isabeau watched her leave, his heart a strange mix of gratitude, confusion, and something else. He didn’t know how to feel. She had done all this.. for him.

The doctor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’ve got quite the passive-aggressive friend here,” he said with amusement as he began his work, adjusting the mechanical parts for the fitting. "She's been relentless to have this made right for you,"

Isabeau sat there, still in disbelief, glancing at the door which the woman stormed out of, clearly wanting nothing more than to flee from this embarrassing moment. His mind was still racing, trying to reconcile the fact that Petronille had gone to such lengths for him- working odd jobs, pushing herself to exhaustion, all for something he hadn’t even asked for.

And despite the initial, cold, terrifying fear that overtook him at first the moment the doctor introduced himself, Isabeau couldn't help but let out an exhale, the stress quickly dissolving. A small, silly grin forced it's way on his face, as he stared at the door, with a mixture of amusement, shock, and disbelief.

Petronille paced outside the doctor’s office, her footsteps echoing against the cobblestone street. Her arms were crossed tightly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fought against the creeping nerves that gnawed at her. She wasn't the type to feel anxious, at least not like this, but something about this moment made her stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

It was stupid. Why should she care if Isabeau liked it or not? If it works or not? The man was always smiling, always grateful for the smallest of things. He’d probably give her that wide, goofy grin of his and call it amazing even if the prosthetic didn’t work. But still, the thought of seeing his reaction- the real one, not the exaggerated positivity, kindness and happiness- had her feeling jittery, and she hated it.

She stopped in her tracks, clenching her fists around the fabric or her coat. "Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me?" she muttered under her breath, glaring down at the ground.

Suddenly, the door creaked open behind her, causing her to jump nearly a foot in the air, spinning around like a startled cat. She immediately flushed in embarrassment, cursing herself for reacting like that as the doctor stood in the doorway, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Relax, Miss Petronille. You can come in now," Dr. Duvalier said, clearly trying to hold back laughter. "Everything’s ready."

Petronille scowled, stomping past him without a word, her heart pounding in her chest for reasons she couldn’t fully understand. She hated feeling like this- off balance, embarrassed. She stormed into the room, her eyes landing on Isabeau.

He was sitting in the chair, his face a mixture of awe and shock as he flexed his new prosthetic arm, testing the movements. The mechanical fingers moved with such precision, such fluidity, that it was almost like it was part of him. The light from the lamps above cast a warm glow over the metal, making it glimmer faintly.

Isabeau looked up at Petronille, his mouth twitching into a smile, and it was clear even to her that he was trying to hold it in. She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she muttered, "It’s only fair. You gave me a coat. I don’t like owing people, so.. we’re even now." Her words came out in a grumpy rush, but she couldn’t hide the slight embarrassment creeping into her tone.

Isabeau let out a wet laugh, his grin breaking through his attempt at restraint. "Oh, Nille…" His voice cracked slightly as he flexed his new fingers, clenching and unclenching his hand. "This is.. it’s incredible. Thank you. Both of you."

The doctor gave a small nod with a calm smile, stepping back as he began to explain the finer details. "As we established, the prosthetic takes power from craft energy and is fueled by heat. So essentially, as long as he stays warm, the arm will function without any issues." He glanced at Isabeau, then back at Petronille. "It’s built to be as sturdy and versatile as possible, but like all things, it will need maintenance every now and then. Try to get it to a specialist every few months."

Petronille huffed, fiving a firm nod. “I’ll handle that.”

Isabeau barely heard them, too absorbed in staring at his arm. He moved it with a mixture of wonder and disbelief, marvelling at the precision. "I.. I don’t even know what to say." His voice was soft, filled with emotion.

Petronille shifted awkwardly, her eyes narrowing. "How about you stay silent then, dumbass.” She shot a withering look at the doctor as he let out a small laugh. “I said don’t make a big deal out of it," she grumbled, her face turning slightly darker again.

The doctor smiled knowingly but didn’t comment as he saw the two of them out. "Just make sure to keep up with the care instructions, Mr. Isabeau. And Miss Petronille-" He gave her a mock salute, earning an annoyed eye roll in return. "Thanks for all your help in the shop. It was.. entertaining."

Petronille’s eye twitched. She felt the need to flip him off, but she couldn’t be damned, already heading for the door, while Isabeau shook the doctor’s hand firmly, a wide grin still plastered on his face. "Thank you, really. This means the world to me."

As they stepped outside, Isabeau quickly caught up to Petronille, his grin as wide as ever, eyes starry. "Nille, I- "

"Don’t," she cut him off, her voice sharp. She crossed her arms again, avoiding his gaze, her steps quickening. "I told you already, it’s just a favor for a favor. We’re even. So stop acting like it’s anything more than that."

Isabeau chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement and several other emotions he was having difficulties expressing properly. "I know you said that, but it doesn’t matter to me. I still want to thank you properly." He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. "This.. this isn’t just a favor to me. It’s huge. And I really, really appreciate it. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to become a clothing designer with just one arm- it took me so long to figure out how to even stitch two fabrics together, and even then I needed help from the others. But now.. maybe.. maybe I can!”

Petronille’s glare softened slightly, but she kept her arms crossed, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "Well, thank God you like it. You can drop it now..."

Isabeau smiled, his expression warm and genuine. "You’re stubborn, you know that?" He paused for a moment, his gaze softening further as he looked at her, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. "But seriously.. thank you, Nille. I don’t care if it’s just a favor to you. To me, it means everything and so much more!”

Petronille stared at him for a moment, her heart doing a strange little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t used to this. People being so.. kind towards her. It was easier when people just left her alone, when they didn’t care.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She swallowed hard, looking away, a pout forming on her lips as she managed a simple “..yeah. Glad.. glad it’s okay.”

Isabeau chuckled softly, falling into step beside her as they began walking back to the inn. He could tell she was flustered and embarrassed, even if she wouldn’t admit it, and that was enough for him. He didn’t push any further, content to just walk with her in silence for a while.

Deep down, Petronille knew that Isabeau’s kindness was genuine, and that fact both confused and.. maybe comforted her in a way she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. For now, though, she’d stick to pretending it was nothing. It was easier that way. As they walked through the quiet streets of Forgecœur, she couldn’t help but think- no, she was sure of it- Isabeau was way too kind for his own good. Especially towards her.

But.. a part of her was happy, that he liked the gift.

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WOOO SOME MORE ROCK DUO™ !!!!

I love their friendship its everything to me <3333

Chapter Text

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Petronille tugged the hood of her coat over her head as they approached the inn, trying to shield herself from the inevitable onslaught of attention that was bound to come once the others saw Isabeau’s new arm. She wasn’t looking for thanks, didn’t want to be fussed over. If anything, she just wanted to get back to the comfort of anonymity, where no one knew about the effort she’d put into getting that prosthetic made.

Isabeau, however, was all but bouncing on his feet beside her, rolling his new arm with excitement. His enthusiasm was palpable, his boisterous energy as infectious as always. Petronille couldn’t help but feel a pang of both relief and dread watching him. She glanced away quickly, face hidden beneath her hood.

As they pushed through the door, the inn’s warm air wrapped around them. Well, mostly only Isabeau. Inside, the party lounged by the hearth, chatting among themselves, but the moment Isabeau walked in with his shiny new prosthetic on display, everything stopped.

Mirabelle was the first to react, her eyes widening in shock. "I-ISABEAU..!?" she breathed, her voice trembling as she took in the sight. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. Without a second thought, she bolted from her seat and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

Isabeau laughed, albeit a little nervously. "W-whoa, whoa, Mira!! what’s with the tears??" He carefully cradled her cheeks in his hands, lifting it gently so he could see her tear-streaked face. His voice softened. "Miraaa... why are you crying? I’m okay! Everything’s great! You know that if you cry, I'll cry too.."

Mirabelle could barely speak through her tears, her words tumbling out between gasps. "I’m.. I’m so happy for you, Isabeau..! I-I’ve been so.. so guilty..! Ever since you lost your arm! I-it’s my fault you lost it in the first place..!"

Isabeau’s expression melted into something tender, pulling her into a tighter embrace. "Hey now, don’t go saying stuff like that! It wasn’t your fault, not even a little! We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?" His grin grew, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, look at this thing! It’s awesome!"

As Mirabelle buried her face into his chest, crying softly in a mixture of relief and happiness, Bonnie darted over, their eyes practically sparkling with excitement. They immediately began poking and prodding at the prosthetic, their small hands running along the metallic surface.

“WOAHHH!!” they exclaimed, their voice bubbling with excitement. “Za!! This is so cool!! What can it do? Can you lift me with it?? How strong is it? How does it work? Can I touch it??”

Isabeau laughed heartily, ruffling Bonnie’s hair as they pelted him with questions. "Whoa, whoa, slow down, BonBon! One question at a time!" He did his best to answer, explaining the mechanics of the arm, how it was powered by heat and craft, and how it felt nearly as natural as his real one.

Petronille, meanwhile, hovered near the door, pulling her hood further down as she desperately wished to disappear. This was too much attention, too much fuss. She hadn’t done it for the recognition- she just hated owing people! Now here they all were, fawning over Isabeau’s new arm, and it made her want to crawl out of her skin.

Odile, ever observant, raised an eyebrow at Petronille’s obvious discomfort. The older woman gave her a funny look, but before she could say anything, Petronille grumbled something about needing to get out of here and made a beeline for the exit. Just as she was about to leave, however, Bonnie darted over and latched onto her, their small arms wrapping around her waist.

“Nille! Nille, don’t gooo!! You’ve gotta stay!!” Bonnie whined, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes, but Petronille knew this little devil well enough to know that they were making fun of her. Her face darkened, her cheeks flushing a deep shade as she tried to pry her sibling off.

"Crabling, let go," she hissed, clearly mortified by the attention.

But Bonnie only giggled, their grip tightening. "Nope! You’ve gotta stay now!! It’s thanks to you, isn’t it??? Za has his arm back thanks to you?? I know you’re shy, but-"

“I’m not shy!” Petronille snapped, her voice rising in frustration. Her face was now wearing the shade of a beet, and her attempts to shove Bonnie off were growing more desperate.

The rest of the group couldn’t help but watch in amusement. Siffrin, with his usual soft smile, stepped forward to take a closer look at Isabeau’s new arm. His expression was warm and glad, as he quietly inspected the prosthetic.

"Looks good on you," Siffrin remarked, his tone gentle. Then, with his eye narrowing in that specific way that made Isabeau's brows raise in expectation, he added, "I guess now you're.. fully armed, huh?"

Isabeau burst into laughter, his usual boisterous fit that echoed through the inn, causing heads to turn. "HA!! Good one, Sif!" he cackled, gently patting Mira’s back as he heard her let out a pouty whine at the terrible pun. “Oh man, I’ve been waiting for someone to say that!” He opened his free arm wide, his grin even wider. "Come on, Sif! I can finally give proper hugs again! Get in here!"

Siffrin, though clearly flustered, couldn’t help but give in to Isabeau’s infectious enthusiasm. With a shy smile, he stepped forward and joined the hug pile, leaning in slightly to Mirabelle as well, who was still sniffling softly.

Bonnie, of course, gasped dramatically and nearly threw themselves into the hug as well. "I wanna join!!" they cheered, letting go of Petronille and launching themselves at the group.

Petronille scowled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched the ridiculous scene unfold before her. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, but there was something else in her gaze- something softer, almost fond, hidden beneath the layers of frustration.

The four heads turned to Odile, who was standing off to the side, arms crossed, clearly uninterested in joining the group hug. With a wry smile on her face, she watched the ridiculous display of affection between her companions.

"Come on, Dile!! Group hug, group hug!!" Bonnie called out running over to her, bouncing on their feet as they grabbed her sleeve and tugged relentlessly.

Odile gave them a withering look, but couldn’t hide the tiny quirk upwards of the corner of her lip. "No."

"Pleeeaasseeee," Bonnie begged, their voice drawing out into a dramatic plea. The others chimed in as well, until Odile finally gave in with a deep sigh.

“Gems alive, fine” she rubbed her temple, allowing Bonnie to drag her over by the sleeve. She stood stiffly, as Isabeau wrapped his arms around them all in a hug, clearly not a big fan of physical contact, but she softly patted Mirabelle’s fluffy head as the healer continued to smile through her tears.

Isabeau’s grin stretched even wider as he hugged the bunch of them, his heart swelling with warmth and affection. "Now this is what I call a family moment!" he declared, squeezing them all tightly, causing Odile to huff in exasperation.

Petronille, watching from the corner, scoffed loudly before turning on her heel. This was all too much for her. The fussing, the hugging, the emotions- it was overwhelming. She needed to get out of there, to breathe, to escape it all. She stomped off toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath, hoping the others would be too caught up in their sappy moment to notice her leave.

A while later, as the emotions died down and the inn settled into a quieter atmosphere, Petronille sat in the lobby, munching on some snacks she had found in the kitchen. Her mind was still swirling from the events of the day, and she was beginning to develop a headache from all the noise and attention.

Just then, a shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Isabeau standing there, his usual goofy grin plastered on his face.

"Nille.. Can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Petronille raised an eyebrow, already feeling her patience thinning. "What?" she asked, her voice flat.

Isabeau scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I, uh.. I gave everyone a hug today! A proper hug! I was wondering if I could give you one, too. You know, since you’re the reason I have this arm in the first place." He gestured to his new prosthetic with a sheepish smile.

Petronille’s eyes widened, her face heating up immediately. "No." she said firmly, glaring daggers at him.

Isabeau quickly raised his hands in surrender, chuckling nervously. “Oh, come on! Don’t be like that! Even Madame Odile got a hug, can you believe it?? You can’t be left out!” He smiled nervously, trying to ease the tension.

Petronille rubbed her temples, feeling the headache getting worse. "..for the love of- Fine! Do what you want and leave me alone," she muttered, too tired to argue anymore, and she knew for a fact that this stupid smiling dumbass will not give up until he gets what he wants. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

Isabeau’s face lit up, and before Petronille could protest, he sat down way too close for comfort and pulled her into an embrace. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and though she stayed stiff as a board, refusing to relax into the hug, she couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiating from his body. The cold ache that had settled in her bones seemed to disappear completely, the natural body warmth seeming to work even better than the coat she was given. She let out a sigh, annoyed. She was too tired to deal with this, and yet..

Isabeau, still holding her, began to babble excitedly. "You know, now that I’ve got my arm back, I can finally start working on clothing designs again! I’ve got so many ideas, and now I can actually make them! I did promise to make clothes for Sif, and it’s LONG overdue!"

Petronille rolled her eyes, trying to maintain her usual grumpy demeanor. "You’re acting like a big puppy. A dumb, loyal dog, that’s what you act like." she muttered, her voice tinged with mild annoyance. "Clingy and always in the way."

Isabeau laughed, patting her head gently, which caused her eye to twitch. "Yeah, yeah, I’ve been called worse. Plus, blind loyalty is my best trait!” He said it jokingly, but both of them knew that the loyalty in him went way beyond what most is capable of.

Petronille huffed, crossing her arms tightly as Isabeau continued to hold and yap about whatever. She could still feel the warmth lingering on her skin, and though she would never admit it, it felt.. ugh, it felt liberating. Even though the coat is doing wonders with the cold, somehow natural warmth coming from other people seems to get rid of the deep-rooted ache completely.

Way too nice. She thought to herself, frowning, her fist bunching into the warm fabric of Isabeau’s sleeve. Definitely, his most annoying trait.

- - -

I LOVE THEM

next chapter is probably what most people that are any interested in Petronille's and Siffrin's dynamic have been waiting for for a while. HMMM WHAT COULD IT BEEE

Chapter Text

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Petronille settled cross-legged on the floor, an elegant sheet of thin, white paper resting in her hands as she carefully folded it, each crease growing sharper under her fingers. She let out a quiet breath as the repetitive motions distracted her, the familiar flow of folding and creasing a comfort to her restless mind. Her skill at this art was something of a surprise even to herself; it wasn’t exactly a hobby, more like something that emerged on its own whenever she had idle time and needed to keep her hands busy. Which didn't exactly happen often, back at Bambouche- she was used to working till late at night to provide for her and her sibling, but.. for some reason, she found herself really interested in origami since her youngest years. She liked the calm, the repetitive silence of it all.

She even tried to get Bonnie into it, but the little devil gave up after their first try, sticking their tongue out at her, and saying that she can stick with the origami, while they make dinner. Oh well.

Either way, she found herself sitting at her desk sometimes, at times even until late at night- making those stupid paper frogs, or roses, or other animals, objects, and plants. It definitely wasn't a hobby that one with such short temper and impatience could handle for long- so she supposed that anyone could be quite surprised to see her so skilled at it, or even doing it at all. Still, oddly enough, she found herself enjoying it a lot- it even calmed her down, to some degree.

And since Odile had set the new rule of always being back at the inn before nightfall, Petronille found herself with a lot of free time on her hands. It was definitely strange for her- to not work until late at night- but.. with the thought of not needing to work, exactly- because the party did have funds to manage themselves- it.. felt a bit nice. To not have all that pressure on her, of her sibling's wellbeing. They were safe, and secure, and well provided for, by.. the others.

Her expression soured up slightly, but she stopped herself from crushing the poor, fragile little half-finished paper crane in her hands.

Siffrin noticed her from across the room, pausing from where he’d been digging through his own belongings. Silently, he settled down across from her, his curious gaze fixed on the paper folding in her hands. “Didn’t know you're into origami,” he said, genuinely impressed. "You don't really seem like the type."

Petronille gave him a flat look, barely pausing as she folded another corner. “I’m not putting on a show for you. I just do it sometimes.”

Siffrin smirked, undeterred, and sat down a respective distance away, his eyes following the precise folds. She huffed but continued, deciding to ignore him, letting herself become absorbed again in the crane that was slowly taking shape between her hands. The familiar pattern of folds and creases soothed her, drawing her deeper into a state of calm focus, each sharp fold building the structure of something delicate yet sturdy.

But then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed a small glint- a dagger in Siffrin's hand. In his lap, he was carving into a rough piece of wood, the small curls of wood falling to the floor with each cut.

Petronille raised an eyebrow at him. “And.. you're wood craving?” she tilted her head, more surprised than she let on. "All this time we've been traveling together, and you kept that hidden away?”

Siffrin shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “It’s a hobby I save for moments of peace, so usually.. not around you.”

Petronille’s eye twitched as she shot him a look. “Keep talking and I'll make sure you're at peace all the time." She narrowed her gaze back down at the nearly finished crane, pretending to ignore the small smirk on his face, and the small chuckle that escaped him afterwards.

They sat in silence after that, each focused on their own little creation. Siffrin’s dagger worked deftly, carving careful patterns into the wooden shape he was crafting, while Petronille’s paper crane grew wings and a narrow neck, the small, fragile form taking shape before her. Eventually, she smoothed out a final fold, a small sigh of satisfaction escaping her as she looked at it from all angles. In her hand, the crane looked almost ethereal, a fleeting vision of something that would dissolve at the slightest touch.

Siffrin glanced up from his work, and couldn't help a small sparkle in his eye as he looked at it. "Hey, looking good. You're really good at that." Petronille just grumbled something in response, pouting. "..It's just folding paper. When you do that enough, it eventually just becomes muscle memory." She said, gaining a hum from the Traveler sitting across from her.

A thought drifted into her mind, one that she couldn’t shake as she stared at the crane. Without thinking, she spoke up. “You know, there’s a legend.. something about making a thousand paper cranes in under a year.” She frowned, her voice soft as she examined the crane in her hand. “If you do it, supposedly, you get a wish. Or so someone told me once. Not that I believe into stuff like that.”

The mention of a wish seemed to ripple through the air, and a heavy silence fell between them. Siffrin froze, his hand suspended mid-carve as he stared at her. He placed his carving down, reaching out suddenly, his hand landing close to her wrist, startling her slightly, his expression alarmed.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Don’t do it."

Petronille blinked, stunned by his reaction, her gaze shifting between his face and his hand hovering above hers. Siffrin’s face was pale, almost ghostly, a haunted look in his eye that startled her. “Eh- what’s gotten into you?” she asked, frowning at him.

Siffrin looked away, the tension in his shoulders so evident it was almost painful to watch. His hand shook above hers, before he withdrew it quickly. “Just.. don’t,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “Wishing- it doesn’t work like you think. It’s..” He hesitated, then seemed to struggle for words, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Petronille’s confusion grew. She pulled her hand back, letting the paper crane rest on the floor before her as she folded her arms, giving him an expectant look, refusing to let the matter drop. “I didn’t think you’d get all superstitious on me,” she muttered, trying to ease the tension in her own chest. But his reaction only deepened her curiosity. “What's up with you? I mean, you know that making a wish upon a paper crane is ridiculous, right?”

Siffrin’s fingers tightened into fists, his head hanging as he shook it, unable to meet her eyes. The dagger slipped from his lap and clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms around himself. Petronille watched, a frown settling on her face as she saw the way his shoulders hunched, his entire frame shrinking inward.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “Wishes.. go wrong, often,” he whispered, his voice tight and strangled. “It never turns out the way you think. The way you want it to. Whatever God, or Universe, or anything else that listens to wishes.. it twists them. It takes what you want and makes it into something..” He trailed off, unable to finish, and for a moment, he looked like he might choke on his words. "..awful. Something that's not ever, ever worth the price."

Petronille was left speechless, her gaze fixed on him as a strange sensation churned in her stomach. Siffrin rarely shared personal thoughts, let alone like this, and she couldn’t help the cold knot forming inside her as he continued to speak.

He took a shuddering breath, his voice growing hollow as he spoke. “I made a wish.. once,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness and regret. “I wanted.. to stay with them- the others. I wished that, no matter what happened, that they'd never leave me. That no matter what awaits us in the House the next day- we'd all overcome it. That we'll get out, alive and whole, and go on an adventure, together. Without the weight of the entire nation on our shoulders, just- enjoy.. life.” His hand tightened around his cloak, fingers digging into the fabric as he fought to keep his voice steady. “The Universe.. gave me that wish, alright. It trapped me in a time loop. Every time we tried to fight the King, every time we failed, or just each time we'd go to the very end, but without the plan of journeying together.. I would still be brought to the very start. Or I would have to watch them die. And then we’d start over. I’d see them die again. And again.”

Petronille's eyes widened slowly as she stared at him, her heart hammering as his words sank in. She was beginning to understand. The whispers she’d heard, the little things that had come up between Siffrin and Odile that one night, about time loops, about.. them dying to the King. It wasn’t just a metaphor or a story. It was real. They’d all died- over and over- and Siffrin had lived through it each time.

A dark look crossed his face, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It was my wish that kept us there, trapped in that endless loop of dying and starting over, of losing them again and again.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, unable to face her as his gaze fell to the floor. “I did that.. for so long- long enough to stop.. caring, as much. I-I began.. forgetting- their names, their faces- treating this whole thing a sick, twisted performance- treating them as nothing more than actors in a play- it all just.. stopped mattering. I did.. horrible things- and I've seen things that are equally as horrible. Stars, I went as far as to slit my own throat, just to reset the loop- to make things quicker, because I made a mistake- a-and I couldn't progress further!" He breathed, looking up at her, his eye wide, almost wild.

He tried to stop talking- he had to- he shouldn't be saying all of that, least of all to her- someone who has nothing to do with it, who just wants to get home with her sibling- he shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't-!! And yet-! "A-And I'm so.. so scared! That one day.. I might forget myself again.. when I mess something up. And I'll kill myself. Thinking I'm back there again. But I won't be. And I'll make a decision that I won't be able to reverse-!!" He looked away, gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he shrank in on himself further. Silly, silly Stardust. Always somehow managing to make it another person’s problem, in the end. "..E-Even when we got out.. all those memories, those deaths.. they don’t disappear. T-They’re burned into my mind. And it's all because of that wish- it.. it was the reason we succeeded, but.. I w-will.. never recover, from some of those things."

Petronille could only stare, a tightness forming in her throat as the weight of his words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She held her breath, unable to let it out, let alone find the words to respond.

Siffrin looked up at her, his expression haunted, raw in a way she had seen just a few times. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, “So.. just d-don’t. Don’t make a wish, not on those cranes, not on anything. It’s not worth the price. Sometimes it’s better to.. accept life as it is.. than to ask for something more.”

Petronille’s gaze shifted to the paper crane on the floor before her, the delicate lines and careful folds she’d spent so much time crafting now feeling strangely hollow, almost mocking. She couldn’t pretend to grasp everything he had been through, but she understood enough.

Siffrin shifted, in a mixture of anxiety and awkwardness, looking as if he was preparing to leave, clearly uncomfortable with how much he had let slip. “I'm.. I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to unload all that,” he murmured, his voice tight. “I just.. I don’t want you to have to go through a-anything like that."

He quickly picked up his dagger and the unfinished carving, his gaze distant as he got up turned to leave. But before he walked away, he glanced back at her, his eyes softening. “Wish Craft.. is not really something made to be enjoyed by mortals, anymore."

With that, he left in a hurry, closing the door quietly behind him. Petronille was left alone, the delicate paper crane resting on the floor before her, its soft white shape looking almost fragile in the dim light. She stared at it, her thoughts racing, her emotions churning. It felt as if an entire world had opened up before her, something she hadn’t known existed. Siffrin had endured so much- more than she had ever guessed- and yet he still moved forward, still laughed and fought and cared, despite everything. Surrounded by people that cared for him, and would die for him, and vice versa.

The thought of all of that being cut off with a single, wrong decision- a wrong move with his dagger, put to his own throat while in a less then ideal mindspace.. was.. terrifying.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the crane’s delicate wings, and for a moment, she felt a strange sense of connection, a shared understanding that was new and unsettling. She might never fully understand the weight he carried, but she knew one thing for certain now.

She would respect it. She would honor his wish, his struggles and effort, by never making one herself, by letting life unfold as it would.

- - -

In this world, prayers are more than mere words thrown into the wind- they are the essence of Wish Craft, a method through which mortals can appeal to higher powers, hoping to reshape their reality. Yet, such prayers are fraught with danger, for the Gods and entities who listen have their own agendas, and the act of asking for divine intervention often leads to consequences far beyond what any mortal could expect.

The most ancient and powerful force, the Universe, also known as the First Old God, the Creator of Reality, or The Stars of The World, possesses a near-limitless ability to grant wishes. However, the Universe delights in the complexity of human suffering, watching with cruel fascination as those who dare ask for its favor spiral into regret. When a wish is directed toward the Universe, it is often twisted, corrupted by the entity’s enjoyment of chaos.

A wish for wealth might result in endless riches, but only after the wisher’s loved ones are taken from them, or their mind deteriorates under the weight of their new fortune. A desire for love might be granted with obsession, the kind that consumes and destroys. Mortals who appeal to the Universe for a wish seldom walk away unscathed, either physically or emotionally, and more often than not, they wish they had never asked at all.

The price for its favor is always heavy, always terrible, and rarely leaves the wisher satisfied. Wishes to the Universe are known to only be granted through very strict and specific rituals, which were mainly invented and performed on the Forgotten Island, which used to worship the Universe as the country’s main religion. Due to that fact, there are barely any people at all, that still hold that knowledge.

In contrast, the Expressions- the Ascended Gods, those who were once mortal but achieved divinity- grant wishes with far greater care. Their power is limited compared to the Universe, but they understand the mortal condition, having once lived within its constraints. When a mortal prays to an Expression, the response is often gentler, and the wish granted tends to come with more consideration. There are also no real rituals required, although it is widely popularised that praying at a homemade shrines and leaving small offerings may increase one’s affinity with the Expression that it is dedicated to.

A wish for health might bring recovery, but it is never instantaneous or without effort. A wish for companionship might bring new friendships, but only those that are earned through personal growth and kindness towards others. The Expressions are kind, but they cannot alter reality in the grand, sweeping ways the Universe can. Their gifts are softer, quieter, and often depend on the wisher’s own journey. While they may not wield the sheer, terrifying power of an Old God, they offer something more precious- hope without the cost of devastation. That is why, it is best to not anger them, to never be greedy when asking them for favors.

The Change God, another ancient entity like the Universe, rarely engages with mortals at all. Long absent from the realm of human affairs, the Change God is distant, their presence more of an idea than a tangible force. They once embodied the constant transformation of life, guiding cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. But now, they watch from afar, indifferent to the pleas of those who pray to them.

Their followers may still offer prayers, may still hope for their intervention, but the Change God’s silence is nearly absolute. They do not grant wishes, not because they can’t, but because they choose not to. Their absence is felt keenly, especially among those who believe in the necessity of change- yet their prayers fall into a void, unanswered, as the Change God rarely stirs from their distant, ethereal realm.

Thus, mortals must choose carefully when they pray, understanding the risks of asking too much of powers far beyond their control. For the Universe’s twisted gifts, the Expressions’ compassionate yet limited aid, or the Change God’s cold indifference, all reveal a fundamental truth; even Gods cannot be relied upon without caution, and in asking for a new reality, one must always be prepared for the cost.

- - -

OKE SHE KNOWS NOW SHE KNOWS NOW

I honestly wasn't sure how to lead this conversation- I really hope that it was in character. I feel like Siffrin would definitely still be very much "keep it all in and put on a smile" type 99% of the time, but just once in eternity he would completely spill like, everything. Even towards people outside of his little family- or in this case Petronille. Siffrin knew that Petronille would naturally be stubborn enough to try to make that fucking wish just to spite him and show him she can, so that's why he found himself obliged to tell her everything, and why making wishes is just not worth it. And well, finally, she knows. Woohoo.

I'm still not very proud of this chapter 💀💀💀 kms

I also feel like it was extremely important to address that Siffrin is not stable at all ( shocker )- he could totally get himself into a frenzy and just slit his own throat to "loop back." Even though he's all out of wish craft, and can't loop back anymore. I've noticed people pointing out in the comments that if one of his party members dies post game ( now in the story ) or if he parts with Bonnie later on when they reach Bambouche- Siffrin will simply loop back, but- he couldn't even if he'd want to. Like Loop themself said during their fight when they win against Siffrin, he can't loop anymore, because he's all out of Wish Craft. His wish was completed, the loops have ended, he's with his family, so his wish couldn't just randomly re-activate if one of his family members dies or leaves. Like Loop said, he just needs to learn to be okay with it. They can't keep their party hostile in the loop cycles, just because they're lonely.

M A N I needed to get that off my chest 💀

Chapter Text

- - -

The city streets were already crowded with townsfolk and visitors, but it was nothing compared to the maze of revelry they found themselves in as they ventured deeper into the heart of the city. Siffrin and his party had taken on many paths in their journey together- dangers, battles, and even a power-hungry maniac threatening the entire country- but this.. this was a different challenge altogether.

And entire section of the town, specifically designed to welcome people that relish in all sorts of orgies, and other carnal pleasures. It was.. definitely something entirely new for them to deal with. It definitely felt out of place, to be there- in an entire area full of naked people, having sex all around the place. It was.. gross. And uncomfortable. But they had to make it through- the town was built right above a large river, which they couldn't pass through otherwise- they had no boat, after all. So, the town was really the only way through it, with a bridge leading from one shore to the other, the town being directly in the middle.

Odile kept her expression schooled and blank as she surveyed their surroundings, a clear sense of purpose in her every move. She held her head high, ignoring the sights and sounds around them, though her voice was low and urgent when she spoke to the group. “Stay close. Eyes forward. We get through, and we get out. There's nothing worth stopping for around here.”

As they pushed through the crowded area, Bonnie was lead by Petronille, which held her hands over their eyes as she walked behind them. “Just keep walking, Bon. We'll be out in a minute.” she whispered, her voice more tense than angry, definitely uncomfortable, though she was trying to keep her calm for her sibling’s sake.

“..Kay, Nille. Just let me know when we're out." Bonnie’s voice was quiet and tense, but they clung tightly to their sister's wrists, trying to block out the noises around them.

Mirabelle was faring no better. Her face was paler than usual, her eyes squeezed shut as she latched onto Isabeau’s sleeve, gripping it tightly. “I.. I think I’m going to be sick..”

Isabeau wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to offer what little comfort he could, but his face remained a mix of a flushed grimace. “Just keep your head down, Mira,” he murmured, keeping his own gaze forward with forced determination.

Only Siffrin seemed to be unaffected by the sights and sounds around him. He walked at the head of the group, face blank, gaze fixed straight ahead with a vacant look that felt unsettling to those around him. Even as the noise and proximity of the crowd grew more overwhelming, Siffrin pressed forward, unflinching.

Isabeau’s brows furrowed as he kept pace with him, leaning forward a little to check on the other. “Sif? You doing okay, buddy?”

No reply.

Siffrin didn’t respond, not even a blink. He just kept walking, almost mechanically, dissociating, his gaze fixed straight ahead. There was no spark of life in his eye- only a haunted emptiness that made Isabeau’s heart twist. But before he could try again, he heard a commotion behind him.

Petronille gasped as she suddenly felt her coat being gripped, causing her to stumble back slightly, but she stubbornly kept Bonnie's eyes covered.

"N-Nille?" Bonnie spoke, clinging to their sister's wrists as the older woman turned, glaring daggers at whoever it was. The man’s eyes gleamed with a suggestion that made her stomach churn, and her voice was filled with disgust and fury. “Hands off,” she snarled.

"Hey, there's no reason to get all worked up! Just wanted to present an invitation!" The stranger held up his hands in mock surrender, but the look in his eyes held no apology. It was Odile’s cold, steely glare, however, that made him pause, and take a step back. She didn’t say a word, but the threat in her expression was enough to make him think twice, before nervously glancing to the side- and finally, stepping back.

“Let’s just move,” Petronille snapped, her face a mixture of anger and disgust as she continued walking, still keeping her hands over Bonnie's vision. Her frustration and stress was evident, her frame tense as she guided them forward.

"..Nille? W-What happened?" Bonnie spoke, trying to look over and catch a glimpse at their sister, but Petronille wouldn't let them.

"Bon, just- I'm fine, see? It's all okay. We'll talk when we're out, alright?" Although Bonnie didn't say anything back, it was clear that the noises that were almost omnipresent- disgusting, wet sounds, and loud, lewd moans causing them to shrink in on themself, as they continued walking. Despite curiosity eating off at them, maybe it was better to.. not look.

Eventually, the party finally pushed past the last rowdy group and made it out, crossing the bridge and stopping behind the gate, finally surrounded by nothing but silence, and beautiful nature. Petronille dropped her hands from Bonnie’s face, her arms falling to her sides as she exhaled, releasing tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Bonnie quickly turned and hugged her, their small frame shaking slightly as they muttered, “That was.. w-weird.”

Petronille was quick to return the embrace, gently patting their head, glancing around to make sure everyone else was present. “Yeah. But it's okay now. You alright, Bon?" The little sibling nodded, but they were still struggling to wrap their head around the moment, their small arms tightening around Petronille's waist.

Odile, who had kept a watchful eye on the group, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow as she surveyed everyone. “Everyone all right?” Her voice was cool, but there was a hint of concern and still lingering distaste.

Mirabelle forced a smile, though it was weak and trembled at the edges. “I.. I think so, yes. That was.. awful!!” She shivered, and hugged herself with a small whimper, as though trying to shield herself from the residual tension.

Before anyone could respond, Siffrin rushed past them, his face pale, and stumbled to a nearby tree, dropping to his knees. He retched, his body trembling as he emptied his stomach into the patch of grass below him. The group froze, alarmed, as Isabeau bolted over to his side.

“Sif!!” Isabeau knelt beside him, his voice thick with worry as he rested a hand on Siffrin’s shoulder. “A-Are you okay?? What happened???”

Mirabelle rushed over as well, gently gathering Siffrin’s hair back as he continued to heave, her face tight with concern and lingering anxiety. Bonnie’s small hands clung to Petronille's coat, their voice shaky as they whispered, “W-What's wrong with Frin? Why is he sick..??"

However, they got no reply, with Petronille frowning deeply as she continued to hold Bonnie close. Eventually, she exhaled harshly and looked away, patting her little sibling's back. "..Don't worry. I.. I'm sure that.. he'll feel better afterwards. Just give him a moment." She was sure that all of them shared that same feeling of disgust in the pit of their stomach, but.. then again, it was Siffrin. It seemed like quite a.. violent reaction to seeing a bunch of people having a sexual intercourse.

Odile approached slowly, her expression calm but her eyes narrowed with worry. She pulled a bottle of water from her bag, silently offering it to the Traveler as his retching finally subsided. "Here. Take small sips, and take your time." Siffrin accepted it with trembling hands, his fingers fumbling to unscrew the cap.

Isabeau’s worry deepened as he looked at Siffrin’s face. Even now, there was an eerie blankness in his expression, his eyes wide and staring at nothing. Isabeau gave Mirabelle a silent look, and she nodded, kneeling beside Siffrin. She gently put a hand on the shorter's back, her palm glowing faintly with Healing Craft to help ease his nausea and calm him down a little.

As Siffrin took small sips of water, Mirabelle handed him a napkin to wipe his mouth. He scooted a few inches away from the mess he had made, curling up on himself in the middle of the grassy clearing. His gaze remained unfocused, distant.

Isabeau moved closer, trying to catch his eye, a small, sad smile on his face as he spoke gently. “Sif.. would it help if I held you?" He wanted to make sure. He needed to make sure if touching is a no-go for now- after all, he was most likely the only person that was.. really aware, of Siffrin's past, and his relation with sex.

For a moment, it seemed like Siffrin hadn’t even heard him, but then he gave a slow nod, his gaze fixed on the ground. Isabeau pulled him into a warm embrace, holding him close as Mirabelle continued to rub his back, her touch light and soothing. "There, there.. just breathe, yeah, Sif?" Isabeau attempted a small smile, resting his chin on the top of his head.

"Y-Yeah! Just follow my pattern, okay, Siffrin..?" Mirabelle spoke, putting a hand on her chest, and taking in a deep, audible breath, with Siffrin soon trying his best to match her.

Meanwhile on Bonnie's side, they tugged at Petronille’s hand, almost dragging her forward. Petronille groaned slightly, her usual resistance to overt displays of concern evident, but she followed Bonnie’s lead nonetheless. The little cook plopped down in front of Siffrin, peering up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Frin, are you okay?” Bonnie asked, their tone endearingly blunt, and yet undeniably kind, just like it always was during his times of distress. Bonnie wouldn't hold back from asking him all the right questions, asking exactly what was wrong. They wanted to know if he was okay, and they wanted him to be honest. “Do you need a snack?? Why did you get sick??”

Siffrin tried to muster a smile, but it barely formed before fading. He managed a nod, then shook his head, as though he wasn’t even sure of his own answer. “I’ll.. I’ll be okay, BonBon. Don't worry about me. Just.. grossed out, is all.”

Bonnie hummed, their eyes narrowing further, but they couldn't exactly.. disagree. Even without the.. visual attractions, they could easily say it was pretty gross. Petronille, standing behind them with her arms crossed, watched Siffrin carefully. Her eyes softened slightly, a rare flicker of vulnerability in her usually guarded gaze, though she said nothing.

After a moment, Odile cleared her throat, drawing the group’s attention. “Perhaps we should set up camp nearby. Somewhere quieter, a little further from the town, for mental peace.”

She turned to Isabeau, one eyebrow raised in question. “Do you think you can carry them, Isabeau?”

Isabeau’s wide grin was immediate, though he quickly tried to cover it, giving a more composed nod. “More than happy to!” Before he could move though, Siffrin quickly put up a hand, giving that same forced, faint smile.

“I.. I’m okay now, really. I can walk.”

Isabeau raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Siffrin made an attempt to stand but stumbled as his legs trembled beneath him. Isabeau’s sceptical look remained fixed on him, as he held his shoulders to make sure he won't fall.

“Siiiiif,” he said, voice laced with a hint of fondness.

Eventually, after a few attempts of making his legs stop shaking, Siffrin sighed and nodded, finally relenting. In one swift motion, Isabeau scooped him up, cradling him with a surprising gentleness that seemed to be more than definitely in character. Siffrin’s eyes widened in surprise, his expression almost comically shocked, and Bonnie burst out laughing, pointing at him with delight as they quickly jumped up to their feet.

“Hey, I’m next!” Bonnie declared, crossing their arms with an exaggerated pout. “As soon as Frin gets down, it’s my turn!!”

Isabeau can't help a laugh. "Okay, okay! You're next in line, got it!" He smiled, as Bonnie narrowed their eyes at him in this distinguishable way.

"Do you promise." They asked, as if the conversation happening right now was serious beyond any other. Isabeau barely held himself back from laughing, and forcing in a half-convincing, dead-serious facade.

"I super promise, Bon."

"And do you super duper, promise." Petronille rolled her eyes fondly at the exchange, far too familiar to her, but couldn’t help glancing over at Mirabelle, who still seemed visibly.. iffy.

With a slight smirk, she leaned in, her voice teasing. “What's with that face, huh? Does our Princess need a lift, too?"

Mirabelle’s eyes went wide as saucers, a high-pitched squeak escaping her lips as she turned to Petronille, sputtering. “I-I'm fine!! Perfectly fine!!" Her face flushed as she crossed her arms in flustered indignation.

Petronille laughed- an oddly bright, genuine sound that caught the attention of the others. It wasn’t often that Petronille allowed herself to laugh so freely, and for a moment, the group simply watched, surprised and heartened by the rare display of the real Petronille- the one behind the walls she always kept up. She seemed oblivious to the attention, focused instead on watching Mirabelle’s face grow darker by the second, before pouting and giving Petronille a look.

The mood was lighter as they continued walking.

They eventually found a small clearing a safe distance from the town’s outskirts. The grass was soft, the trees provided a sheltering canopy, and the air was blessedly quiet.

Isabeau carefully set Siffrin down on the grass, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder before fetching some blankets from their bags. Siffrin hugged his knees, looking around at the group, his face still pale but more present than before. Mirabelle knelt beside him, her hand resting comfortingly on his back, while Bonnie settled cross-legged in front of him. They went to ask Mirabelle about a specific type of herb they've been looking for a while now, seemingly something related to cooking.

Odile sat nearby, her gaze trained on the group with an almost imperceptible softness. They would give themselves a small break, before setting up the camp- it was still pretty light out, after all. Only Petronille insisted on going to gather some firewood nearby, always eager to not waste time on silly breaks- even after whatever the hell they just went through. After she was done, she settled down nearby, watching Siffrin subtly with a corner of her eye, glancing over at him every once in a while.

As they relaxed, Isabeau returned with a blanket, wrapping it around Siffrin’s shoulders. He sat beside him, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately- in a motion so tender that it made Siffrin's heart flutter. “Rest up, okay? We’re all here if you need anything, Sif!”

Siffrin nodded, managing a small, genuine smile this time. He took a deep breath, the warmth of his friends surrounding him helping to ground him, to push back the shadows that had clawed at him earlier, reminding him of his younger days. He looked around at each of them, gratitude filling his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with sincerity. They each returned his look with quiet understanding, unspoken promises of support hanging in the air between them. The Traveler gave a soft laugh as just a moment later, Bonnie went to tug at Isabeau's ear, demanding for him to fill in his earlier promise, NOW!!!

The rest of the evening passed by in comfortable chatter, laughter and bad puns, setting a soft blanket of normalcy around the group.

- - -

SKEDADLE SKEDOODLE, YOUR DICK IS NOW A NOODLE!!!

BARE CHESTED ISA JUMPSCARE, THE SAVIOR OF THE DAY!!!! WOOO

Chapter Text

- - -

The darkness was dense, oppressive, and Siffrin felt it encircle him, seeping into his skin as countless sweaty hands clawed and gripped at his body. He writhed, desperate to escape, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t break free. The hands gripped him greedily, possessively, crawling across his skin, invading his most private parts with a cruel familiarity that turned his stomach. His voice grew hoarse as he screamed, but the grip on him only grew stronger, more insistent, twisting him into something that felt all too familiar yet utterly monstrous.

He was left with shattered bones and a metallic taste in his mouth, feeling that burning, hot pain deep in his insides, having been used so thoroughly by countless men and women alike. Discarded, used, tossed aside like an object, like trash, as if his very being had been sold. Because it was. He was nothing more than something to be used. That's all he was really good for, anyway.

Suddenly, Siffrin’s eyes snapped open, a strangled yelp escaping his lips. The dim light of early morning barely touched the room, and he found himself tangled in the sheets, groaning as he collided with the cold floor. His skin felt clammy, his breath ragged, and his heart raced as though it might burst. The remnants of the dream clung to him like cobwebs, an unwelcome reminder that he couldn’t shake.

From somewhere nearby, as if through fog, Isabeau’s groggy voice broke through. "..Sif?" Suddenly, he paused, and then his eyes widened, as if his brain had caught up to what had happened. He moved over to the opposite side of the bed, looking down at the miserable Traveler on the floor, tangled in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling, wide eyed. "S-Sif-?? Did you fall of the bed-?? Oh no, I didn't push you, did I?? Are you okay???"

Siffrin could faintly hear him stressing through the static, as he tried to force himself back into reality, but the weight of the nightmare clung to him, turning his mouth dry. He could still feel the bruising grip of those phantom hands, still taste the blood in his mouth, the grossness inside of him and between his thighs.

It never exactly.. ended, quite as bad as in the dream. He never ended up with broken bones, or bleeding- well, maybe excluding down there- But it always ended in the same way. He'd feel used, discarded, like an object.

“Y-yeah.. yeah, I just.. fell off the bed.” he gulped, trying to summon a smile but falling short. Safe to say, it looked quite shaky, paired with the fact that he didn't even attempt to move from his position, as if his frame had been frozen in place. He forced himself upright eventually, still trembling slightly, his hands clutched tightly to his chest.

Isabeau wasn’t convinced, his brows drawing together as he reached out a tentative hand, but Siffrin shied away, standing shakily. “I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice softer. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this, shaking horribly, re-living that terrible period of his life, as if it was anything worth remembering.

He blinked just as Isabeau got into his view, and it took him a second to realize that he must've been talking to him- he cursed himself internally, before putting on that smile again.

"..Ah. Sorry, Isa. Say that again..?" He asked, but his voice was hushed. Isabeau stared at him for several moments, finding all the little details that he.. found quite concerning. The trembling hands, the flushed skin, the fake smile- he had seen it all before, and he did not like it. He tried to reach out to the shorter. "..Sif, I can see that you are-" But before his hand could even land, Siffrin's body instinctively flinched back so suddenly, that it must've surprised the rouge himself. Siffrin's eye widened slightly as he stared at Isabeau, which's heart squeezed painfully- for a second, Siffrin looked like a kicked puppy. Because of him. The Defender withdrew his hand quickly, frowning softly as he sat up straighter, trying to get through to him.

"..I-I'm sorry- I shouldn't have tried to touch you all of a sudden-" He said, anxiously himself, and Siffrin gulped. He messed up again. He was supposed to be good with touch now- they were his family! He didn't need to be scared of them, and flinch back like a wild, scared animal!

His mouth opened, but no words left him- he could see Isabeau speaking, but he heard nothing but static. He tried to form words on his own, but all that left him were uneven, small puffs of air. Isabeau's brows furrowed in alarm, but he held himself back from reaching out for the second time, and instead, held both of his hands up in the air, concern and guilt running deep in his bones.

"..Siffrin, please answer me-"

"Frin! Za! Get your butts over here, you're late for breakfast!!!" Bonnie's call from the kitchen interrupted their little moment, causing silence to fall over the two. Impulsively, Siffrin quickly made his way towards the door, hugging himself. He could see Isabeau opening his mouth to speak with the corner of his eye, but he wouldn't let him.

"S-Sorry, Isa. Just had a dream. Forget that- I'll be fine in a second. Just need some time to cool off." He said anxiously, Isabeau's heart hammering in his chest as he watched the shorter leave the room quickly. Silence filled the inn once more, as the Defender's shoulders slouched, and he looked down with a grimace. He really shouldn't have reached out so suddenly- he had thought Siffrin got slightly more used to physical contact, even asking for it at times- but he really shouldn't be touching him unless given permission.

He messed up.

With quick, anxiety driven steps, Siffrin stumbled into the hall, needing to be somewhere- anywhere- other than the shadows of his own nightmare. Each step down the hallway was heavy, every inch of his body still reeling from the aftermath of sleep, and that Star-awful encounter with Isabeau- what was wrong with him!? Flinching away like that, like he's back at stage one!

Stupid Stardust. Can't even handle a simple poke from his most trusted ones- the ones that love him and care for him unconditionally.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, the morning sun had begun to seep through the small window, casting a warm glow over the room. Bonnie was already there, expertly chopping vegetables and humming a silly, childish tune under their breath.

They noticed Siffrin almost immediately, looking up with a grin, which quickly disappeared. "Mornin' Fri-!! oh. Uh oh." Their expression quickly shifted to a scrutinizing look. They tilted their head, eyes narrowing. “You look like crab."

Siffrin managed a weak chuckle, brushing his fingers through his eternally tangled hair. “Thanks, Bon."

Their bluntness was something he usually found endearing, but today, even that familiar jab felt like a weight pressing down on him. He leaned against the kitchen table, trying to let the normalcy of the moment wash over him, but it was difficult when the remnants of his dream still haunted the edges of his mind.

Bonnie’s observant gaze followed him as they resumed their chopping. “Everyone else have eaten already. Besides you and 'Za. 'Dile said to let you sleep in late. Right now she and Belle are somewhere off at the town, and I've got no crabbing clue where Nille is. So.. gonna tell me why you look like you’ve been through the House and back?" Their tone was as jabby as it always was, but the concern and suspicion in their eyes was unmistakable. They were clearly not going to buy any lame excuse Siffrin is going to give them.

Siffrin just shook his head. “Didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” He tried to wave it off, but even he could hear how hollow the excuse sounded.

Silence fell over the room, only cut off from time to time by bowls clanking or ingredients sizzling on the frying pan. “..Uh-huh.” Bonnie didn’t press further, but they gave him one last look that said they weren’t buying it. Still, they handed him a plate full of food. "Eat something, then! Hungry people are always feeling crabby. So you should eat!" They threw a fist in the air with their usually cheeky smile, while the other continued stirring something with a spoon.

He took the plate in his hands with a small smile, but as he looked down, he found himself merely staring at it, the thought of eating making his stomach churn. He picked at the pieces, pushing them around rather than actually eating anything. Bonnie noticed, pouting slightly as they pointed a spoon in his direction narrowing their eyes, “Frin. Eat."

With a nervous chuckle, he raised a hand in the air in surrender, using the other to slowly move the plate across the table. "..Ah. Not.. hungry today, BonBon. Sorry." He set the plate aside, forcing a smile for Bonnie’s sake. “Really, I’m fine.”

They shot him a sceptical look, the pout disappearing and making way to something softer, their brows furrowing. They said nothing though, as the Traveler quickly got up from the table, and made his way out. He hugged himself tightly when he was sure he was out of sight, moving a hand up to tug onto his hair, taking in a harsh, frustrated breath.

Stars, you're even making little kids worry about you.

He quickly retreated back to his room, seeking the sanctuary of the bed he’s always sharing with Isabeau. He's always sharing with Isabeau.

But Isa was not there.

He feels the urge to cry.

It's fine though, it's fine! It's just an itty bitty misunderstanding between them, they'll sort it out, when he's feeling better, and doesn't have the urge to claw at his insides until they turn into a bloody pulp! Teehee!

He climbed in, the bed feeling icy cold, bundling himself tightly in the blankets as though they could somehow shield him from his own mind. The warmth and softness that soon came did little to soothe the raw ache and disgust and fear he left behind by the dream, but he clung to them anyway, feeling the weight of his own exhaustion pulling him down.

Isabeau wasted no time in finishing up his meal and heading upstairs. He had actually made sure he went the long way, to not accidentally run into Siffrin earlier in the morning- he doesn't exactly.. seem to want to talk right now. Still, it's been a good amount of a few hours now, he can't just let Siffrin wallow in his own worries like that!

The Defender hesitated just outside the door, knocking gently to announce himself, even though it was his room as well. When he stepped in, he found Siffrin bundled up in their shared bed, layers of blankets covering him like a nest. In any other circumstance, Isabeau would be nothing but cooing at the sight, but.. the current circumstances were not ideal.

Siffrin jumped slightly at the knock, though he quickly relaxed once he realized who it was.

“Hey,” Isabeau greeted softly, his voice warm but tentative. “Just wanted to check on you! You, uh.. feeling alright, Sif?”

Siffrin’s face peeked out from the blankets, and he managed a slight, hesitant smile, but his eyes were still clouded, distant. He shouldn't be worrying them. He's making them worry, and feel guilty for his sulking, pressuring them to check on him. He shook his head.

"..I'm.." Be honest. He winced. “I’m.. I don’t know. Just feel.. heavy, I guess.” He hesitated, looking away, and then back at Isabeau. “I don’t feel like I want to socialize much, or.. or do much of anything today.” Lazy, useless, good for nothing.

Isabeau’s expression softened as he moved closer to the bed, fumbling with his hands nervously. “Do you want me to bring you anything? Maybe something warm to drink?”

Siffrin gave a small shake of his head, but then he reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the edge of Isabeau’s sleeve, tugging him gently. His eyes, though hesitant, pleading. Guilty. Siffrin didn’t even need to say anything- it was as if he was asking for something unspoken.

He's doing it again. He's making him do things for his own comfort, for his own selfishness. Just like he was during the loops, re-writing his own dialogue, rearranging the circumstances just to hear him say it- and now, he was making Isabeau pity him, so he can get what he wants. Evil. Disgusting, trash.

“Oh,” Isabeau breathed, suddenly understanding, seeing the gentle motion of pulling him along. He felt the tips of his ears go hot. Trying to keep himself together, he gave a small, almost nervous laugh but didn’t resist. As Siffrin pulled him in under the covers, he settled against the headboard, allowing Siffrin to curl up against him. Within moments, Siffrin was clinging to him, arms wrapped tight around him like he was afraid to let go.

Isabeau's nervous little smile faltered, seeing the trembling mess, curled right to him, like a scared puppy. He hesitantly moved his hand over, but stopped himself.

"..can I..?" He whispered, gaining an immediate response from the little curled up ball in his lap in the form of a frantic nod, causing a small, endeared smile to make it's way on his face. Slowly, he put his hand on Siffrin's back, and when the other didn't protest, he slowly wrapped his arms fully around him, holding him close.

Isabeau swallowed, feeling his heart race a bit too fast. He sighed softly, feeling the slight tremor in the Traveler’s form as he buried his face against Isabeau’s chest. Isabeau tried his best not to overthink it, staying quiet and simply offering Siffrin what comfort he could.

They stayed like that for a long time, the silence around them growing soft and warm. Eventually, Siffrin shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to sit up, though his hands remained in his lap, fidgeting.

Isabeau sat up too, sensing that Siffrin wanted to say something. He watched the shorter one carefully, worry and curiosity mingling in his gaze.

Siffrin took a deep breath, his hands trembling just slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “I.. I wanted to talk to you about something,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ever since we came through that last town.. I’ve been.. thinking.”

Isabeau’s face tensed slightly, memories of that town flickering through his mind- the streets filled with carnal indulgences, Siffrin’s wide, vacant gaze, and the way he’d rushed to a nearby clearing to throw up afterward. The way he was too shaken up to stand. The way he seemed completely numb for a bit afterwards. Isabeau’s heart ached, even now, remembering how haunted Siffrin had looked.

“Yeah..?” Isabeau prompted gently, trying not to let his own emotions show too much. “What have you been thinking about, Sif?”

The Defender thought that Siffrin’s face suddenly seemed darker than usual, his cheeks puffing out adorably as he tried to find his words, before finally lifting his gaze, looking up at Isabeau with a mixture of vulnerability, anxiety and resolve. “I.. I want to grow comfortable with.. with certain types of contact." His voice wavered, as if he were fighting to find the words. Say it. Out of everyone, he deserves to know. He deserves to see you for what you truly are, how gross you are. “I want to.. heal. To fix this messed up relationship I have with touch, with.. intimacy.” Make him realize who it is that he is loving.

For the first few seconds, it seemed like Isabeau's brain shut off. When it finally did catch up to what was happening though, his eyes were blown wide, and he almost fell back against the headboard. His face flushed instantly, a mix of surprise and nervousness swirling within him. “O-Oh! OH!!!! Y-you mean...” he stammered, before letting out a loud, nervous laugh, feeling dizzy. “Y-You mean you.. want me t-to..???”

Seeing his flustered reaction, Siffrin's eye widened, and he held his hands up quickly, face flushing further, “N-Not.. that exactly..!” He glanced away, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m ready for.. everything. I just want to.. start.. small. Start.. feeling normal, about.. those things. It’s something I want to.. learn to be okay with, to not feel grossed out at.”

Isabeau blinked, his initial shock fading slightly as he took in Siffrin’s words. After that one talk the two of them had, about their relationship- Isabeau never thought that Siffrin would ever be comfortable with sex. With even the mere thought of either that, or any sort of intimacy, that might seem like more than usual. And their last trip through that town seemed to prove it- but.. for Siffrin to try and face such a deep-rooted fear.. it was.. brave!! Really brave!!! Isabeau let out a shaky breath, gathering himself for a moment, and forcing his heart to calm down a little. He reached out, gently taking Siffrin’s hands in his own, his touch warm and comforting.

“Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni.” he began, starting off light, with a small smile, but it soon faded slightly- melting into an oddly, more composed and serious expression. Siffrin stared into his eyes, holding his breath, not quite able to will himself to move an inch, awaiting his response anxiously.

“I’d be.. honored to help you with this. Really. But only if it’s something you want to do! Not something you feel like you should do.” He gave Siffrin’s hands a gentle squeeze, his expression earnest. Siffrin gulped, taking in a breath, as he stared up at the other. “This is your choice, your comfort. I just want you to be okay with whatever we do.”

Siffrin’s eyes shimmered as he looked up at Isabeau, his lips curving into a small, shaky smile. He squeezed Isabeau’s hands back, his voice trembling with emotion. “..yeah. I want this. I love you Isa, and I... I want to be able to touch you, to feel that closeness, without.. without feeling afraid.” His gaze softened, and he gave a small nod, battling his own emotions, refusing to start crying again like a little baby. “I trust you, Isa."

Isabeau’s heart swelled at his words, and he couldn’t help the tender smile that spread across his face. He reached out, brushing a few stray strands of hair from Siffrin’s face, his touch light and careful. “..Okay." He smiles so warmly, it makes Siffrin want to cry.

With a deep breath, Siffrin shuffled a little closer to him, a faint blush dusting his cheeks once more. Isabeau’s face softened, his gaze gentle as he took in Siffrin’s form. He could see the nervous tension in his frame, the uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

Leaning forward, he placed a hand on Siffrin’s shoulder, his touch light and reassuring, as he allowed his hand to trace down to move over the shorter's collarbone instead.

“How’s this?” he murmured, keeping his voice soft. He rubbed his thumb gently along Siffrin’s shoulder, hoping to offer comfort without overwhelming him.

Siffrin’s breath hitched slightly, but he nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he focused on the warmth of Isabeau’s hand. That.. seemed like a safe start. “It’s.. good,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to lean into the touch.

Gradually, Isabeau’s hands moved in slow, comforting motions, tracing soft patterns along Siffrin’s shoulders and arms. His touch was careful, thoughtful, as he allowed Siffrin to feel the warmth of each motion, each reassuring press of his fingers.

As the minutes passed, Siffrin felt the tension in his body begin to ease, the anxiety slowly fading as he focused on the sensation of Isabeau’s touch. There was no expectation, no pressure- just the gentle rhythm of hands moving across his skin, grounding him.

After a while, Siffrin opened his eyes, looking up at Isabeau with a shy, but genuine smile. He found himself.. watching him, for a moment. Isabeau's focused, calm expression, his flushed cheeks, the small raise of his brows, eyes narrowing, in an almost childish way. Eventually, he realized that Siffrin had been watching him, and he blinked, his face becoming darker, before an almost goofy grin spread across his face. Siffrin let out an amused puff of air. He's so lucky to have someone like Isabeau- someone so bright, so kind, so caring, so handsome, so brave, so honest, so.. ugh, everything. The comfort, the tender silence of the moment, managed to mute all, and any dark thoughts trying to make their way into Siffrin's head.

Isabeau’s expression softened, and he returned the smile, his eyes warm. “..Feeling better?” he asked, his tone sincere. He wrapped an arm around Siffrin’s shoulders, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “I’ll be here for whatever you need. Always.”

Siffrin leaned into the hug, feeling a sense of peace settle over him, as he nodded softly. "..better." He rested his head against Isabeau’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. In that moment, he felt safe, cherished, and truly understood.

The two sat there in comfortable silence, the morning sun streaming in through the window, casting a warm glow over them. It was a small step, but to Siffrin, it felt monumental- a step toward healing, toward reclaiming a sense of peace he’d thought was lost forever.

And with Isabeau by his side, he knew he could take as many steps as he needed.

Isabeau’s hands moved with growing confidence, gliding over Siffrin’s shoulders and down his arms, each touch gentle and deliberate. He lingered on Siffrin’s back, drawing soothing patterns across his shoulder blades, feeling the steadying rhythm of the Traveler’s breathing. With each stroke, he was careful, his fingers pressing lightly against Siffrin’s skin, but gradually he could feel the tension melting from Siffrin’s form, dissolving under the warmth of his touch.

A quiet exhale escaped Siffrin as he leaned into Isabeau’s hands, his head tilting slightly to the side, eyes slipping shut. Isabeau couldn’t help himself, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“CatSif..." he murmured, voice soft but playfully affectionate.

Siffrin’s eyes opened, and he gave a half-hearted pout, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he simply huffed, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t start,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words, only a hint of amusement. He relaxed further, shoulders drooping as he allowed himself to sink into Isabeau’s warmth.

“Can’t help it.” Isabeau chuckled, his hand moving to trace gentle circles at the nape of Siffrin’s neck. “You're just too much like a cat. It's not my fault." He grinned.

Siffrin rolled his eyes, but the motion lacked any real energy. Instead, he simply melted further, his head now resting against Isabeau’s shoulder, his breathing soft and even. The tension that had coiled in him for so long seemed to be releasing, and the quiet comfort of Isabeau’s presence eased him in ways he hadn’t expected. The uncomfortable, oppressing feeling of hands on him melted away the second Isabeau's own hand moved over his skin. They sat in peaceful silence for a while, Isabeau’s touch never wavering, his hands light and reassuring.

After a time, Siffrin’s voice broke the silence, tentative but steady. “You know.. when I was younger, and I..” He paused, taking a deep breath. “When I.. sold myself.. I stopped seeing touch as anything but a.. task. It didn't.. feel pleasant at all. I didn't enjoy it. I just.. learned to endure it.” His voice was barely a whisper, heavy with the weight of his confession, as Isabeau's shoulders tensed slightly, his grip becoming a bit tighter on Siffrin. “After a while, I didn’t react to anything at all. To the things I let them all do to me. It was easier to go numb than to feel anything, I guess. So I did.”

Isabeau’s hands stilled, and he looked down at Siffrin, his heart aching. He wanted to reach out, to pull him even closer, if that was even possible, but he remained still, letting Siffrin speak at his own pace.

“That’s why I always flinched when people tried to touch me,” Siffrin continued, his voice barely a murmur. “It’s like my body remembers. That feeling of being.. something to be used, nothing more.” He swallowed, his hands trembling slightly in his lap. “But with you.. with the others.. it’s different. I don’t feel that.. dread. I feel safe. Especially with you, Isa.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Isabeau’s heart swelled with emotion. He tightened his arm around Siffrin, his fingers gently tracing along the line of his jaw, tilting his face up so their eyes met. “Sif..” he began, his voice a soft, quiet murmur. His thumb brushed over Siffrin’s cheek in a tender caress. “I’d trust you with my life, with everything I am. I always feel.. good around you. I feel like I can be myself around you! Not some.. made up personality I created for the sake of Changing. With you, I can be how I feel I am. And I want you to feel the same. I want to help you feel comfortable in your own skin again. You deserve that.”

Siffrin’s throat tightened at Isabeau’s words, a swell of emotion rising within him. He managed a shaky smile, his eyes glassy as he leaned further into Isabeau’s touch, resting his cheek in his large palm. He felt a strange warmth spreading through his chest, a sense of comfort and acceptance.

He wanted to open up Isa's chest, reaching inside to find the heart he knew was something so delicate, yet golden. He wanted to hold it close, keeping it safe, pulling it into himself to feel its warmth, to keep it with him always. The image was both beautiful and haunting, a stark reminder of the depth of his need, of the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wanted to curl inside of Isabeau’s chest and stay there stay there stay there, wrapped in that warmth, safe from the shadows that haunted him, safe from everything.

But then, as if sensing his drift into darker thoughts, Isabeau’s voice drew him back. Siffrin really wasn't quite as good at hiding when he was descending into that unpleasant mindspace anymore. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his fingers moving to cradle Siffrin’s face, bringing him back to the present, grounding him. “You’re here with me, Sif. We'll help each other. We'll heal, together.” He gave him a small, warm smile, his gaze filled with unspoken reassurance. "..yeah?"

Siffrin’s vision cleared, and he focused on Isabeau’s face, the tenderness in his eyes pulling him out of the dark corners of his mind. Slowly, he returned the smile, though it trembled at the edges. He leaned into Isabeau’s hand again, letting his cheek rest against the warmth of his palm, his lips brushing softly against the skin in a gesture so gentle, so tentative, it almost went unnoticed.

Isabeau’s face flushed, a deep shade spreading across his cheeks as he realized the intimacy of the touch. His heart thumped wildly, and he let out a nervous laugh, his voice a little shaky. “CatSif!!" he stammered, half-amused, half-embarrassed, though the warmth in his gaze remained.

Siffrin huffed, but he was too comfortable to pull away, his usual retorts softened by the quiet affection in Isabeau’s gaze. “You don’t have to keep comparing me to a cat. It's not that bad, you know.” he muttered, though his voice held no real complaint.

“It's so obvious, Sif." Isabeau huffed, a soft grin spreading across his face. “Look at you, all curled up and affectionate! Just like a cat!” His thumb brushed over Siffrin’s cheek once more, his touch light and reverent. “I don’t mind, you know. If you need this.. if you need me, I’ll be here. Always! I don’t care what you’ve been through, or.. or what you think it’s turned you into. To me, you’re still Sif. My Sif.”

The sincerity in Isabeau’s words struck something deep within Siffrin, a feeling so powerful it almost overwhelmed him. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to say something, anything, that would convey the depth of his gratitude. But the words eluded him, caught in the tightness of his throat. Instead, he simply pressed closer, his forehead resting against Isabeau’s shoulder, his hands clutching at the fabric of Isabeau’s shirt as if he were holding on to something precious, like Isabeau was the only thing truly keeping him alive.

They sat in silence, the weight of their shared understanding filling the space between them. And Siffrin felt a sense of peace settle over him, a feeling of being anchored, held, in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He took a deep breath, his eyes drifting shut as he allowed himself to relax fully into Isabeau’s embrace, trusting him completely.

Always at your side.

Isabeau’s gaze softened, his eyes shimmering with emotion. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently through Siffrin’s hair, his touch tender and full of care, his other, crafted arm snuggly wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

Siffrin’s heart swelled, and he let out a shaky breath, his lips curving into a faint, genuine smile. He turned his head slightly, letting his lips brush against the skin of Isabeau’s neck, if just slightly.

Isabeau’s face flushed even deeper, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the soft gesture. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words, his thoughts scattering in the warmth of the moment. Finally, he let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, his voice trembling with affection and surprise.

“..Let's have a bit more rest, yeah..?" he hummed, his voice barely a murmur, gaining a small, breathy laugh from Siffrin, followed by a nod. Isabeau leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Siffrin’s head, his hand cupping the side of Siffrin’s face with a tenderness that left no room for doubt. Then, both of his arms returned to gently squeezing Siffrin's waist against himself, as he slowly laid back down in their shared bed, into the puffy pillows.

Siffrin’s eyes drifted shut, his body relaxing completely as he nestled against Isabeau, feeling a warmth settle over him that chased away the lingering shadows of his past.

..Always at your side.

His smaller hands clung to the fabric of Isabeau's tank top, nuzzling his face against his chest, as slowly, he allowed sleep to take him again, but this time.. he was sure he would not be getting anymore nightmares.

- - -

YES IK YESTERDAY THERE WAS NO CHAPTER DONT HURT ME PLEASE

Here's an extra long chapter KSKSKSKSK ISAFRIN FOR THE SOUL!!!!!!!

Chapter Text

- - -

The night was heavy and silent, the world outside wrapped in a dark blanket, punctuated only by the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind outside. Petronille lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling of the inn. Sleep eluded her once again, as it so often did. Her mind raced, buzzing with endless thoughts that refused to quiet. Her muscles ached with exhaustion, but her body simply wouldn’t succumb to the pull of sleep.

She heard something outside- hushed whispers. Voices muffled through the thick walls of the inn, faint but present. At first, she ignored it, figuring it was just another late-night conversation, travelers or staff chatting in the dead of night. Her head felt heavy, her eyelids fluttering shut, exhaustion gnawing at her bones. But then.. a smell. Something sharp, pungent, acrid.

Smoke.

Petronille’s eyes flew open, suddenly feeling plenty awake. The smell grew stronger, and with it came a creeping sense of dread. She sat up too fast, dizziness hitting her like a wave, her vision blurring for a moment as the room swayed. But there was no time to sit still. Heart pounding in her chest, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled toward the window. She pulled back the curtains, her breath catching in her throat at the sight below.

Flames. Licking the side of the inn, crawling upward with terrifying speed.

“Oh, shit-” she whispered, her pulse quickening. “Fire!”

She spun on her heel and bolted to the door, wrenching it open. Her voice rang through the quiet inn, urgent and loud. “Fire! Wake up!!"

Shouts and groans echoed down the hall as the other guests were jerked out of sleep, confusion quickly turning to panic. Petronille rushed back into the room, her heart thundering in her chest. She had to get Bonnie out. She crossed the room in an instant, slinging her hammer over her shoulder and bending down to scoop up Bonnie, who was barely awake, their small body limp in her arms.

“Come on, Crabling,” Petronille urged, her voice a frantic whisper as she held her sibling close. “We have to go.”

Bonnie stirred, blinking sleepily, but the moment was too urgent to explain. Petronille turned, clutching Bonnie tightly as she hurried out of the room and into the hallway. Smoke began to curl through the air, filling the inn with a choking haze. The flames were spreading, faster than anyone could have imagined.

Odile appeared in the doorway of her room, her face pale but her eyes sharp with focus, barely having put her glasses on. “Leave everything!” she barked, her voice cutting through the rising panic. “We need to get out now- forget your belongings!”

Petronille nodded, barely registering the words as she clutched Bonnie tighter and pushed forward, her feet moving faster now, pounding against the floor. The grand inn, once a place of luxury and respite, now felt like a deathtrap. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever as they ran, smoke thickening in the air. Shouts and cries of fear echoed through the large building, adding to the chaos.

“Petronille, hurry!” Mirabelle’s voice called from behind, her footsteps quick but steady as she followed closely. Petronille glanced back, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Mirabelle was right there, determined but shaking anxiously, her eyes scanning the path ahead.

But just as they neared the end of the hall, a sharp crack split the air, and the ceiling groaned above them. Petronille’s heart dropped into her stomach as she realized what was happening- everything was coming down.

Without thinking, she shouted, “Isabeau! Catch!”

With a strength she didn’t know she had, Petronille hurled Bonnie toward Isabeau, who stood a few feet ahead of them, his arms outstretched. Isabeau’s eyes widened, but his reflexes kicked in just in time. He caught Bonnie in a solid grip, staggering slightly but keeping his footing.

Petronille felt a flicker of relief- until the ceiling above them had reached the floor with a great crash.

"NILLE!!! BELLE!!!" Bonnie sobbed, outstretching an arm towards the other two, unseen under all the rubble that have come down, but Isabeau held them tightly. Dust and smoke filled the air, making it hard to see, hard to breathe. Hard to to see Petronille and Mirabelle, now trapped under rubble. Trapped, hurt, dead.. no one knew.

“Mira!” Siffrin’s voice broke through the chaos, frantic and raw. He rushed forward, his eyes wide with horror as he saw the wreckage. But just as he moved to help, Odile grabbed his wrist, her grip firm and unyielding.

“Siffrin, no! We have to get Boniface out first!” Odile said, her voice tight with urgency. Her expression was torn, just as much as Siffrin’s, but she kept her focus. “We’ll come back! But Boniface needs to be outside!” They can't let them see the two below the rubble, if it turns out there's nothing to save.

Isabeau clutched Bonnie tightly, the youngest of the group now crying out in fear, their tiny voice pleading for their sister and Mirabelle. “We have to help them!” Isabeau shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “We can’t just leave them!”

Odile’s jaw clenched, her eyes sharp with resolve. “We will! But Boniface first. Get them out of here!”

Siffrin hesitated for a moment, torn between the need to save his family and the cold, hard truth that Odile was right. The building was collapsing, and Bonnie.. Bonnie was..

No. She was right. They couldn't risk that. Couldn't risk Bonnie.

With a grim nod and a tight throat, he grabbed Isabeau’s hand and pulled him toward the exit, his other hand gripping Odile’s sleeve as they raced through the smoke-filled corridors.

They barely made it through the front door when the entrance collapsed behind them in a shower of burning wood and debris. Siffrin stumbled, his heart pounding as panic seized him. They were out, but Mirabelle and Petronille- they were still inside! Trapped under rubble!

“No, no, no!” Siffrin cried, trying to rush back toward the smoldering entrance, but Odile held him back again.

“You can’t go back in!” Odile snapped, her voice sharp with stress and authority. “The whole building is coming down!”

Siffrin’s breath stuttered, his chest heaving as panic overtook him. He watched helplessly as a group of officials- local guards and firefighters- moved past them, rushing toward the inn with supplies of river water and craft skills crackling at their fingertips. They were trying to tame the fire, but it was already too far gone. The flames were devouring everything.

Odile stood beside Siffrin, holding his shoulder just in case he'd try to do something stupid and decide to rush back into the fire, her gaze fixed on the burning inn. She could hear Bonnie's desperate sobs, and as she looked towards them, she saw Isabeau's expression- although the Defender always tried to put on a brave, optimistic mask- his expression right now sent a chill down the Researcher’s spine. His eyes were wide, but unseeing, staring at the flames swallowing the building whole, his face pale, holding the pre-teen in his arms. He looked terrified. Frozen in fear.

Odile's free hand clenched into a fist at her sides, but her expression was unreadable. It was then that her eyes narrowed, catching sight of something just outside the building, half-hidden in the shadows.

A bright, gasoline canister.

Her blood ran cold. The fire.. it wasn’t an accident.

“Gems,” she whispered under her breath, her voice low but filled with fury.

- - -

“Petronille! Petronille, wake up!”

Mirabelle’s voice pulled Petronille from the depths of unconsciousness, a sharp, panicked edge to it that snapped her eyes open. Her heart raced as her surroundings flooded back into her awareness- smoke, debris, darkness. She flinched awake, sitting up so fast that her head spun, her body struggling to adjust. She coughed violently, the acrid smoke filling her lungs as she squinted through the haze, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

They were trapped.

The rubble from the collapsed ceiling had pinned them in, but somehow, they hadn’t been crushed. Sturdy logs had fallen in just the right way, forming a makeshift barrier that kept the worst of the debris from burying them alive. But the room was filled with thick smoke, the air becoming increasingly harder to breathe. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, causing the two women to feel the urge to cough.

Petronille’s instincts kicked in. She wasn’t going to let them die here. Not like this. Not after everything they’d been through. She glanced at the hammer still slung over her shoulder- it was her one weapon, her tool, the thing that had saved her so many times before. She grabbed it with trembling fingers, the weight familiar and solid in her hands, and yet, feeling heavier than usual.

“I’ll get us out,” she muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the wreckage around them, searching for a weak spot, a place she could break through.

But before she could swing, Mirabelle’s voice cut through her desperation. “Petronille, no! Don’t- s-stop!”

Petronille froze, the hammer raised high. She turned, confused, to find Mirabelle staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

“I-If you hit that, it could collapse everything on us,” Mirabelle said, her voice shaking. “W-We’ll be crushed if you mess up the structure!”

The words struck Petronille like a slap. She hesitated, the hammer still in her grip, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Her arms shook, and not just from exhaustion. She lowered the hammer, heart pounding, and looked at Mirabelle.

“Then.. what are we supposed to do!?” she asked, her voice shaking. She hated how powerless she felt in that moment. The last thing she ever wanted to be was helpless, especially now, trapped with another person, relying on her.

But Mirabelle didn’t have an answer. Her lips trembled, and tears began to well in her eyes, shimmering in the faint glow of her palms, where a soft healing craft pulsed gently. It was the only light in the oppressive darkness surrounding them, aside from the flickering flames of the small passageway nearby, engulfed in fire.

“I-I don’t know,” Mirabelle whispered, her voice cracking as the first tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t k-know what to do..”

Petronille’s heart twisted at the sight of Mirabelle’s tears. The walls felt like they were closing in, and her throat was burning from the smoke. She looked around again, desperate for any sign of an escape, but there was nothing. No way out. No light. The small passage that led to freedom was swallowed by flames, flickering dangerously close.

Mirabelle tried to muster some optimism. “M-Maybe the others will find us! They’ll break t-through. O-Or!! Or the townsfolk will get to us in time!”

“Shut up,” Petronille snapped, her voice harsh and sharp. She didn’t mean to sound cruel, but the rising panic inside her needed an outlet. “Look around, Fluffhead. This.. this is a dead end. We’re trapped. We’re not getting out of this.” She hissed.

Mirabelle’s hopeful expression crumbled at her words, and Petronille could feel the weight of despair crashing down on her. The realization gnawed at her insides. She should have prevented this. She could have prevented this.

“I heard something before the fire,” Petronille muttered bitterly, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “I heard whispers outside, but I was too tired. I ignored them. If I had just gotten up, if I had just looked outside.. maybe none of this would have happened.” Her breath came faster, erratic now. Her hands went to her face, pressing against her skin as though she could physically stop herself from falling apart.

“This is my fault,” she choked out. “All of it. If Bonnie gets hurt because of me.. I'll.."

Her voice broke entirely as she sat back, burying her face in her hands. Tears burned in her eyes, but they couldn’t escape. She had been through too much, faced too many horrors in her life to break down like this, and yet here she was, unravelling in the midst of it all. Mirabelle, trapped because of her. Bonnie, and the others, who might also be trapped, hurt or dead.

She was failing. As their protector, as Bon's older sister.

Mirabelle was speechless. She's never seen Petronille like this. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her lips quivering. Slowly, cautiously, she scooted closer, sitting next to Petronille, curling up her legs, putting her hands on her knees, covered by her torn dress. She got rid of the bonnet on her head, putting it aside. Without a word, the Housemaiden leaned into Petronille, her head pressing against Petronille’s shoulder in a gesture both meant to both offer and receive comfort. Mirabelle’s touch, her warmth, began to calm Petronille’s storm. Her breathing slowed, just a little, as the two of them sat there, side by side in the wreckage.

“It’s not your fault,” Mirabelle murmured softly, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened.. happened. The others, they’re safe. I know they are. That’s what matters.”

Petronille bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. The words hit her somewhere deep, but the guilt gnawing at her insides wouldn’t let go. She stayed silent, her head still spinning. The air was getting thinner, the smoke growing thicker. Mirabelle’s optimism, fragile as it was, did something, to lift the heavy weight that sat in Petronille’s chest.

After a long stretch of silence, Mirabelle spoke again, her voice trembling slightly.

“Petronille.. are you afraid of dying?”

The question hung in the air like a sharp knife, cutting through the smoky haze.

Petronille stared at the flames dancing in front of her. At first, she didn’t know how to answer. Fear? Was she afraid?

No.. no, she wasn’t. Not of dying, at least. Her mind flashed to Bonnie, and her chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of responsibility. It wasn’t death that scared her. It was leaving Bonnie behind. Leaving them to endure the complexities and cruelty of this world all alone.

After a long pause, Petronille shook her head. “No." she whispered, her voice low. “I'm not."

There was a short silence, before she continued. "But Bon.. Bon’s the only reason I’m still here. If it weren’t for them..” Her words trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Mirabelle offered a small, sad smile, her eyes filled with understanding. “That makes two of us,” she said, her voice soft. “My family.. this party, they’re what keeps me going. They’re everything. I don't know what I would've done, if they hadn't found me when they did.”

Another stretch of silence passed between them, the crackle of fire the only sound.

But as the smoke grew thicker, Mirabelle hugged herself tightly, her voice trembling with unspoken fear. “I.. I am afraid of dying, though.”

Petronille turned her head, seeing Mirabelle’s flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her skin. The heat was unbearable, suffocating, and yet.. Petronille felt none of it. Despite the flames so close, despite the rising temperature, she didn’t feel the heat at all. In fact.. she couldn’t feel any warmth at all.

The realization hit her like a hammer.

She couldn't feel any warmth from the flames around her at all.

Her body, frozen for so long, couldn’t process warmth. She was cold- perpetually cold.

Mirabelle’s voice called out in shock as Petronille reached her hand toward the flames, but she didn’t stop. When her fingers touched the fire, she felt nothing. No pain. No heat. Just.. nothing. The flames licked her skin, but did not burn her.

“I’m.. I’m frozen,” Petronille whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of awe and horror. “I can’t feel warmth. I can’t be burned.” Even despite not being frozen anymore.. the curse has left it's effect. As much as it's left it's damage on her.. it also makes for a shield.

Mirabelle stared, wide-eyed, barely conscious from the smoke and shock. But Petronille’s mind was already racing. There was no time for more realization or reflection. She needed to act.

Without hesitation, Petronille swung the hammer over her shoulder, then effortlessly scooped up Mirabelle in her arms. The shorter yelped, embarrassed and flustered, clinging to Petronille’s shirt as she demanded to know what was happening. But Petronille offered no explanation.

"Get ready, Princess," Petronille muttered, pulling her coat tightly around both of them, offering extra protection to Mirabelle, however little it could be, as she turned toward the flame-engulfed passage.

Taking a deep breath, Petronille exhaled and stepped forward into the fire.

The flames danced around her, kissing her skin, but never once did they sting. She walked slowly, making sure Mirabelle was safe in her arms, shielding her from the fire as the Housemaid buried her face in Petronille’s chest, terrified and trembling.

Eventually, Petronille saw light ahead- a way out. With a final burst of strength, she kicked aside the rubble blocking the exit, and they stumbled out into the biting, cold night air. She couldn't remember much of what happened after that. She recalls the view of the moon above her, assuring her that, they have indeed, got out.

Voices rang out around them- familiar, shocked, panicked, as she felt her knees buckle, legs giving up from under her. She fell to her knees, and yet made sure that the Housemaiden does not fall from her grasp. The rest of the party, and the townsfolk who had rushed to help, stared in disbelief as Petronille emerged from the flames, carrying Mirabelle in her arms.

Bonnie rushed forward, tears streaming down their face, and threw their arms around Petronille and Mirabelle, sobbing into their sister’s shoulder. The Housemaiden wasn't holding back either, letting her own tears of relief flow and hugging back, even despite her dizziness caused by the stress and smoke in her lungs.

Petronille, exhausted and dizzy, chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around Bonnie in return as well. The world spun around her, and voices blurred into a distant hum. She felt cold hands on her shoulders- Odile, probably, helping to steady her, making sure she doesn't collapse forward.

And then, the darkness took her.

As she passed out, one final thought flickered through her mind- the ice that had once brought her so much pain had become her unbreakable armor. The flames couldn’t reach her. She couldn't feel warmth, the heat couldn’t scar her.

Even after the Curse had been lifted, even though it's been a while since she'd been frozen and freed- the effects left their mark on her. Present and unyielding.

- - -

Had an urge to end this chapter on the moment with the " - - - " before we found out that Mirabelle and Petronille were alive under the rubble, but I felt like that might've been too cruel lmao

ANYWAYS, I had this chapter written out for a very long time, and it's just been sitting in my docs for like, weeks, thats why art old and just pretend they're wearing pajamas and whatever. So essentially, the curse kind of- Ok, to explain it the best I can- picture a mirror. Frozen people could be compared to a mirror. A mirror cannot be damaged by fire, yet it is easily shattered, implying that Petronille probably takes more damage from like getting hit and stuff. Plus, the people that were frozen could literally be shattered if hit hard enough, so that's another similarity to a mirror. I'M JUST TRYING TO RATIONALIZE AND EXPLAIN THIS BUT MY BRAIN AINT BRAINING HELPE

ok but I do hope that it makes sense. We'll have a big ass Petronille arc rn. Well not really. Not that big. But a major Petronille arc nonetheless.

BUT DOESNT " PETRONILLE - THE WALKING INFERNO " SOUND SO FUCKING COOL

Chapter Text

- - -

The night was still and silent, the rhythmic beeping of hospital monitors filling the quiet room like a heartbeat. Petronille lay stiffly in her bed, her eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. Her body ached with exhaustion, but sleep refused to come. Her mind was a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts, gnawing anxieties, and unspoken fears. She had been lying there for hours, her muscles tense, every attempt to close her eyes thwarted by the crushing weight of sleeplessness.

Across the room, Mirabelle’s voice cut through the silence.

“Petronille?” she whispered, barely audible over the hum of the hospital. Petronille flinched but didn’t respond. She didn’t have the energy to answer, and honestly, she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

Mirabelle, however, was not dissuaded. “..Why are you still awake?” Her voice was soft but curious, her concern obvious. “It’s the middle of the night. You should be sleeping..”

Petronille sighed heavily, her frustration finally escaping her lips. “I can’t,” she muttered bluntly.

Mirabelle frowned at that, sitting up in her bed and rubbing her eyes. She shifted, pulling her knees up to her chest as she watched Petronille from across the room. “Why not?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Petronille considered brushing it off. She wasn’t in the mood to explain herself, to bare her insecurities. But her exhaustion muddled her mind, loosening the walls she usually kept so high. She blinked, feeling the weight of her own words as they tumbled out.

“I don’t want to freeze again,” she admitted quietly.

Mirabelle blinked, clearly confused by the statement. “Freeze..? What do you mean..?”

Petronille’s hand moved to rub at her face, her fingers pressing hard against her eyes as if she could block out the memories. “Ever since the curse was lifted,” she began, her voice low and hesitant, “I didn't want to fall asleep. Didn't want to wake up.. paralyzed. Trapped in my body again. Frozen, again.”

Mirabelle remained silent, listening intently as Petronille continued, her voice raw with exhaustion. “Every time I fall asleep stressed, I wake up.. stuck. I can’t move, can’t breathe. It’s like I’m back there, under the curse again, frozen in place. I know if I fall asleep like this- I’ll wake up paralyzed. It happened each time I took a nap after marching out to find Bon. The first time it happened..” Her face scrunched up at the memory, before closing her eyes again. She didn't want to remember that feeling again, that fear.

Mirabelle’s frown deepened, and she bit her lip. She had no idea Petronille had been carrying that fear with her all this time. She wanted to say something reassuring, to tell her everything would be fine, but she knew empty words wouldn’t help. Instead, she sat quietly, thinking for a moment.

Then, something flickered in her eyes. A small, determined light, her lip forming in a small pout.

She shifted out of her bed, the thin hospital gown rustling as she padded softly across the room. Petronille, her mind still fogged with exhaustion, didn’t react at first- until she felt the weight of Mirabelle sitting down on the edge of her bed. Petronille jerked upright, her body protesting with dizziness as she glared at Mirabelle, confusion and annoyance mixing in her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Petronille demanded, her voice sharp despite the haze of fatigue.

Mirabelle raised her hands in playful, yet slightly nervous surrender, trying to stifle the anxious smile tugging at her lips. “I-I’m trying to help!” she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. “I have an idea,”

Petronille’s brow furrowed. “..Idea?”

“Well,” Mirabelle began, shifting slightly as she settled more comfortably on the bed, “You’ve always been terrible at braiding your hair. It’s a mess. A disaster, really.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, teasing but soft.

Petronille sputtered- each time Mirabelle showed a more insistent, determined, or just overall confident side of herself, it took her aback like nothing else in the world. And yet, she was too tired to muster the energy for a proper glare. “I didn’t ask for a goddamn fashion critique,” she muttered, crossing her arms defensively. It seemed like exhaustion worked wonders on her usual attitude- if she wasn't so tired, she would've already barked at the Housemaiden to watch it.

Mirabelle giggled lightly. “I’m just saying, if you let me braid your hair, you might actually fall asleep, relaxed!”

Petronille sputtered once more, her eyes widening in disbelief. “What-?? No! Why would I- You're delusional! why would that help, out of all things!?”

“Well..” Mirabelle hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “Whenever I got really anxious, Isabeau used to help me fall asleep. He’d let me rest my head in his lap while he messed with my hair, or sometimes just sat with me. It always helped. It made me feel.. better. S-Safe.” She blushed slightly, before quickly adding. "A-And!! After we left Dormont, Siffrin seemed really eager to have me comb his hair out, every once in a while! He says that.. it calms him. So.."

Petronille blinked, still utterly confused, her eyes narrowing, almost cartoonishly. "Ooh, yeah, keep dreaming, Housemaiden. Why the hell would that work on me?"

Mirabelle shrugged, her voice soft and a little uncertain. “Maybe it would. I’d stay with you until you fall asleep, and I’d keep you company. You won’t have to worry about waking up paralyzed. I’ll be here.”

For a moment, Petronille could only stare at her, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside her. The idea sounded ridiculous, absurd even. She wasn’t one for comfort, especially not this kind of touchy-feely nonsense. She wanted to scoff, to push Mirabelle off her bed and tell her to go back to her own. But something in the Housemaiden’s expression gave her pause- something genuine and kind, something similar to Isabeau, even though his gestures of kindness were usually a lot more confident and cheery, than Mirabelle's quiet, soft proposals.

She was so tired. She was exhausted- inside and out, and she was almost sure that she didn't get a single pleasant, quality rest in.. ugh, forever. Ever since she was frozen, maybe. Even though she did manage to fall asleep with Bonnie sometimes, after they reunited, it.. always put her on edge. Like she should stay awake just in case. It wasn't healthy, definitely wasn't healthy. And her own body was downright begging her to take up the proposition. Do anything for just a minute of rest. It's either that, or she knocks herself out manually, and wakes up in a nightmarish, terrific paralysis.

God damn it.

After a long, tense moment, Petronille finally sighed, her resistance melting under the weight of exhaustion as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Gods, fine,” she muttered, her voice thick with annoyance. It's not that she has anything to lose in this gamble- aside her sense of pride and dignity.

Mirabelle, although a little shocked that the other agreed, couldn't help but brighten up immediately. Change, lack of sleep really did work wonders on Petronille's attitude!! Though, she'd prefer the Dockworker to be well-rested, and threaten the entire hospital, rather than walking around, barely awake.

Mirabelle smiled warmly and patted her lap, encouraging Petronille to lie down. With a resigned grumble, Petronille shifted on the bed, plopping her head in Mirabelle’s lap with all the grace of a disgruntled bear. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at the ceiling, her expression one of pure defiance, though her body was clearly desperate for rest.

Mirabelle giggled softly and carefully began undoing the mess of a braid in Petronille’s hair. She combed her fingers through the tangles, her movements gentle and deliberate. “..You saved us, you know,” Mirabelle said quietly, her voice filled with gratitude. “Both of us. Bonnie, too. I.. I really.. didn’t want to die in that fire. Dying at all sounds.. terrifying, and dying in a fire.. ugh, I don't even want to imagine. And, you made sure I didn’t. Thank you.”

Petronille stayed silent for a moment, the weight of Mirabelle’s words pressing against her heart. She didn’t like to think of herself as a hero- she was selfish, explosive, and overall unpleasant to be around, and she was very aware of that fact- but hearing Mirabelle’s quiet thanks.. it was hard to dismiss. Still, she wasn’t one for heartfelt moments.

“..Don't mention it, Fluffhead.” Petronille muttered, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Mirabelle continued braiding her hair, each movement slow and careful, as though she were handling something precious. The repetitive motion, the gentle tug of Mirabelle’s fingers, slowly began to lull Petronille into a state of calm she hadn’t expected. The exhaustion that had weighed so heavily on her finally began to sink into her bones, pulling her toward sleep.

Oddly enough, Mirabelle was right- it did feel nice. Petronille would never admit it, of course, but the simple act of having her hair combed and braided was strangely comforting. It eased the tension in her muscles, quieted the buzzing in her mind.

She doesn't remember the last time someone had ever messed with her hair- unless it was Bonnie, putting it in hideous hair ties and bows, that gremlin child.

Must've been her mom.

Petronille pushed that thought down immediately.

Before long, the Dockworker's eyelids grew heavy, and despite herself, she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

When morning came, Petronille woke with a start, her mind immediately alert and wary. But to her surprise, when she opened her eyes, she could move. No paralysis. No freezing. She blinked in confusion, not daring to sit up as she looked around the room. Mirabelle was still there, half-sitting, her back resting awkwardly against the wall. The Housemaiden had fallen asleep, her head tilted to the side, her chest rising and falling with soft, even breaths. Petronille winced internally- she sure didn't want to be on Mirabelle's place when she woke up. It looked like an unavoidable back pain day was before her.

Petronille moved carefully, trying not to wake her as she climbed out of bed. Her muscles felt stiff, but her mind was clearer than it had been in days. She glanced down at herself, feeling that something was off. Her braid. It was perfectly done, the strands woven with care and precision, not a hair out of place.

Petronille blinked, staring down at it. The neatly braided hair was a stark contrast to her usual dishevelled appearance. She scoffed, her face burning slightly as she glanced back at Mirabelle.

After a moment’s hesitation, Petronille moved quietly to the bed. She gently lifted Mirabelle, shifting her onto the pillows so she could sleep in a more comfortable position. Mirabelle stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her face peaceful as Petronille draped a blanket over her. Thank Gods, she didn't wake up. Petronille would've died on the spot, had she been caught doing this shit.

She stood there for a moment, watching Mirabelle sleep, her expression softening despite herself. She didn’t want to admit it, but Mirabelle had been right. Petronille had slept through the night- no paralysis, no nightmares, no fear. Maybe she wasn’t as impervious to comfort as she liked to think.

Nope. Don't go there. She refused to think about this now- or ever, in all honesty.

With a sigh, Petronille turned to leave the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

She barely made it two steps before a voice behind her nearly had her soul leaving her body.

“Well, wasn’t that sweet? A cuddle session? How nice.” A voice speaking in a very distinguishable accent.

Petronille wanted to die on the spot.

She whirled around, her heart pounding, only to find Odile standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe of her own room, a wry smile playing on her lips.

The older woman’s eyes gleamed with amusement, clearly having witnessed the entire scene.

Petronille’s face turned impossibly dark, her mouth opening and closing as she sputtered in pure, scolding mortification. “It wasn’t- it wasn’t a fucking cuddle session!!” she whisper-shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at her, desperately trying to keep her voice down. Mirabelle was asleep right behind a very thin wall right next to them, after all, and Bon had the tendency to pop up out of nowhere.

Odile chuckled, her smile widening. “Oh, of course not. You just happened to tuck her in like a little Princess, pillows and blankets and all."

Petronille glared, her face impossibly dark, the finger that she pointed at Odile shaking slightly. “Shut the hell up.”

“Uh-huh,” Odile replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve got such a soft spot under that tough exterior. Who knew?”

Petronille, her face burning with embarrassment, stomped away in a huff, muttering curses under her breath. Odile watched her go, her amusement fading into a soft fondness. There was more to Petronille than met the eye, and despite her gruffness, Odile could see the tenderness she tried so hard to hide, that started to form since the day she had met them.

Ah, yes. Very familiar indeed.

With a knowing smile, Odile turned back toward her room, making her way back inside, leaving Mirabelle in her peaceful, unaware sleep, and Petronille to her own internal chaos.

- - -

MORE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LETS GO!!! Pov youre so tired youre willing to literally knock yourself out or do stupid shit

Chapter Text

- - -

It had been two days since the fire that had nearly claimed Petronille and Mirabelle’s lives. The two of them were stuck in the local hospital, each confined to their own bed, surrounded by crisp white sheets and the sterile scent of antiseptic. The incident still played on a loop in their minds- Mirabelle’s quiet fear, Petronille’s rage and guilt, the flames that licked at the Dockworker's skin, and the suffocating smoke that had nearly choked the life out of them. But for Petronille, something else burned more fiercely than any of that: impatience.

She wanted out.

The day started like any other. The sun filtered through the windows, the hustle of doctors and nurses making their rounds filled the hallways, and the familiar sound of Mirabelle’s soft sighs drifted across the room. But Petronille wasn’t one for patience. She had had enough of lying still, enough of letting her mind churn over the events without an outlet for her frustration. Her body, still weak but mending, ached to move. Her bones itched to feel action, not the uselessness of being bedridden.

With a groan, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed, ready to push herself to her feet.

“Don’t even think about it.”

The voice was sharp as a blade. Petronille froze, slowly looking over to see Odile standing by the doorway, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed into a glare that could have levelled a mountain.

“I’ve had it with you trying to run around this place like you’re ready for battle, young one.” Odile continued, stepping into the room with her usual no-nonsense demeanor. “You move an inch out of that bed, and I will tie you down myself.”

Petronille clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Who the hall was this woman, to tell her what to do? She wanted to tell Odile that she was fine, that she could handle it, that lying there was driving her insane. But one look at Odile’s expression- a blend of irritation and deep concern- made her think twice. She had seen Odile work wonders with words before, and she wasn’t in the mood to face that today.

Instead, she huffed and reluctantly swung her legs back onto the bed, glaring up at the ceiling. “I’m not some fragile thing, you know.”

“You almost died, Petronille,” Odile shot back, her voice tight. “If not from the flames, then it might as well could've been getting crushed under rubble, or dying due to smoke inhalation. And you’re still recovering. You’re not invincible just because you can’t get burned due to the Curse.”

Petronille rolled her eyes but said nothing more. She knew Odile was right, even if it grated on her to admit it. Mirabelle, from her own bed, gave Petronille a small, sympathetic smile before coughing lightly. She had been quieter than usual since the incident, her energy drained from the ordeal, but her spirits remained relatively positive.

And so, days passed. The hospital became their reluctant home for longer than Petronille cared to tolerate. The rest of the party visited frequently, trying to make sense of what had transpired. Siffrin, Isabeau, and Bonnie had all been shaken by what happened, their relief palpable when they saw Petronille and Mirabelle safe. But there were questions, endless questions that hung in the air.

Petronille had become something else after the fire, something more than just a Dockworker-turned-warrior. The coldness that had been forced upon her by the curse- the freezing that had trapped her in time- had left her immune to warmth. Odile, ever the researcher, had spent days trying to piece together the science behind it, but even with her sharp intellect, she could only form vague theories.

"She's immune to heat," Odile explained, massaging her temples in frustration as a migraine throbbed behind her eyes. "The curse locked her body in a state that anything generated by heat- whether fire or warmth- can't affect her. The only exception seems to be warmth caused by crafts, like the coat she's wearing."

Mirabelle nodded quietly, listening to Odile’s assessment as she sat across the room, still recovering herself.

“And yet,” Odile continued, taking off her glasses in order to pinch the bridge of her nose. Petronille couldn't help but raise a brow, the corner of her lips quirking slightly in wry amusemnt. “She can still feel heat from living organisms. My best assumption is that it is because we are taking living objects into consideration- it’s the contrast of life against the Curse, meant to freeze one in time. That’s why she can feel the warmth of another person, but not the fire itself.”

Petronille hadn’t said much during these discussions, preferring to stew in silence, but the gears in her mind were turning. If the curse gave me this immunity, she thought, then maybe I can use it.

The idea gnawed at her. She was tired of seeing the curse as a burden, as something that made her less human, something that had scarred her permanently. What if she could turn it into a strength instead? What if she could use fire to her advantage, to wield it as a weapon, just like she wielded her hammer?

Once the thought took root, she couldn’t let it go. And so, as soon as Odile gave her a reluctant permission to leave the hospital- a few days later than Petronille would have preferred- she set out to find someone who could help.

Her mind raced as she left the hospital, calculating the days lost, the money burned- quite literally- and the dire need for the party to earn some income before they could move forward on their journey. Their finances had been obliterated in the fire, along with their belongings, and while Odile and Isabeau were figuring out long-term plans, Petronille couldn’t sit around doing nothing.

She was not the type to rely on others. She needed to work, to contribute.

Petronille walked through the bustling streets of the city, every corner was alive with blacksmiths, metalworkers, high-heat cooks and glassblowers. The perfect environment for someone like her.

She had discovered her immunity to fire and heat the hard way, walking through flames that should have killed her. Now, the memory of that fire haunted her in every step she took, but she refused to let it define her. Instead, she would turn it into something useful, something powerful.

Within the first day of being allowed out of bed, Petronille found herself taking up odd jobs across the city. She worked in the hot, sweltering forges, handling molten metal as if it were cool clay, much to the awe of the blacksmiths that hired her. She spent her mornings helping glassblowers shape molten glass, her hands unprotected as she molded fiery materials with ease. And in the afternoons, she ventured into places where most dared not go- blazing furnace rooms, industrial refineries, and incinerators. She was like a force of nature, immune to the scorching heat that made others shrink back.

It didn’t take long for her reputation to spread- much to her dismay. Whispers of a young lady immune to fire echoed through the city, and it was only a matter of time before people began approaching her for more than just work. Performers, entertainers, and artists soon learned of her abilities, and they invited her to participate in shows that involved fire- flame dancers, street performers, and pyrotechnic displays. At first, Petronille had scoffed at the idea. She was not an entertainer. She had no interest in dancing around for an audience’s amusement.

But something about it tugged at her, just enough for her to give it a try. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline she felt in controlling something that would destroy anyone else. Maybe it was the attention, a strange and unfamiliar kind of validation that she never sought but couldn’t entirely ignore. Or maybe it was the generous pay- either way, she found herself agreeing to perform.

And to her surprise, she was good at it.

One evening, with the sun dipping low and the streets of the city alive with the glow of streetlamps, Petronille stood in the center of a growing crowd. Flames danced around her, swirling in the air as she moved her hands through the fiery trails with ease. The flames were nothing to her; she didn’t feel the scorching heat at all. The crowd watched in awe as she created mesmerizing arcs of fire, her face set in determination, her body moving in fluid, controlled motions. She didn’t smile. This wasn’t fun. It was work.

But for the first time in her life, the walls she had built around herself began to crack just slightly. She let herself enjoy the rush of controlling something so dangerous and destructive, and even allowed herself to laugh- a small, breathy laugh, almost lost in the sound of the crackling flames- when the crowd gasped at a particularly daring maneuver.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him.

Siffrin.

He was standing at the edge of the crowd, his one good eye wide with surprise. He had that soft, almost smug expression on his face, like he had stumbled upon something interesting. Petronille’s stomach flipped, her concentration wavering for a split second. The crowd had no idea anything was wrong, but she felt it- the sudden, sharp jolt of embarrassment in her gut.

Her surprise was so big, that she ended up dropping the long pole which she has previously set completely aflame, causing it to clatter to the floor, and the woman to flinch. The crowd murmured in confusion, unsure if the show was over, but Petronille didn’t care. She scoffed, and picking the polearm up, she snuffed the flames quickly, and walked by another confused performer, that struggled to grasp it as she handed it to him.

Petronille walked off the stage in a hurry, grabbed her coat from where it was resting nearby and began marching toward the edge of the square, her face burning- not from the flames, but from the embarrassment of being caught. She pulled the hood over her head, grumbling when she heard Siffrin, which of course, wasted no time falling into step beside her.

"What’s the rush, Firecracker?" he asked, his voice light and teasing. The nickname was fitting even better now. "I was enjoying the show."

Petronille glared at him from the corner of her eye, her jaw tight as she walked faster. "Shut it, Starboy. I don’t need your commentary. It was a one time thing." She was never performing again. Not that the others would know now.

Siffrin chuckled, that soft, infuriating sound that always seemed to get under her skin. "Oh, come on. It was impressive! I didn’t know you had such a talent for putting on a performance." He gave her a sideways glance, clearly amused. "Though, I have to say, it’s a little surprising to see you doing something so.. public, like performing."

Petronille scowled, her steps becoming more purposeful as she tried to ignore him. "I wasn’t performing! It’s just work. I’m earning money, unlike some people." She shot him a pointed look, even though they both knew Siffrin pulled his weight in the group. Still, she couldn’t help but jab at him.

Siffrin raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Alright, alright, no need to get all defensive. I just didn’t expect to see you to be so good at performing. I bet Bonnie would love it.”

Petronille’s face flushed at the compliment, though she would rather die than show those “performances” to anyone from the party willingly. "I’m not here for your flattery, shortass," she muttered, tugging her jacket tighter around herself. The hospital was only a few blocks away, and she was determined to put this entire embarrassing situation behind her.

But Siffrin wasn’t done. He wasn’t one to let something go when he was having fun. "You know," he said, his voice a little softer now, "I think you enjoyed yourself.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She turned to him, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" She scoffed.

Siffrin shrugged, his expression softening, as he glanced up at the woman, giving her a small smile. "You were smiling. When you were performing." He tilted his head, his gaze searching hers. "You didn’t look like the angry, grumpy Petronille we’re all used to. You looked like you were.. enjoying yourself."

Petronille blinked, her mouth opening to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She hadn’t even realized it- hadn’t noticed the small moments of joy and almost childlike giddiness creeping in while she was controlling the flames, or the way she put her mind, body and soul into it. Her walls, so carefully constructed, had cracked.

She hated that he noticed. But she hated even more that he was right.

"..you’re delusional. I did not smile." she muttered, it was meant to sound sharp, but it sounded quieter than usual.

Siffrin held her gaze, his expression gentler than usual. He nodded slowly. "Sure thing, Nille." He didn’t press further, didn’t tease her anymore. He just.. accepted it. Though he didn’t believe it- not one bit. He saw it, he knew he did- the small, smug little grin that she had on, fire dancing in her eyes as she performed.

For a moment, the two walked there in silence, the noise of the city swirling around them. Siffrin followed, but this time, there was no teasing in his step, no smug grin. He walked beside her quietly, and for once, Petronille didn’t feel the need to push him away. As they neared the hospital, the tension that had been gnawing at her began to ebb.

The next evening, much to her annoyance- Petronille found herself returning to the same spot, the same stage, wielding the power of fire itself.

- - -

Petronille gained a new title lmao Petronille the Fire Performer

Chapter Text

- - -

The hospital hallway was quiet, early morning light filtering in through the narrow windows and casting pale streaks across the floor. It had been a little over a week since they have came into the hospital, bringing Mirabelle and an unconscious Petronille in, hoping that everything would be okay. Now, since it has been a while already, everything have been slowly returning to normalcy- more or less.

On a lazy, sunday morning, Odile had woken up in her hospital bed. Despite her, as well as the majority of their group having been uninjured in the inn's fire, the staff insisted on them staying, instead of looking for a different place to rent and wait until Petronille and Mirabelle would be released from the hospital, recognizing them as the Saviors. The owner of the hospital even promised them the stay and treatment for free, obviously stressing out poor Mirabelle, and insisting that they pay once they earn it in the town- but the man wouldn't let up.

Odile, for one, was glad. They really had a long way ahead of them, still, and since all of their money was lost to the fire, they really needed all and any funds they could get.

The woman made her way down the hospital hall, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, suppressing a yawn. Just as she put her glasses back on, she spotted Isabeau approaching from the opposite side of the hallway, with a grin that lit up his entire face, practically radiating warmth.

“Good morning, Madame!” Isabeau greeted her cheerfully, despite the early hour. He gave her a friendly wave with his prosthetic hand, full of a boundless energy that Odile half envied, half found exasperating.

“Good morning, Isabeau,” she replied, her voice drier than the expression on her face, which betrayed a faint smile. His enthusiasm had a way of making even Odile’s most indifferent mornings feel.. bearable. “As good as it gets around here, anyway."

Isabeau chuckled, undeterred by her sleepy tone. “Oh, don't complain now! I sure prefer it around here rather than a burning inn.." He shivered at the thought, and Odile's face scrunched up, if only slightly. "..Right. That makes both of us." She sighed.

Isabeau hummed, putting his hands on his hips. "Just came from the cafeteria and- I dunno why, but- it’s locked!” He held up his hands dramatically, eyes wide in mock despair. “I mean, no food? Safe to say, BonBon was pissed."

Odile raised an eyebrow. “Locked, you say? That’s.. irritating.” Her stomach let out a quiet grumble, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Not exactly the first news I wanted to hear this morning.”

Isabeau’s eyes lit up again as he leaned in, conspiratorial. “Then let’s make the best of it! A little Secret Quest, just the two of us! Like you always go with Sif, to check out those antique stores and stuff! We can explore the hospital- who knows what we might find?” He grinned cheerfully.

Odile let out a resigned chuckle, unable to completely resist his optimism. “Alright, fine. I suppose a little exploration will at least keep us occupied.” She crossed her arms, feigning reluctance, though she was secretly intrigued. “Lead the way, then."

Isabeau grinned, practically vibrating with excitement, pumping his fist in the air. "Secret Quest with Madame Odile and Mr. Amazing-Wonderful Funny-Buff Isabeau, let’s go!” Odile could only scoff at him, a faint smirk making it's way on her lips.

They set off down the unfamiliar halls of the hospital, passing rooms filled with resting patients and pristine equipment. Every so often, Isabeau would glance at his new prosthetic arm, stretching his fingers experimentally, his smile only growing.

“So, how’s the arm?” Odile asked, catching his subtle movements.

“Oh, it’s amazing!” Isabeau replied, his voice brimming with excitement. “Feels great having both arms again, but it’s definitely taking some getting used to. Sometimes I forget it’s even there and end up startling myself.” He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

Odile couldn't help but snort at the thought, though she kept her usual level tone. “I'm glad to hear that, Isabeau.”

But before Isabeau could respond, a scream echoed down the hallway, sharp and desperate, effectively cutting short the pleasant atmosphere surrounding their little walk. Both of them stiffened and froze in place, their lighthearted moment shattered as they turned toward the sound. Concern replaced the humor in Isabeau’s eyes, and Odile’s gaze turned steely.

“..What was that?” Isabeau whispered, brows knitting together worriedly.

“Let’s find out,” Odile said, her voice low as they both moved toward the sound.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in a more run-down section of the hospital, where dim lighting and peeling paint made the atmosphere oppressive. Just then, the entrance doors swung open, and paramedics rushed in, guiding a stretcher with a woman lying on it. She was young.. very young. She writhed against the restraints, her face twisted in terror and pain, and her desperate cries echoed off the walls.

“Not my baby!” she screamed, her voice raw and hoarse, her body straining against the straps that held her down. Blood pooled around her legs, soaking the stretcher and staining her dress.

Isabeau shrank back instinctively, his face paling. He cast a worried glance at Odile, which watched the commotion in silence, his hand clutching his chest. Odile’s gaze shifted to one of the paramedics, who murmured something to a nearby doctor. “Coat hanger” was the only word she caught, but it was enough to make her shiver and mutter a curse under her breath.

“What?” Isabeau asked, his voice barely above a whisper, confusion and worry filling his eyes. The discomfort and grim realization must've been clear on Odile's face.

She hesitated, pressing her lips into a thin line before speaking. “She didn’t lose the baby naturally, if that’s what you’re wondering. It seems she.. took matters into her own hands.” Her tone was heavy, laden with the knowledge of what that meant, and the bitterness of knowing why.

Isabeau’s eyes widened in horror, the reality settling over him like a shadow. “You mean..?” His voice trailed off, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes.

Odile nodded grimly. “In Ka Bue, abortion is forbidden. Women like her, young and desperate, are left with few options. Some.. resort to methods like this. The risks, as you can see, are high.” Her voice softened, though her gaze was distant, troubled. She closed her eyes with a small sigh, as the woman's screams echoed from down the halls, causing both of their blood to run cold. It was a blood-curling, desperate scream. She clearly did not want that baby.

"Not mine, not mine, not mine!"

Isabeau watched the woman being wheeled away, his heart sinking as he tried to make sense of it. “Ka Bue is.. restrictive like that?”

Odile nodded. “Quite. And not just with this. Ka Bue restricts many things- Body Craft, some surgeries, even prosthetics, or certain medicines. Anything they deem.. too unnatural.” She sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “People are left with little choice.”

Isabeau’s brows furrowed, his usual bright demeanor dulled by the weight of the knowledge. He was silent for several moments, letting the woman's desperate screams occupy the otherwise thick silence stretching between them. Eventually, he replied, clammy hands fumbling together anxiously. “I.. I always wanted to visit Ka Bue, you know? Especially after meeting you. It’s your homeland, after all. Different culture, different people.. even different fashion. I always wanted to know more about it. I thought.. I thought it must be beautiful, there.”

Odile’s expression softened, but there was a glint of sadness in her eyes. “It has its beauty, yes. But there’s darkness, too. Not everyone is welcome. People with.. visible differences- scars, disabilities- they are often shunned, treated as something shameful or unnatural.” Her voice was steady, but there was an underlying bitterness there, one that even Isabeau could hear clearly.

Isabeau hesitated, glancing down at his own arm, his prosthetic hand gleaming faintly in the sterile light. He looked at the scars across his other hand, too, left by the use of Body Craft.

“So.. someone like me?”

Odile glanced over at the taller, her eyes revealing a rare glimpse of vulnerability. “..Yes,” she said softly, looking away just as quickly. “In Ka Bue, they would likely see you as an outsider, something to be hidden away. They would see your arm as something unnatural, because.. usually, Ka Bueniese people consider the loss of a limb, or an organ, as something.. to just.. accept. The concept of accepting your own body, no matter how broken it might be naturally.. is very widely spread, especially among the oldest. Body Craft holds the same opinion, unfortunately.”

Isabeau let out a shaky breath, the words hitting him harder than he’d expected. “I guess.. I never realized.”

Odile watched him, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I’m sorry, Isabeau. I didn’t mean to.. ruin the image you had of my country. But I also think you deserve to know the truth. Just because a community would not think of how you look as.. correct- it doesn't mean that it's something wrong or odd. It's just that.. Ka Bue has a messy, flawed culture, and it's believed that altering the body like this is.. against the Expression's will. Since it's their job to grant wishes and miracles, and regaining an arm, or altering your body through artificial ways is.. supposed to be considered a miracle- Body Crafters are.. not very welcome. But it doesn't mean that this mindset is right. Don't let that opinion affect who you are, Isabeau.”

Isabeau managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay, Madame. I’d rather know than cling to some fantasy. Especially when we're there. Besides,” he added, forcing a grin, “You're right! As long as I’m with all of you, I don’t really care what the others think of me. Plus, I'm pretty handsome now, aren't I? It would be a shame to reverse back to who I was before, just because of a bunch of jealous randoms!" He pressed his knuckles together in front of his chest, his grin becoming both genuine and lighthearted.

Odile raised an eyebrow, her lips curving in a faint smirk. "Oh, yes. So handsome." She said with a tone holding both sarcasm and rare lightheartedness, rolling her eyes, hearing Isabeau letting out one of his boisterous laughs. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s got to be, with all your doom and gloom!” he teased back, nudging her gently with his shoulder. For a moment, the heaviness lifted, and Odile chuckled, a rare sound that seemed to brighten the shadowed hallway.

They fell into a comfortable silence, their footsteps echoing as they continued down the corridor. But even as they walked, Isabeau’s thoughts lingered on the young woman they had seen, on the blood, the desperation, the hopelessness in her voice. He felt Odile’s words sink deeper into him, reshaping the way he saw the world.

As they turned a corner, Isabeau cleared his throat, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “Odile.. would you want to go back? To Ka Bue?”

Odile paused, her gaze distant as she considered his question. “Sometimes, yes. It’s still my home, for better or worse. But..” She glanced at him, her eyes steely but touched with something almost like warmth. “I wouldn’t want to go alone.”

Isabeau’s smile returned, soft and genuine. “Then we’ll all go together! And maybe.. Ka Bue will learn to see things differently, one day.” He held out his prosthetic hand, flexing it's fingers, a defiant gleam in his eye. “After all, the world’s got to change sometime! I know that your country doesn't really believe all that crap like we do, but.. I believe that things will change one day.”

Odile’s smirk grew, her usual stoic mask nowhere to be seen, if just for a moment. “Ever the optimist,” she repeated, but there was no sarcasm in her voice- only quiet endearment.

They continued down the hallway, their silent camaraderie a balm against the grimness they'd saw and talked about.

- - -

MORE KA BUE LORE NO AWE????????? ALSO ISABEAU AND ODILE LORE???????? WOOOOO

Chapter Text

- - -

The evening was quiet, a gentle breeze whispering through the hospital’s windows. The rest of the party had already retired to their rooms, leaving Petronille with her thoughts as she lingered in the dimly lit hallway. Sleep, as usual, eluded her- ever since she left Bambouche, rest had become an elusive luxury, gnawed away by the ache in her bones and the ever-present cold in her veins.

As she passed by Odile’s door, she glanced through the slightly ajar frame. Something felt off.

Her eyes locked onto Odile, who was sitting eerily still on the edge of her bed. Her head was tilted forward, hands resting unnaturally rigid on her lap, her whole body stiff as though she had been frozen in place by an unseen force.

Petronille blinked, her breath catching in her throat. "Hey." she called, her voice sharp with unease. She stepped into the room, heart beating faster with every second of silence that followed. This was way too familiar for comfort. Odile didn’t answer, didn’t move.

Petronille approached cautiously, her brow furrowing in concern. "Hey," she muttered under her breath, stepping closer. "What the hell? What's.. what's with you?"

No response.

Petronille's stomach twisted. She had seen this before- during her own moments of terror, when she had woken from a fitful sleep, only to find herself unable to move, her body trapped in a nightmarish stillness. But this.. this was different. Odile was never a victim of the curse that Petronille had endured. Odile was never frozen, right? So she couldn’t be having the same paralysis that tended to haunt her in random moments, right?

Or so she thought.

"Shit.." Petronille muttered, running a hand through her messy hair. She could just walk away. That was what she was good at, wasn’t it? She didn’t care. Didn’t care about Odile, didn’t care about any of those people. But something kept her rooted to the spot, staring at Odile’s frozen form, the older woman’s expression frozen, and yet, strangely calm, if not just a little bit anxious, as if she had seen it coming. As if this wasn’t the first time this happened to her.

Petronille scowled, her chest tightening, something telling her to stay. Maybe, just maybe, Odile needed someone to be there when she came out of whatever the hell this was. Petronille knew that feeling all too well- the panic, the helplessness of being trapped in your own body, waiting for it to catch up with your mind.

Sighing heavily, Petronille gave in, and plopped down to sit on the bed, next to Odile. She crossed her arms, her usual grumpy expression settling on her face, though her eyes flickered with something softer- something akin to concern. She quickly fixed it back with it’s usual sharpness though.

"You better not make me sit here all night, damn it," she grumbled to herself, stealing glances at Odile.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, the silence weighing heavily in the room. Petronille shifted uncomfortably, her impatience bubbling to the surface, but she didn’t leave. She couldn’t.

She remembered when Siffrin helped her with a similar problem. It was a while ago- but she remembered it like it was yesterday. She remembered that the shorter one would start rambling about random topics, if only to keep her mind occupied. A part of her wanted to try the same, to attempt to break the silence- but her pride did not allow her to get too soft. He couldn’t let herself. She was too stubborn.

And then, after what felt like hours, Odile twitched. It was subtle at first- a tremor in her fingers, followed by a slow, deliberate blink. Her muscles began to loosen, the tension in her shoulders easing as if she were breaking free from invisible chains. She let out a shaky exhale, as if she had been holding her breath this entire time.

Petronille sat up straighter, watching with narrowed eyes as Odile finally lifted her head. For a moment, Odile simply stared ahead, her expression unreadable, but there was a weariness in her eyes, one that ran deep, as if the act of moving again had drained her of whatever strength she had left.

"You’re back," Petronille muttered, unable to hide the relief in her voice, though she quickly masked it with her usual gruffness. So.. it was the curse afterall..? How? Did Odile get frozen too? "What the hell was that?"

Odile blinked a few times, her fingers slowly uncurling as if testing her mobility. She let out a tired sigh again, her gaze finally turning toward Petronille. "..It’s nothing you need to worry about."

"Like hell it’s nothing," Petronille shot back, her arms still crossed as she glared at the older woman. "I’ve seen that look before. You froze, didn’t you? Like me."

Odile’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes, as she looked away again. "It’s.. different from what you’ve experienced, Petronille. It was not caused by the Curse, if that is what you are assuming."

Petronille furrowed her brows. It was not caused by the Curse? Then by what? "So? What is it?"

There was a brief silence, and for a moment, Petronille thought Odile might brush her off again. It almost looked as if the Researcher was pondering whether to share such a private part of herself. But then, Odile’s gaze softened.

"It’s the consequence of using Time Craft," Odile said quietly, her voice steady but tinged with something else, something Petronille could not quite name. "I was not.. fit for it, not like others, who’s minds and bodies are both resilient and strong- who were born to wield it. I am just an old lady, after all, most likely way past the age at which I was physically at my strongest."

Petronille’s frown deepened, but she did not interrupt.

Odile’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and she exhaled slowly. Her gaze drifted toward the window, her voice lowering. "My decision to use Time Craft.. was anything but wise. It was foolish. But it was the only way to protect the ones I care about. Even if It means paying the highest price for it.”

Petronille stiffened at the words, her mind racing as she tried to process what Odile was telling her. "You’re saying..?"

Odile gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yes. Time is running out for me, in more ways than one."

The revelation hit Petronille like a punch to the gut, her eyes widening in shock. The thought of Odile- strong, unflinching Odile- being on borrowed time sent a cold shiver down her spine. She had always seen Odile as invincible, someone who always had control over everything. But now..

Odile chuckled softly, though it was a hollow sound. "I can hear the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. It’s not that deep, I promise. I made my choice, and I don’t regret it. Family.." She paused, her eyes softening as she glanced at Petronille. "Family makes one do ridiculous things. Things they wouldn’t normally do. But when you’re protecting the people you love, even the most foolish decisions start to feel right. And they make the consequences feel worth it, no matter how heavy they are."

Petronille fell silent, her throat tightening as she thought of Bonnie. She had made her own share of foolish decisions, hadn’t she? Always running head first into danger without thinking, risking her life for her sibling.

Odile’s eyes locked onto hers, piercing and unyielding. "You have someone who depends on you, Petronille. Boniface. Don’t make foolish choices. You’re strong, and young, but that strength has limits, and your time will run out too, one day. When you’re risking yourself- you’re risking your time spend with those you care most about. You should be there for them for as long as possible. So they can grow up to be a good, happy child."

Petronille swallowed, the weight of Odile’s words pressing heavily on her chest. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to meet Odile’s gaze.

"Promise me that you’ll try to be careful, Petronille. I know that our time spent together is.. well, quite short. But please, do promise. If not for me, then for your sibling. I know for a fact, just how much my passing will.. hurt them. Boniface cannot lose yet another family member like.. this.” Her voice tightened slightly at the end, looking down as she held her trembling hands tightly in her lap.

Petronille was stunned. She stared at the woman in silence, her throat tightening as she processed her words. She looked down, trying to wrap her head around it all. Eventually, she spoke, trying to keep her voice even.

“..you’re. You’re right.” She moved a hand up in order to rub her face, letting out a shaky exhale. “..if what you’re saying is true.. and Bon really does see you as someone.. like a mother..” She gulped, letting her hand fall back to her lap as she looked up at the Researcher. “..then I can’t.. leave them like this. I can’t risk leaving them an orphan again..” The tightness in her chest was overwhelming, but she held herself together, if just by a thread. “..I.. I won’t. I.. don’t know much about being wise. Hell, I don’t even know how to be a good sibling-” Her head snapped away again. No she is not getting emotional here. She will stay strong. She’ll stay strong for Bonnie. “..but.. you’re right. I..” Gods, why was this so difficult? But she had to say it. She had to say it, had to promise it, to Odile, to Bon, to herself- “I promise. I’ll try to be more.. more careful.”

Gods, how embarrassing. After a beat of silence, she looked back at Odile, face flushed in embarrassment as she half-glared at the older. “F-For Bon, of course!”

After another beat of silence, Odile nodded, her expression softening, just a tiny bit in amusement at the younger’s usual behaviour struggling to stay at the front, poorly masking her emotions. "Good. You have something worth fighting for, worth living for. Just as I do. Don’t let anyone take that from you- not even yourself."

The two women sat in silence for a long moment, the air heavy with the unspoken understanding between them. Petronille, ever stubborn and brash, felt the weight of her promise settle in her chest like a stone. She would protect Bonnie. She wouldn’t let herself fall into her mindset- her pride, despite it winning most of the times- was not as important, not as important as Bonnie.

Finally, Odile broke the silence with a weary smile. "Thank you for staying, Petronille."

Petronille huffed, looking away as she tried to suppress the warmth rising in her cheeks. "Don’t get used to it," she muttered, her voice gruff but lacking its usual bite. "Just.. don’t freeze up like that again."

Odile’s smile widened just slightly. "I’ll do my best."

As Petronille got up to leave the room, she paused at the doorway, glancing back at Odile, her eyes narrowed, as she pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"Don’t do anything stupid either," she said quietly. “This promise works both ways, you know. You’re also responsible for this group of dumbasses.”

Odile’s smile was wry, but her eyes were soft. "I’ll try, Petronille." Till death do us part, Odile thought with a hum. She was sure of it. She’ll fight tooth and nail to stay with her family, until her time runs out, and death will claim her soul.

- - -

THEM

HOW WOULD THEIR DUO BE CALLED????? UHHH AGE ALLIANCE DUO PART TWO????

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin had been initially very confused as he was dragged along by Bonnie, their tiny but surprisingly firm grip keeping him rooted to his seat at the table in the hospital's kitchen. Of course, the owner of the hospital had been kind enough to allow them to enter the kitchen the moment he learned that the youngest Savior was a talented little chef cooker. Siffrin himself did not exactly mind nor care what he ate- he was used to not eating for days ever since he could remember- but as Bonnie came along, he actually found himself eating properly. Their cooking was just that good, despite their young age. It seems like even Petronille doesn't quite know where they have learned everything they knew, since it definitely was not from her.

Siffrin glanced at the others around him, mirroring their curious smiles and raised eyebrows. Everyone seemed to be equally intrigued by Bonnie’s insistence, and his gaze flicked back to the young chef cooker as they nudged him to cover his eye.

"..Should I be scared?" Siffrin asked jokingly, adjusting his hand over his eye with a confused, slightly nervous chuckle. Bonnie simply folded their arms, putting on a pout.

"You’ll find out soon, Frin! Just be patient. NO PEEKING!!!" they said with their usual stubborn frown. Though Bonnie's tone was light, their focus seemed fixed, as if they had been planning this surprise for ages.

Siffrin sighed in defeat, and leaned back, letting the chatter around him fill in the small, quiet kitchen as he waited for whatever it was that Bonnie was preparing. After what felt like an eternity, Siffrin began to smell something familiar, something both wonderful and.. strange, sending an uncomfortable twist through his stomach. But surely, it was just the ingredients, giving him bad memories. What they made surely will be delicious.

Though eventually, scent was unmistakable- a warm, savory aroma with a hint of crispiness. With each second that passed, it felt like the room was slowly becoming smaller and crampier, as he waited.

Bonnie’s voice suddenly chimed, “Alright, Frin. You can look now!”

When he dropped his hand from his eye, his gaze fell upon a plate in Bonnie’s hands, piled high with malanga fritters. Bonnie’s eyes sparkled with pride as they looked at him, a wide smile stretching across their face.

“I found it in a cookbook!” Bonnie exclaimed. “I wanted to make it for a long time- for you! I thought you’d like it!"

Siffrin’s eyes went wide as he stared at the plate. The memories of his favorite childhood snack hit him all at once, and his stomach churned, this time with nausea instead of delight. He knew he should smile back at Bonnie, but the overwhelming memories, once so cherished, now surfaced with a sickening edge. It was as if each fritter on that plate was weighed down by everything he had left behind in those loops- memories that he associated with the hopelessness he felt, of moments where the simple pleasure of his favorite foods had been twisted into something repulsive, associated with his own desperation, something monotonous, and forced.

Still, Bonnie looked so hopeful. So proud.

Forcing himself to smile, all too wide and sharp at the edges, he reached out, though his hand trembled as he took the plate. He willed himself to relax, pressing his lips into a broad, bright smile- a smile he knew wasn’t quite his, but one he hoped would fool them.

"..T-Thank you, BonBon,” he said, the words strained but soft. “This.. this looks great!”

Isabeau’s laughter died down, his smile faltering as he noticed Siffrin’s expression, the uneasiness slipping through. Mirabelle’s brow creased, and even Odile tilted her head, studying him with a quizzical look, Petronille narrowing her eyes at him. Yet Bonnie’s eyes remained fixed on him, their innocent hope unwavering.

Swallowing his discomfort, Siffrin forced himself to take a small bite of one of the fritters. As he chewed, the taste he once loved turned thick and cloying in his mouth. It.. tasted bland. Tasteless all together. As if the amount of time he had been forced to eat those fritters had rid them of their taste and any spices that they once had. The effort to keep his composure while his stomach churned and his throat tightened felt insurmountable. He closed his eye, breathing through the nausea, but it rose relentlessly.

He thought he could take it. He thought he could- he even opened his mouth, still with that same, fake smile, wanting to thank them again, to tell them that he loves it-

His hand flew to cover his mouth as he gagged, recoiling, yet stubbornly swallowing it down. A horrified silence fell over the camp as he struggled. Isabeau, Mirabelle, Odile, Petronille and Bonnie all watched, their confusion turning quickly to worry.

“Siffrin,” Odile’s voice was firm, snapping him from his haze, as she noticed how desperately and stubbornly he was forcing himself to eat it. “Stop.”

Siffrin shook his head, forcing himself to sit upright. He swallowed again and looked up, meeting Bonnie’s concerned gaze. His heart twisted painfully as he saw the worry and confusion etched on their face, their bright excitement now dimmed completely.

They must think they did a horrible job. Siffrin's throat closes up slightly, but for a different reason than the taste of the snack.

He forced a shaky thumbs-up, trying to keep his tone steady. “This.. this is great, Bonnie! Really! Thank you..”

As he struggled to keep his composure, Isabeau’s hand landed gently on his back, steadying him. Bonnie watched him closely, and then, with childlike insistence, they leaned forward.

“You.. don’t look like you’re enjoying it, Frin. Did I mess it up? If I did, just tell me! I must've read something wrong.” They seemed to be trying to mask their own disappointment with a pout, but Siffrin could hear it in their tone.

Taking a breath, Siffrin set the plate down, his shoulders slumping. He hated disappointing them, especially after they’d gone through all this trouble. For him! But he couldn’t keep lying, not with the way his chest tightened at Bonnie’s worried gaze.

“BonBon, it’s not.. it’s not the food. Your cooking is amazing, it really is! Ever since we met, you’ve made everything taste like a gift,” he began, his voice trembling. “But.. I.. just can’t eat some things.”

Bonnie’s confusion lingered, their brow furrowing as they tried to understand. “You mean.. you don’t like some foods?” They could understand that, of course, but- to the point of.. gagging on the things they disliked? It seemed.. like an exaggerated reaction to gulping down bad medicine. There seemed to be more behind it.

Siffrin paused, swallowing back a rush of shame as he nodded. “Yeah.. it’s more than just taste, though. There are some foods that..” He struggled for words, feeling everyone’s gaze heavy on him. “Let’s just say they’re.. hard to stomach.. after the loops.”

Mirabelle scooted closer to him, offering that worried, soft look of hers. “Siffrin, you should tell us. We don't want you to eat things that you dislike, just because you don't want to upset anyone.. You should let us know now, so we know what to avoid giving you!"

Stars, he really is outstanding when it comes to ruining the mood, huh?

They're right though. He should tell them what he'll.. most likely never will be able to stomach again. It'll be easier. He should be honest.

After a long silence, he sighed, and began listing the foods he knew he could never face again.

"..uh.. Chocolate chip cookies, samosas.. palmiers.." Listing everything out was easy- he remembered all of those things, he had to encounter eating them whole each loop, after all. "..And.. anything overly sweet, really." He added with a small grimace.

Petronille raised a skeptical eyebrow, arms crossed, giving Siffrin an unimpressed stare. “Those.. are like. Really specific. Why those things?"

“Uh." Siffrin murmured, his voice breaking slightly. How does he say even say it, to not sound like a moron? "..Wish Craft.. smells.. really sweet. It's just that."

Petronille blinked, before her face scrunched up slightly in a small grimace, as she looked away. Okay, maybe she should just shut it.

Bonnie sat on the stool opposite from Siffrin, their arms crossed, staring down as they seemingly absorbed and memorised the list. Then, they looked up, their eyes big and earnest.

“Frin, I don’t want you to eat anything that makes you feel like this again. We’ll just.. make sure none of this stuff comes near you, okay? Super duper promise.”

Siffrin’s chest tightened, a mix of gratitude and guilt welling up. He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, BonBon. You're.. the best." He then blinked, his head lifting up slightly, as if he had just remembered something. Something important, too. Maybe the most important of all.

“Oh, and one more thing, actually- I’m.. allergic to pineapple.”

Silence fell over the group as the weight of his words settled in. After a few seconds of that thick, tense silence, Petronille groaned, rubbing her temples.

“Isn’t that Bon’s favorite fruit? God above.." She rubbed her face, letting out an exasperated sigh. The thought of Siffrin accepting pineapple from Bonnie, just because he didn't want to make them sad, is.. both incredibly frustrating and a little bit terrifying to think about.

Siffrin laughed nervously, a sudden, anxious little sound as his shoulders stiffened. He met Odile’s gaze. She didn’t look amused. Her brows were knitted, her eyes holding a fierce intensity. She pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “..and.. when were you planning on telling us that, exactly?” she demanded.

Isabeau, sitting on Siffrin's right, looked over at him, seeming to be a bit paler than usual. “..Sif, by allergy you mean, like.. your face gets all puffy, or.. your.. throat closes up?" He mutters the last part a little bit quieter, despite knowing that it would still be perfectly audible for all gathered in the small kitchen.

Siffrin was becoming more anxious by the second, fumbling with his hands in his lap, unable to meet any of their gazes. “..the.. the latter, yeah."

A horrified silence spreads across the room. Mirabelle gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Odile closed her eyes, taking a long, steadying breath, taking her glasses off in order to rub her face. She was frustrated, but also weighed down by the grave reality of what Siffrin was implying.

Bonnie sat in stunned silence, their mouth a small, mute ‘o.' They spoke eventually, brows knitting together. “So.. if you'd eat pineapple.. you'd.. die.” Their voice trembled slightly.

Siffrin watched the gears turning in Bonnie’s mind, the full weight of the situation slowly dawning on them. Tears pricked at the corners of Bonnie’s eyes as they scowled up at him, anger and worry clouding their gaze.

“You’re an idiot, Frin!” Bonnie shouted suddenly into the silent room, their voice cracking. Unexpectedly, they got up from their seat, walked over the table and launched themselves into Siffrin's torso, hugging him so tightly it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Siffrin, despite the initial shock, recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around them, holding them close. He shut his eye tightly, resting his chin in on the top of their head as he tried to take deep breaths. It's fine, it's all fine! They're crying now, but it's okay!

Stars, why does he always mess everything up this badly!?

Bonnie’s words came muffled from his cloak, their tone desperate. “Don’t lie to me. Don't lie to us! Don’t hide things! I don’t care if I’m younger. I-I don’t wanna be kept in the dark, Frin.”

Siffrin’s heart clenched, the guilt pressing down on him. He wanted to tell them it was fine, that they didn’t have to worry, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. He tightened his grip, gulping. “I-I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Bonnie. I’m trying- I'm really trying- it's just.. hard. After.. e-everything. I promise I’ll try to be more honest.. okay?”

Odile crossed her arms, her gaze steely as she nodded. “That’s a promise, then. No more hiding things from us, Siffrin. Especially things as important as this.”

Mirabelle placed a hand on the Traveler's shoulder, her expression soft. “..W-We’re family, Siffrin. You know that, right? We’re here for you. We'll listen to you- you just need to talk to us!"

Isabeau flashed him a smile, softer and smaller than all of his usual, wide, and bright ones, his hand settling on Siffrin’s back again. "I know it's hard. But we'll understand, Sif. We don't want you to suffer in silence, or get hurt, especially when we can help it!"

Petronille, who had been watching silently, shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossed as she glanced away. She, for one, said nothing. But she didn’t leave, and that, Siffrin realized, spoke volumes. She might not say it outright, but she was there, too.

Siffrin felt his throat tighten, and he looked down at Bonnie, who had finally quieted in his arms, their face pressed into his cloak, their tiny hands clenched against a handful of it's fabric. Taking a deep breath, he hugged them close.

“Thank you.. all of you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the gratitude shone in his eye, genuine and warm.

You need to learn to be honest with them, Stardust.

He knew. He'll learn. It'll take time, but he'll learn.

It won't be easy for him, this honesty, this vulnerability. But this time, the promise of honesty was not just made to Loop- It was made to his family, as well. And he intends to keep it, however hard it might be.

- - -

honest siffrin scares me

it just sounds fucking unusual lmao

Chapter Text

- - -

The sun cast a soft, dappled glow over the clearing behind the hospital, where Siffrin and the rest of the party had set up their impromptu sparring grounds. With the fresh air and freedom outside the hospital’s sterile walls, there was a sense of lighthearted excitement hanging over everyone as they stretched and loosened up for friendly duels.

Petronille shot Siffrin a confident grin as she tightened the bandages around her wrists, her fingers flexing eagerly. “You sure you don’t want to join, Starboy? I’d love to wipe the floor with you.” Oh, so confident all of the sudden in the context of battle.

Oh, Siffrin would not waste such an opportunity. "..Oh, I would. I just.. feel like it would be utterly unfair for you, Petronille." He hummed, causing the woman's head to snap over to him fully, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Oh, really? You think so?" She groaned, clearly annoyed by his sudden confidence as well. Siffrin shrugged.

"..What can I say? Typically, people have three reactions to fear. Fight, flight, and freeze. For you.. it seems to be the last one. And I'd hate to be thrashing a statue around. Seems pretty unfair to me." He gave her a bit of an evil smirk, to which her eye twitched.

"..Oh. You didn't." She took a step forward, but Mirabelle's anxious laughter cut her off as she stepped between the two, her hands raised in a desperate attempt to soothe the conflict.

"O-OKAAAAY!!! NO!!"

Siffrin chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Really, though. I’m fine watching from here, thanks. Bonnie and I will keep an eye on the action. You have fun though.”

Petronille glared daggers at the shorter, but only scoffed in reply, turning on her heel. Her attention turning back to the others as Odile cleared her throat. “Alright, then,” she announced with an almost regal calm. “The rules are simple. The first one to either trip and fall, or get a hit, loses the round. Dodging is key, so be quick on your feet.”

Mirabelle and Isabeau both nodded, each stretching as they prepared. Mirabelle was already looking anxious about the whole affair, her gaze darting to Petronille, who couldn't help but grin. Oh, she loved scaring the innocent little lamb. Bonnie plopped down on ground next to Siffrin, and the two sat cross-legged, placing light-hearted bets on each match as the others took their positions.

Petronille faced Mirabelle first, and though the Housemaiden’s nerves were clear, she stood before her with a determined glint in her eye. Still, the Dockworker couldn't help but narrow her eyes slightly, her shoulders slouching- she wasn't evil, she won't be throwing her around.. too much. At least so she told herself, obviously convinced that her own physical strength greatly surpassed Mirabelle's. And so, Petronille did her best to keep her strikes softer, allowing Mirabelle time to dodge and counter. Much to her surprise though, Mirabelle was not as bad as she initially thought- using her shield at the very start of the match in order to completely block out any of the Dockworker's swings with her massive hammer.

A fair bit of adrenaline actually seeped into Petronille's veins, as she dodged the surprisingly clean and quick jabs of Mirabelle's rapier. This was kind of fun.

Still, it wasn’t long before Petronille won- she did try to not totally whoop her ass though, opting to simply overwhelm her- but not actually hit the shield enough for it to shatter. Shattering shields usually caused a lot of pain for the one that created it- so, she took her time, and waited for the shield to fade on it's own, leaving her opponent vulnerable to her devastating attacks. And when it happened, she grinned, wanting to push Mirabelle back as she got close, and most likely win as a result.

Unexpectedly though, Mirabelle grabbed her wrist, sending her back down with her. As Petronille sputtered in clear surprise and tied to fall in the way that would not crush the poor woman below her, The Housemaiden clearly tried to perform something of a roll, so she could turn out to be the one on top, but, well.. Petronille was a lot taller, so that did not work out for her. The Dockworker grinned widely, her hammer colliding with the ground just inches away from Mirabelle's head, causing her to yelp and let out an almost childlike whine. Petronille couldn't hold back her laughter, as she leaned back slightly, eventually getting off of the older woman and sitting on the floor nearby, focusing on catching her breath.

Bonnie cheered loudly, while Isabeau clapped from the sidelines, grinning. “Nice moves, Nille! But I think Mira had you on the defensive there for a second.” He couldn't help but rile her up a little bit, causing the younger to narrow her eyes at him.

"Ha! As if! You were seeing things, Meat Shield." scoffed, just as Mirabelle sat up with a small giggle.

"That was fun! It was a bit scary, though.." She admitted, but somehow, Petronille couldn't help but allow her smirk to mellow down slightly.

"It was fine. Seems like you know more than you let on." She muttered, getting up, and stretching. She barely let Mirabelle register what she said, before outstretching a hand out towards her. Mirabelle, although a little surprised, couldn't help but beam at the gesture, and Petronille's words.

She grabbed her hand and pulled herself up quickly, letting out a satisfied 'hmp!'

Noticing the expression on the Housemaiden's face, the Dockworker let go of her hand quickly and looked away with a grumble. "..For a Healer Girl, of course." She added, but Mirabelle couldn't help but giggle either way.

As Siffrin watched the exchange, he couldn't help but smile slightly. Seems like Petronille really was warming up to them. He.. found comfort in that, for some reason.

The sparring field buzzed with tension as Odile and Petronille squared off, each bringing a contrasting intensity to the fight. The air felt completely different now, and it was quite clear that both women were taking it semi-seriously, instead of treating it just as a sparring session. Much to everyone's slight concern.

Petronille held her massive hammer with ease, her confidence radiating through every muscle as she smirked and cracked her neck. With raw power practically pulsing off her, she tapped the ground with her hammer, sending a small tremor through the field. It really seemed like those little matches were giving her the adrenaline she was missing.

Odile, on the other hand, stood calmly with her book in hand, her stance measured, her gaze both calm and keenly observant. Her wry smile betrayed an assurance that matched Petronille’s energy, though in a quieter, subtler way. With only her Craft skills to rely on, Odile still managed to exude a confidence that irked Petronille, sparking a competitive glint in her eye.

The two stared each other down, Petronille’s hammer swinging in subtle arcs as she gauged her moment. When she finally surged forward, her hammer came crashing down with a force that rattled the earth, but Odile sidestepped smoothly, as if anticipating it from the start. She may be slow, but she clearly prepared herself for it, allowing her an effortless escape from the blow. The four on the sidelines seemed a little bit shocked and alarmed at the intensity of the start of the battle. A glimmer of amusement flashed in Odile’s eyes as she retaliated with a swift Craft-infused strike to Petronille’s side, which the Dockworker managed to dodge just barely, throwing her balance off just enough for her next strike to miss.

Petronille recovered quickly, launching a series of powerful attacks, each one barely missing as Odile deflected or dodged with deft precision, focused, yet calm. Despite Petronille’s relentless power, Odile’s Craft skills kept her one step ahead, her movements fluid and calm even as she twisted out of the hammer’s range by mere inches each time.

The rest of the party watched, a mix of concern and awe flickering across their faces as they witnessed the clash of power against cunning. Siffrin and Isabeau exchanged anxious little smiles, clearly entertained but still on the edge of their seats, worried for the two participants. Mirabelle had her hand on her chest, stifling small gasps whenever Petronille’s hammer came dangerously close to striking Odile, meanwhile Bonnie cheered loudly for the both of them.

After several intense exchanges, Odile seized her opening. Petronille swung with a little more force, perhaps anticipating Odile to dodge to her left- but instead, Odile sidestepped to the right, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she delivered a simple, Paper Craft skill to Petronille's shin, coming from behind her. In a split second, the younger was on her back with a loud grunt, hammer skidding across the ground as she cursed under her breath.

The party broke into applause and laughter, and Odile stepped back, a triumphant, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Petronille’s cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment as she propped herself up immediately, jabbing an accusatory finger in Odile’s direction. “Y- YOU-! THAT'S NOT FAIR! I WAS DISTRACTED! I WANT A REMATCH!!!"

Odile’s smile widened, a slyness in her eyes that made Petronille grit her teeth. “Perhaps after I win the entire sparring session, I’ll show you the ways of an old lady such as myself."

Petronille clenched her fists, seething as she stood up, brushing dirt off her clothes. The others’ chuckles only seemed to fuel her irritation, and Odile’s calm, slightly teasing demeanor didn’t help. Petronille shot Odile a glare that promised another fierce round, and Odile merely tilted her head back slightly, as if savouring her victory, and looking forward for more.

Watching the two of them, the party couldn’t help but grin. It was a clash of power and wit, of bold, raw power and clever experience, and as Petronille retreated to the sidelines with a begrudging grumble, everyone could tell that this sparring session had just gotten far more interesting.

Isabeau bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, his boundless energy unmistakable, especially with the gleam in his eyes as he flexed his new prosthetic arm. Siffrin watched him from where he sat, amused by the taller's barely-contained excitement. The match hadn’t even begun, but already Isabeau seemed like a spring wound too tight, ready to burst into action. He seems really excited to fight with two hands again.

Odile, on the other hand, was her usual collected self, standing calmly across from him with a faint smirk. Unlike Isabeau, she he was as steady as stone, her hands at her sides, as if she hadn’t a single worry in the world.

“Careful there,” she warned, watching him shift from foot to foot like an overexcited rabbit. “Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out before we’ve even started.”

Isabeau grinned wide, letting out one of his usual, bright laughs. “Madame, if I burn out just by bouncing, I don’t deserve to spar with you!” he shot back, his voice a little too loud in his eagerness.

Odile raised a brow, eyeing the arm and the excess energy. “Is that right? Then I suppose I’ll just have to tire you out the hard way.”

Odile moved into her stance, staying light but cautious. She kept her distance at first, circling him with deliberate, measured steps, her expression calculating. Isabeau, however, was almost buzzing, practically glowing with energy that he could barely keep contained.

“Didn’t think you’d be so hesitant, Madame,” Isabeau teased, shuffling forward with a cocky smirk. "Surely, the image of me being fully armed must be quite scary to you." He said, grinning when he heard the audience either laugh or groan in annoyance- mostly the latter, but he did catch Siffrin giving him a thumbs up with a wide grin. That was Siffrin's joke! Yipee!

Odile’s eyes narrowed, but her smirk grew. “I’m simply waiting for you to catch up with your own strength, Isabeau,” she replied coolly, dodging his first swing and glancing at his arm. “I sure wouldn’t want you to throw yourself out of balance.”

They exchanged a few quick moves, either dodging or blocking each other's hits, while Isabeau swung more experimentally, testing his new limits and trying to close the gap between them. At times, she countered with an occasional Craft-infused feint, nudging his arm just enough to throw off his aim.

He chuckled, a little breathless already. “Are you just going to dodge all day? That’s hardly fair, Madame!”

Odile let out a low chuckle, opting to deflect the punch this time with a Paper craft skill. “If you’d like a challenge, Isabeau, maybe don’t telegraph your moves like an amateur.”

The taunt was clear, and Isabeau’s grin turned competitive. He pulled back, taking a deep breath, and this time, the Craft energy he’d been charging in his prosthetic flared brighter. He took aim, his eyes locking onto the Researcher. Finally, his fist shot forward, quick and precise, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the raw, untamed power behind it.

The air in front of him rippled, and with a low hum, the craft energy in his punch fired forward like a bolt, slicing across the clearing faster than either of them expected. Odile’s eyes widened just a fraction, her usual composure slipping as she realized she couldn’t dodge in time, or block such a powerful craft skill.

With a loud thud, the impact struck her shoulder, sending her stumbling back several steps, her balance wavering as she clutched her shoulder in pain. Her face twisted in a rare display of discomfort, and she steadied herself. Normally, in a real battle, something like this would've just made her more determined, but..

That really was quite a powerful blow. She felt a bit dizzy, world blurring at the edges, but she managed to keep herself upright.

The clearing went silent, the air thick with tension as everyone stared at Odile, who seemed momentarily stunned by the sheer power of the blow. Isabeau’s grin had vanished, replaced with wide, horrified eyes as he saw her wince, a fresh bruise already blossoming where his punch had hit. Siffrin's smile was long gone, replaced by a faint expression of shock which quickly turned into concern. He was the first out of the bunch on the sidelines to move, immediately springing into action, as Isabeau quickly approached Odile.

“Oh no- no, no, no, Madame, are you alright??” he blurted, his voice quivering with panic. The energy in his arm had already faded by now, and he immediately made his way over. He wanted to reach out to hold her arms to steady her, but he hesitated, his hands flinching back before they could make contact. “I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t think it would hit that hard-!! I'm so sorry!”

Odile winced, but her smirk returned, though her face was still tight with discomfort at the very least. “..Oh, I see how it is.” she said, her voice strained, despite her best attempts to not act or sound off. “It's quite alright, Isabeau. I’d say you’ve mastered that arm a bit too quickly.”

Mirabelle was already halfway through the clearing with her hands raised, her worry plain on her face. “M-Madame!! Here, let me check that for you!” she said, her palms already glowing softly with Healing Craft. She delicately pulled the Researcher's coat off of her left shoulder and unbuttoned part of her shirt to reveal a dark, angry bruise stretching across her shoulder.

Petronille's eyes widened slightly at the sight, and Bonnie gasped, frowning as they hugged Odile's other arm. "'Dile!! Are you okay??" Siffrin's hands hovered in the air helplessly, trembling slightly as he was unsure if he could help somehow. He knew that Mirabelle was already working on it, and it was best to leave it to her- but a single Done Heal also made it's way into the Researcher's shoulder in the meantime.

Isabeau’s face drained of blood at the sight of the bruise, his mouth working soundlessly as he stared at the damage he’d caused. His usually boisterous nature evaporated into an anxious silence, his eyes fixed on Odile’s injury as Mirabelle did her thing, eyes closed tightly as she concentrated on healing and making sure no bones were broken.

Odile glanced up at the Defender, catching his horrified expression, and huffed softly, a small, strained smirk making it's way on her lips. “Don’t look so mortified, Isabeau,” she chided, though the gentleness in her tone softened the words. “In sparring, minor injuries are to be expected. I am fine."

Bonnie hugged her arm tighter with a slight pout. “It doesn't look small at all!!" They exclaimed, worry clear in their tone as Odile sighed. She usually found Bonnie's blunt nature endearing, but it was really not helping right now. Isabeau shouldn't feel guilty about this.

At this, Isabeau took a shaky step back, his gaze dropping to the ground as he swallowed, trying to find words. “I.. I didn’t mean to-” he stammered. "..Really, I-"

He was supposed to protect them. Not hurt them.

Petronille, who had watched everything unfold with crossed arms, finally cut in. She eyed Isabeau and then looked to Siffrin, jerking her head toward the Defender in slight exasperation paired with a bit of concern, her meaning clear.

Siffrin looked at her for a moment as if in surprise, but nodded quickly, looking back towards the man. He sidled up to Isabeau, reaching out for his arm. "..Isa-" But before he could say anything more, Isabeau flinched and pulled away, almost tripping over himself in his haste. His hands raised immediately as he gave an explosive, obviously anxious laugh, that really was not it.

“I-I'm fine!!!" he assured, his voice way too loud to be considered calm. “I just..! N-Need a moment. Sorry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked quickly towards the edge of the clearing, leaving the others staring after him, worry painted across their faces. His normally bright demeanor had dimmed, leaving an odd silence in his wake.

Odile sighed softly as she watched him go, gently pinching the bridge of her nose. “..that man could do with half the guilt and twice the sense,” she murmured. Though her voice was weary, her gaze was understanding, if a little frustrated.

Bonnie looked between Odile and the spot where Isabeau had disappeared, another pout forming. “Is 'Za feeling bad? Is he upset 'cuz he hurt 'Dile by accident? Wasn't he just trying out how his new arm works?? He didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

Odile, adjusting her shirt and coat after Mirabelle’s healing, managed a tired smile. “Thank you, Mirabelle.. and, he’ll be alright. And so will I." She hoped. Isabeau tended to take his mistakes to heart- especially when it ended up upsetting or hurting the ones he cared about. He was literally like a puppy, feeling bad about having bitten someone by accident, closing his jaw around a hand that he was playing with just a bit too tight for comfort.

Bonnie hung back by Odile’s side, a worried crease between their brows. “You’re really okay, 'Dile? Like, really, really okay? You’re not just saying that?”

Odile smiled down at them, reaching out to ruffle Bonnie’s hair. “I promise. Just a bit of soreness. Nothing I can’t handle.”

They gave a tiny nod but held close, as if to make sure, and Odile allowed herself a quiet smile, grateful for the worry, knowing full well that the party would all be fine once they’d sorted things out.

Isabeau has to return first. And that was a bit of a problem, as he tended to avoid them for a bit after making a mistake. Especially something like.. whatever transpired here.

Petronille crossed her arms, a slight grimace on her face. “..Well. Seems like there'll be no re-match, huh.” she muttered, but her gaze was still fixed on where he’d gone. She heard Siffrin sigh on her side, but glanced down at Odile instead, with an eyebrow raised, causing Odile to scoff, shaking her head slightly in amusement.

"..no re-match." She actually felt quite alright for today.

- - -

I stand by my case. Isa could definitely fucking kill someone with that cool as prosthetic. AWESOME!

Chapter Text

- - -

Odile was, quite frankly, at her limit. For days, she’d watched as Isabeau stayed away, excusing himself from meals early, offering vague reasons to avoid conversations, and feigning cheerful distraction whenever she caught his eye. His brightness, the lighthearted energy that was so distinctly him, had vanished from the group. They noticed it immediately, his absence like a gap in the steady rhythm of their days, and while it frustrated Odile to no end, she was also concerned. She knew guilt, and she knew the toll it could take if left alone to fester.

That’s why, when she spotted him in the main room one afternoon, working on a piece of fabric with the utmost concentration, she decided it was time to put an end to his self-imposed isolation. She made her way over to him.

“Isabeau.”

The man in question jumped nearly a foot in the air, whipping around with a yelp. But the instant he saw her, his face fell back into a careful, polite smile, though his gaze stayed firmly on the fabric in his hands. “Ah, Madame! Good afternoon! W-What can I do for you?”

Odile huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, for starters, you could stop avoiding me like the plague." She could see the faint brow twitch in Isabeau's expression, a small crack in the mask. She is not backing down. "Are you busy?”

Isabeau blinked at first, seemingly not having been expecting that question out of all things. Perhaps the entire interaction all together.

“O-Oh, well- u-uh!” he stammered, clearly searching for an excuse, “..a-actually, yes, I am a little-”

“Then it’ll have to wait,” Odile interrupted with a deadpan, grabbing him by the arm and giving a slight tug upwards, urging him to get up. “Come along. We’re going for a walk. Don't even think about giving me some petty excuse. I'm full of it.”

Clearly, she would not be budging at that. Isabeau couldn't help but gulp nervously, glancing to the side. It seemed like he wanted to say something for a moment, but decided against it, taking notice of Odile's patience thinning. He hesitated, glancing around the room as though searching for an escape, but eventually, he sighed and allowed her to lead him out, falling into step beside her with a nervous glance.

They walked in silence for a moment, the quiet stretching between them as they left the hospital grounds and wandered into the wooded path behind the main building. Isabeau’s anxiety was very palpable- his shoulders were tense, his fingers fidgeting, and every so often, he’d let out a strained little chuckle after commenting on something random within the line of sight, though he didn’t make eye contact. Finally, Odile sorted out her thoughts, took a breath, and spoke.

“I won’t pretend I’m any good at emotional talks like these- too much feel-good nonsense for my taste. But if anyone else tries to get through to you, you’re just going to brush them off like you have been for the past few days. And, quite frankly, I’m done watching you sulk around and acting like you’ve done something unforgivable.” She glanced at him sharply, catching the flicker of a wince that passed over his face. “You’ve been avoiding everyone since that sparring session. And it’s getting ridiculous.”

He gave a tight smile, his gaze dropping to his feet. “It’s fine, Madame, really. I’m fine. Just.. thinking.”

“Oh, please,” Odile snorted. “You may fool the rest of them, but not me. You’re not fine, and if I had to guess, you’re wallowing in your own guilt over a bruise that is half completely gone by now.” She looked at him meaningfully. “You can’t keep this up.”

Isabeau’s smile faded, replaced by a deep sadness that he no longer attempted to hide. “..It bothers me, Madame,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “I hurt you. I.. I wasn't careful enough with the prosthetic- even though I knew I'm just starting to figure it out. I’m supposed to be the Defender. I’m the one who protects all of you, and I failed- even worse so, I was the result of something terrible happening to you. I could’ve done so much worse.” His arms wrapped around himself, and for once, the spark of confidence that had always been there in his eyes had vanished completely, replaced by something bleak and heavy. “I know you don’t blame me. But what if.. what if I seriously injured you? What if I’d broken a bone? Or if I’d hit just a little lower and punctured a lung? What if.. what if I’d killed you, Madame?”

Silence stretched across the air, the weather seeming to dim as the area around them seemed to fill up with cold dread, as they stood there.

Odile’s gaze softened, and she sighed, her initial frustration melting into something more understanding. “..I understand your concerns, but.. I think I'd already been fully grey if I started thinking about all the 'what if's of every situation. What happened, happened, and what did happen.. was not all that major at all. It was just a bruise. And it came with a lesson, that I know you'll take close to heart. To be careful with that prosthetic of yours, until you are confident in it's capabilities, and can control it fully." She said, looking up at him with a determined frown.

“I’ve always found it irritating when people say that mistakes are acceptable just because ‘we’re only human.’ Yes, it’s true we make mistakes, but when we start using that to excuse everything, that’s when it becomes a problem.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully.

“You’re not one to hide behind excuses. You don’t brush things off as ‘just human errors’ because you care about doing things right, especially for the people you care about. That’s why this incident is eating at you, isn’t it?”

Isabeau looked at the woman, surprised by the insight, before glancing away with a slight nod, his expression.. making Odile's insides twist painfully. She did not like that expression on him- guilt-ridden, and miserable. “It’s just.. it’s hard to forgive myself when I think of what could’ve happened- and what did happen- even if it was just a bruise. Even if it would be just a scratch, or if I'd miss entirely- I'd still be.. thinking about it, a lot.”

Odile had been told a few times that her stare was a little bit off-putting to some, after extended periods of time. It was scrutinizing, criticising, and it made others think like they are being judged. Yet, she couldn't help herself, as she searched Isabeau's face in hopes of finding that old twinkle of joy in his eyes, that usual smile of his, that spark that had been dulled for the past few days.

She found none. And that concerned her.

Odile finally tore her eyes away from him, in order to look over the bustling city down the hill, instead. “..what I'm trying to say, is that you shouldn't stress out about past mistakes- especially when it wasn't all that serious. And yet, when you do make mistakes, you ponder on them, and you're careful to not repeat them. You're trying to make up for it,” she noted. Her tone softened as she added with a wry smile, “Though, maybe you don’t feel like you are.”

“Trying to make up for it?” he echoed, a faint, disbelieving smile forming. “Do you really think so, Madame?”

Odile’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Oh, undoubtedly. If memory serves me, you still owe me that wasabi eating contest, don't you?"

Isabeau’s eyes widened with mock horror, and he burst out in a loud, nervous laugh.

“O. OOOOHHHH..!!! RIIIIGHHHTHAHAHHAHH...!" He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy but grateful for the slight shift in tone. Still, the thought of doing a spicy food contest with anyone- nevermind Siffrin or Odile, sent shivers down his spine. He'll likely die not even halfway through.

Odile couldn't help herself, she barked out a laugh at his almost cartoonishly exaggerated reaction, shaking her head. “You know, I could’ve asked you to fight me again. It was still a shame that I've lost, after all. Maybe I could've taken Petronille up on that offer and ran a few rematches myself. But I think I’d rather see you crying over a spoonful of wasabi.”

Isabeau laughed with her this time, but this time it was more a genuine, full laugh that sounded like himself again. He looked at her, his face brightening with a gratitude so warm it almost made Odile pause. But in that moment, she knew her attempt at emotional support hadn’t been entirely terrible.

After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his arms slightly, glancing up at her with a hesitant, hopeful smile. “Madame, would it.. would it be alright if I gave you a hug? I-I'll be very careful this time, promise-" He gave an awkward laugh.

Odile raised an eyebrow, scoffing a bit. “Not much for hugs, you know that.” But even she couldn’t bring herself to refuse him, not when he looked so earnest and hopeful. She gave a slight nod. “Gems, alright, just this once.”

Isabeau’s eyes lit up, and he let out an excited little gasp before carefully pulling her into a bear hug, mindful of his prosthetic as he held her close. “Rare Madame Odile hug, GO!!!” he declared happily, the joy in his voice infectious.

She chuckled, giving his back a few light pats on the back. “..I’ve met many people in my life, and very few of them have a heart half as decent as yours, Isabeau. And nothing will ever be able to change my opinion of you."

Isabeau’s laughter softened, and he pulled back just enough to rub at his eye with a sheepish grin. “Aww, Madame, you can’t say things like that! I’ll cry!”

Odile smirked, crossing her arms. “Well, you’re in luck. My quota for emotional support is used up for the day. Don’t expect me to be this agreeable again anytime soon.”

Isabeau couldn't help but laugh again, giving her a nod. The tension between them had vanished entirely, replaced by a warmth that felt more like the camaraderie they’d always shared. He glanced up at the bustling city, then looked back at her with a more familiar, cheerful grin.

“Well, if we’re all done with heart-to-hearts, we should get back,” he said, his usual cheer back in full force. “Dinner’s probably ready, and I'd really like to avoid feeling BonBon's wrath.."

Odile snorted, giving him a look of mock severity. “You know, I’ve never seen anyone as terrified of a pre-teen as much as you seem to be."

Isabeau gave an exaggerated shiver. “You haven’t seen what they’re like when they’re really mad, and that anger is directed at me, Madame! Almost as scary as you in a good mood!” He sent a slight grin her way.

Oh, so confident again, aren't we? Odile’s eyes sparkled with amusement, though she hid it behind a carefully raised brow. “And you don’t want to see what I’m like when I’m actually mad, Defender. Just keep that in mind.”

He laughed as they began to walk back toward the hospital, the evening air cooling around them. By the time they reached the front steps and entered, any hint of tension or unease between them had been thoroughly dissolved.

She’d always been wary of these emotional conversations, of unburdening things left better unspoken. But tonight, she felt that maybe she’d handled things right. And if the relieved smile on Isabeau’s face was anything to go by, it should be safe to say that the inner conflict within him had been completely resolved.

As they sat down for dinner, the rest of the group happily pulled Isabeau into their chatter, noticing with quiet relief that he seemed more like himself again. And as Odile watched him slip back into the easy, joyful rhythm of their company, she allowed herself a rare, satisfied smile.

- - -

COMPLETELY WILLING ODILE HUG???? WOAH

Chapter Text

- - -

Siffrin had known sleeping in clearings would be a challenge after the loops.

The open air, the biting chill, and the whisper of nearby trees weren’t just scenery anymore; they were triggers. While he had thought he could handle it for the sake of the journey, tonight proved him wrong, even with the knowledge that he would be falling asleep within the camp. No tents have been set up yet, since it was the middle of the day, and so, his only option for a nap would be.. to sleep in the soft grass.

He made sure that he would immediately see that he is within surroundings much different from when he usually woke in the loops- he literally just laid down in the middle of the camp, and sometimes it was a miracle that nobody had tripped over him accidentally, during his a few hour long nap.

And as much as the sleep itself was okay- it was when he woke up, that problems have arisen.

"Siffrin~"

"Si~ifri~in~"

"Siffrin?"

When Siffrin opened his eye, it was to Mirabelle’s soft voice calling him, rousing him from the grip of a peaceful nap. He stared blankly at her silhouette for several moments, numbness spreading through him as her voice dissolved into something far too familiar. It echoed in his ears, lines spoken countless times, unchanged by time or circumstance.

"Good morning!" She said cheerfully, amusement in her eyes as she looked down at him. "Well, more like, good afternoon, I guess!" She added with a small chuckle, her hands clasped over her chest.

The line struck like a distant bell, faint and reverberating.

All he could see was the sky above him. He didn't look at her. He didn't want to look at her. As slowly, that same numbness came over him.

..Right.

Get up Siffrin. You've got a country to save.

The Traveler blinked. Every single bone in his body begged him to not move- to just lay there forever. How many loops have it been? No matter how much he searched for even a rounded number, he simply couldn't grasp it. It must've been so long that he just.. stopped counting at some point.

Well, he supposed it didn't really matter anyway.

Eventually, he knew he had to get up. He had to- he couldn't just lay there while Mirabelle looked at him so expectantly. Slowly, he sat up, and it was obvious that something must've been wrong. Mirabelle's soft smile faded, and her brows furrowed softly, as she went to crouch on his side. Her worried eyes looked him up and down, her usual warmth tinged with confusion at the detached expression he wore.

"..Siffrin? Are you-?"

“Hey Mira,” Siffrin said after a pause, his voice too measured, too smooth. The fake smile that accompanied it was as sharp as glass, causing the Housemaiden to stiffen. He looked up at her, and then- in an odd sort of mix of exhaustion and resignment that he tried to hide- asked, “Have you thought about doing a sleepover tonight?"

The words left his mouth automatically, without thought, and the moment they did, Siffrin felt a rush of cold dread. Then again, what else can he do? It's best to just tune out. He has a country to save, after all.

Mirabelle blinked, her concern giving way to confusion. “A.. sleepover? Siffrin, what are you- ”

“Absolutely! I'll let everyone know!" he interrupted, his tone oddly.. cheerful, in an extremely uncharacteristic way for him.

The look of worry on Mirabelle’s face deepened as she reached out toward him, her hand hovering near his arm. “..h-hey, are you-?”

He flinched back violently, his eye wide as though her touch had burned him. She froze, her hand retreating as her heart broke at the sight of his trembling, smiling form. She’d seen him like this before. She knew exactly what was happening- and the realization have struck her like a brick.

She shouldn't have woken him up.

The rest of the party stirred. Petronille frowned, her arms crossing as she watched the exchange. What the hell was happening?? This is so goddamn weird. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the funky Traveler- his frame all too stiff, his smile all too sharp. At this point, she was starting to think that half of the odd things that Siffrin would say or do, were probably the result of Wish Craft, or the whole looping thing that he had briefly told her about that one time, when she was doing origami.

She glanced over at Odile when he saw her move, the Researcher's eyes narrowing as she cursed under her breath, seeming to be debating getting up. Well, that's not good. Odile wasn't usually one to swear with such an expression- trying to find the best solution to fix this- whatever was happening.

Siffrin looked at Mirabelle's concerned, worried gaze, and couldn't help but feel his heart stutter- he himself was still frozen, his body still tilted back slightly, away from her touch. She tried to touch him. Why did she try to touch him? He must be messing the script up a lot- he should get it back on track.

"..h-have you heard about the Carrot Method?" That must be the one! Come on, get back on stage!

Though, much to his anxiety already eating off on him, the Housemaiden looks just as, if not more so- confused and worried. She held her hands close to her chest. Well, that's not an expression of reassurance. Damn it, he's really messing up, isn't he?

Maybe if he just..

He gives her his usual wink- just as he always does, but she doesn't seem any calmer. He fights for the smile to remain on his face, to not let it falter. Don't give this loop up yet! He can still fix it!

Before he can say or do anything though-

“What the hell is going on?” He hears a voice tear through the air like blades, laced with confusion and a hint of irritation. Oddly enough, it causes him to freeze completely, eye wide as he stares back at Mirabelle.

That was not in the script.

Siffrin’s head turned toward the voice slowly, his expression caught in a strange limbo between emotions. He looked up at her- who.. what..? What was she doing here? What was happening?

Why is

Petronille here?

As Siffrin seemed completely locked in place, staring up at her, Petronille watched his expressions carefully. For a moment, it was like he didn’t recognize her, his gaze scanning her face before his expression shifted. Realization, faint but present, and a little slow, flickered through him like the dying embers of a fire.

“..Petronille?” He spoke finally, his voice quivering, his throat feeling tight. The Dockworker looked him down with a look equally as confused as suspicious, raising a brow at him as she stood there, next to the two of them.

..That was not in the script.

..he's... no longer there.

Siffrin gulped, before turning his head to take a look around the clearing, taking in the faces of his friends, the unfamiliar forest, and the soft light of the fire. His hand rose shakily to his head, brushing against his hair as though searching for something- but it was not there.

No hat.

“S-Siffrin..?” Mirabelle whispered, shuffling closer again, but still keeping her hands to herself. Her instinct was to reach out again, but she hesitated, the memory of his earlier flinch halting her. “Please, look at me.. I-it's okay! You're okay! You're out of the loops!"

That

That's not in the script. How is this happening? Where is he?

Her words barely seemed to register. Siffrin’s hand trembled as he moved it to his face, as though grounding himself in the sensation.

It was silent for several moments, Isabeau, Odile and Bonnie seeming to be just as torn on what to do as the other three. Slowly, Siffrin turned back to Petronille, his lips parting to speak, but nothing came out. The only sound that came was a choked sob. His shoulders quaked, his tears welling up in his eye now as he struggled to find his voice.

Petronille flinched, sputtering in surprise. She raised her hands as her eyes began to flick from the Traveler, back to Mirabelle frantically. "W-What is- why is he- I didn't even do anything!" she stuttered, her voice defensive but tinged with uncertainty.

Mirabelle shook her head quickly. “It’s not you, Petronille..” she said, her own voice breaking slightly as she reached forward again. “Siffrin, look at me, okay? I-I'm here- you're not there anymore.."

This time, Siffrin didn’t flinch, as her hand landed on his arm, barely a brush of her fingertips at first. He looked back at his Housemaiden, and gulped, struggling to control his emotions, but unable to keep it in. Not there? Not there anymore? He's out? He's free? He hesitantly leaned towards her, his hand raised as if seeking an anchor, as if he is scared to break the illusion. Mirabelle let out a breath of relief, immediately closing the gap and wrapping her arms around him.

She let out a small gasp as Siffrin immediately buried his face in her shoulder, holding onto her so desperately. She cupped the back of his head gently, her other hand wrapping around his middle securely, as she leaned into the touch. He trembled in her hold, his quiet, shaky voice muffled against her.

He silenced the inner monologue inside of him. There was no script to follow. He didn't need that anymore. He was not there anymore.

“..I-I'm out..?” he asked, the despair in his tone piercing the hearts of everyone present. “..I'm free?”

Mirabelle’s own tears welled up as she held him tighter, her voice thick with guilt. “Yes, Siffrin, you're free.. I-I'm so sorry! I forgot.. I shouldn't have woken you up! I-I didn't mean to.. make you go back there.."

Nearby, Bonnie sprinted over, their small arms wrapping around Siffrin’s waist as they looked up at Mirabelle. “What's wrong?? Why's Frin crying??” they asked, their voice confused and worried as they squeezed his waist.

Mirabelle shook her head again, unable to answer as she simply held Siffrin closer. Bonnie’s grip tightened, their worry plain on their face as they glanced back at the others.

Isabeau was the next to join the huddle, his smile strained as he crouched beside them and took one of Siffrin's hands into his own, holding it cupped in between his two own.

"You're okay, Sif. Just take deep breaths, yeah?"

Petronille’s usual confidence seemed shaken as she glanced at Odile, which went to stand next to her, the two watching the exchange from a few feet away. “Did I make him cry?” she asked awkwardly, her tone almost defensive in its uncertainty.

Odile scoffed lightly, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “No,” she said simply. “If anything, you helped. He saw you and realized he wasn't back in Dormont."

Petronille blinked, her confusion clearing, if only the slightest bit. “Dormont.. so.. the loops thing? Is that what this was about?"

Odile paused for a moment, before nodding slowly, her gaze returning to the huddle by the fire. “Siffrin’s been through more than most people could handle,” she said quietly. “Sometimes, it gets to him. A lot of such occurrences happened when we were still in Dormont- after the King's defeat. We needed to stay there for a couple more days, because Siffrin had been Craft Exhausted after his own loops. It appears that sometimes.. he goes back to the mindspace of being trapped in time, when something that might have been similar to what happened then, happens in the present."

Petronille didn’t respond, her expression thoughtful as she watched Isabeau gently guide Siffrin and Mirabelle to sit by the fire, Bonnie quickly going to tend to the cooking pot. Siffrin looked somewhat.. numb, but calmer, leaning heavily against Isabeau’s shoulder as he held Mirabelle’s hand tightly. Bonnie handed him a bowl of soup, their eyes silently pleading with him to eat, despite their usual pout on their face. After a moment of hesitation, Siffrin picked up the spoon and took a small sip, offering Bonnie a faint, genuine smile in return.

"..So.. he thought he was back? And.. realized that he wasn't when I came up to him, because I wasn't there when he was looping." Petronille spoke slowly, gaining a nod from Odile.

"Exactly." She looked over at Petronille, unable to hide the faintest of smirks on her face.

"Seems like there are more than a few reasons to be glad about having you around, huh?" She said, causing Petronille's eyes to narrow dangerously as she gave the older woman a look. The Researcher chuckled softly, shaking her head as she looked back at Siffrin, which definitely looked a lot calmer now.

"Now that I'm thinking about it.. not a single of those instances happened, ever since you've joined us on the journey. Up until today. Perhaps your presence keeps him grounded. It's quite difficult to ignore you, after all." Odile added, causing the younger woman to glare daggers at her, uncrossing her arms.

"Okay, Vice Leader. Whatever."

Almost immediately, Petronille realized her mistake. She could see with the corner of her eye, as Odile's faint smirk faded.

She didn't know that Petronille have heard that conversation- that happened on the night after they found out about the King's escape. Petronille was unable to sleep then, and she heard Siffrin and Odile talking about.. whatever happened in the loops- and the horrific deaths that came with his encounters.

Petronille nervously shifted where she stood, her arms crossing again awkwardly as she avoided looking at Odile, hoping that maybe the Researcher didn't notice- but well. It's Odile. Of course she'd notice. If anything, it would be more strange if she didn't notice.

Thankfully, it seems like the Researcher did not plan on pointing it out. She simply gave Petronille a long look. She said nothing for several seconds, further ensuring Petronille that she messed up, big time- before letting out a thoughtful hum.

Odile's eyes traveled back to the rest of the group, silently watching them for a moment. Then, she sighed, seemingly as if she'd forgotten all about that little slip up, and motioned for Petronille to follow. “Come on,” she said, her voice lighter now. “Let’s eat something. It has been a long day."

Petronille, for one, did not say anything in return. She followed Odile without a word, sitting down nearby Bonnie, as her sibling handed her a bowl as well. She avoided looking at Odile and Siffrin for the rest of the evening- It's not that having heard that one conversation was really a bad thing- she didn't even mean to! She just couldn't sleep! But.. it could pose some issues. She wasn't exactly.. meant to know these things. She was not even half-caught-up in all of the different things that the rest of the party is already aware of in terms of Siffrin's looping. But what she'd heard on that night in particular.. disturbed her greatly.

Petronille shook her head. She didn't want to think about this right now, and instead, focused on Bonnie's savoury cooking.

The group slowly settled, the warmth of the flames and the simple act of sharing a meal helping to ease the lingering tension.

Siffrin’s shoulders eventually relaxed, his smiles growing more genuine as he basked in the comforting presence of his family, their chatter and laughs. Though the scars of the loops would never truly fade, moments like this reminded him that he wasn’t alone, and that he was free to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

Petronille completely ignored the subtle looks the Traveler had been giving her throughout the time they were eating. No words were exchanged between them, and yet, Petronille- although being unaware of it up until now- had to come to terms with the fact that she seems to be one of the few things keeping the stupid Traveler somewhat sane throughout the journey.

- - -

YES I KNOW I MISSED TWO RELEASE DATES DONT HURT ME PLEASE

I'm currently trying to survive finals 💀💀💀 so pls cut me some slack

Also i feel like Siffrin would find great comfort in Petronille's presence in his worst moments, especially when he feels like he's locking into that mindspace he had when he was looping, or feeling like he's back in the loops- deja vi style and shit. Simply because he knows that as long as she is around, he is not stuck in time anymore. He moved forward, and now is on a journey with his family uwu

Chapter Text

- - -

The air was still, save for the faint hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees. A faint lighter glow painted the horizon as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the clearing on top of a large hill where Siffrin sat. His gaze was fixed on the distant silhouette of Bambouche, just visible over the horizon. Soon enough, they would reach the bustling seaside village, but tonight, it was just him, the horizon, and his thoughts.

The sound of boots crunching against dry grass pulled his attention, and he didn't need to turn to know that Petronille was approaching. For some reason, her footsteps were very similar to Bonnie's, when they exaggerrated walking loud to be able to hug him without startling him. Hers just sounded more menacing, funny enough. She moved with her usual air of confidence, her gruff demeanor accentuated by her slouched shoulders and the way she carried herself, like she had nothing to prove but wouldn’t tolerate nonsense either. Her coat fluttered behind her, lead by wind, as she made her way over.

Then, with a huff, she plopped down next to him, close enough for her presence to be felt but not encroaching. She pulled her knees up, resting her arms on them as she followed his gaze toward the distant village.

“You’re brooding,” she said after a moment, her tone gruff but tinged with something lighter.

Siffrin blinked, turning his head to look at her. Her expression was familiar- arms crossed, brows furrowed, a faint pout on her lips. Yet, despite her usual demeanor, there was something softer in her eyes, something that made Siffrin’s mouth twitch into a faint smile.

“Am I that obvious?” he asked, his voice quiet and carrying a hint of humor.

“Like an open book,” Petronille scoffed, though her tone lacked the usual bite.

The air between them was oddly light, a contrast to the usual banter that characterized their interactions.

Petronille glanced over at Siffrin from the corner of her eye, taking in his quiet posture, the way his fingers lightly tapped against his knee as if to keep some unseen rhythm. It was strange- three months ago, she couldn’t have imagined sitting like this with anyone in his party. They’d been strangers then, a mismatched group of travelers she wanted nothing to do with. And now... well, they were still a mismatched group, but it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt... fine.

She hated that it didn’t bother her more. Or maybe she didn’t. That thought left her unsettled.

Clearing her throat, Petronille straightened, her usual scowl softening just a fraction. “Hey,” she started, her voice a little quieter than usual. “I’ve been meaning to.. say something.”

Siffrin blinked, looking at her curiously. “What is it?”

She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. “I just- look, I’m not great at this kind of thing, okay? But..” Her voice softened, losing its usual sharp edge. “I wanted to thank you. For protecting Bon. Back when... well, when they needed it most. When I couldn't protect them.”

Siffrin blinked again, clearly taken aback. Of all the things Petronille could have said, gratitude wasn’t something he’d ever expect from her. Her words lacked their usual sting, her tone carrying an unfamiliar sincerity that left him momentarily speechless.

“I mean,” she continued, her voice growing gruffer as if trying to mask her awkwardness, “You lost your damn eye for them. And.. whatever you did to protect them in your "loops," that I'll probably never know all about. That’s not something that.. should be.. forgotten. And Bon.. they talk about you like you’re some kind of hero. Which.. I guess, taking everything in, it makes you one. So, yeah. Thanks.”

Siffrin’s gaze dropped, his fingers curling slightly against his knee. “Petronille..” he murmured, his voice trembling.

The name hung in the air, hesitant and surprised. Siffrin took a slow breath, his mind pulling him back to that day- when he had thrown himself in front of Bonnie, taking on Sadnesse’s attack, that would've surely killed them. It had been instinctual, a reflex born of desperation. But the memories that surfaced weren’t just from that moment. They were from the loops. The endless, suffocating loops.

It was the 80th- or was it the 90th?- loop. Siffrin had long since lost count. The Clocktower was silent, save for the faint ticking of its gears, and the room was bathed in moonlight. Bonnie was asleep, their small frame curled up under the blankets next to Mirabelle, their face peaceful.

Siffrin sat on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling as he stared at them. His mind was a cacophony of thoughts, memories of all the times he had failed to protect them. He remembered their screams, their cries of pain, the lifeless look in their eyes as they fell over and over again. The King had taken all of their lives at least once, but those memories involving Bonnie.. they were the worst.

He couldn’t let it happen again. Not ever. He couldn’t let them suffer. He couldn't let them die anymore.

His body moved before his mind caught up, and before he knew it- he was standing over their bed, a pillow in his hand. Hovering above their peaceful expression. His breaths were shallow, his vision blurred. If he ended it now, they wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. They wouldn’t have to die like that again.

Do it. It's the right thing to do. They don't deserve to suffer at that House- don't deserve to die to the traps left there for them, don't deserve to be killed by the King. They don't deserve it.

They don't need to go through it.

Do it.

Just do it! It'll be quick. Painless.

His hands trembled, mouth parted in a silent breath, eye wide, as he raised the pillow.

DO IT!!!

Then, reality slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Siffrin dropped the pillow to the floor, stumbling back, tripping over his legs and falling back to the wooden boards, covering his mouth with his hand. His eye was wide, as he stared at the child sleeping peacefully before him. What had he almost done? What had he become?

What had he wanted to do..!?

What was wrong with him!? Why would he even think of that, and try to..!

He fled the room, thank the Stars he could get away almost soundlessly, collapsing against the cold grass just outside the Clocktower, his body wrecked with silent sobs. He wanted to claw his other eye out, to rip himself apart.

He was a monster. He didn’t deserve to protect them. He didn't deserve them, any of them, especially Bonnie. He didn’t deserve to be there at all.

Now, sitting beside Petronille, that memory gnawed at him. His eye was wide, staring forward blankly now, as he tried to forget- but no. He should never forget. He should absolutely remember this, until the day he is dead. He might never be able to.. to reveal this.. to anyone- to make them realize just how disgusting, and sick he is- but he should never forget..!!

His voice was shaky as he finally spoke. “I wasn’t.. good at keeping them safe,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I tried, and I failed. Over and over again. And when I.. when I couldn’t protect them, when they..” His voice broke, and he shook his head, shutting his eye tightly, painfully, his hands clutching around the fabric of his cloak. “I’ll never forgive myself for any of it.”

Petronille frowned, her brows furrowing as she watched him. For once, she didn’t know what to say. Siffrin’s guilt was palpable, his words carrying a weight she hadn’t expected. She hesitated, silent for several long seconds, as she looked away again. The walls she had carefully built around herself wavering, if only a little bit.

“You tried,” she said quietly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I wasn’t there, but.. I see how much you care about them. About everyone. I know you must've fought with everything you had. To make sure everything turns out fine in the end.. and it did.. right?”

Siffrin looked up at her, his eye wide.

Petronille sighed, running a hand through her hair, almost frustrated, her cheeks definitely darker than he's used to seeing. “Ugh, God- just- hear me out!" She ruffled her hair, clearly just as hopeless in terms of emotional talks as Odile was. "When we first met! I told you I’d never forgive you for bringing Bonnie into danger. I still think it was a stupid fuckin' idea, but..” She hesitated, her expression softening. “I get it now. They’re stubborn. If you hadn’t brought them along, kept them safe with you, they’d have followed you anyway and gotten into even more trouble. I know how they are. And.. you kept them alive. That’s what matters- in the present.”

She turned her gaze to the horizon, her voice dropping even lower. She tsked- just- rip the band-aid off! "Ugh, what I'm trying to say!! I! I.. I forgive you. For.. whatever happened in those loops. For anything you think you failed at. You got them out. You figured out a way to get them out alive and whole. And.. and that’s enough.”

Siffrin stared at her, seemingly at first, having trouble wrapping his head around her words. Was he dreaming? Is she.. is she really saying that..?

Her words were raw, genuine, and they struck a chord deep within him. He almost couldn't believe this was happening. Where was the Petronille he bantered with, the one that always insulted him and mocked him and condescended him and acted oh-so confident around everyone?

Did she.. really mean what she said?

Slowly, he brought a hand to his face, rubbing at his tears as he let out a shaky laugh.

“..you.. y-you always manage to catch me off guard!” he said softly, his voice trembling. Stars, he should really stop crying in front of her! It's so embarrassing! And yet.. he cannot imagine just how difficult it must've been for her- to let her walls down like that. Just to try and bring him some closure- to bury the war hammer between them( ha, pun intended. )

He buried his face in his hands, letting out another wet laugh, his tense frame trembling.

“..thank you..”

Petronille glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed the tears streaming down his face. “You’re crying again,” she said, her tone tinged with exasperation. She huffed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she hesitated. She can't believe she's even considering it! Can't believe she's here in the first place, and yet-

And yet..? Ugh.

With a resigned sigh, her arm moved, seemingly on it's own, wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him against her side. “You’re lucky I’m feeling nice today. If that was not clear enough from the start.” she muttered, her voice gruff. “Don’t get used to it, you crybaby.”

Siffrin blinked, his tears slowing as he looked up at her in surprise. Okay, he's surely dreaming. What is happening???

Well, if it's a dream.. than he doesn't quite want to wake up.*

He feels.. lighter.

Eventually, when the confusion fogging his brain cleared a little, a small, genuine smile spread across his face. "..'course not." Was the only thing he could really say, letting out a soft sigh, as he allowed his shoulders to slouch slightly.

The two of them sat in silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The village of Bambouche glimmered in the distance.

And then again, despite the pleasant atmosphere, Siffrin couldn't help but feel his smile fade, as his mind began to wander again.

They would make it to Bambouche soon.

..The end of their journey, supposedly. The goal of their trip.

. . .

The thought terrified him like no other.

- - -

NO ONE CAN FUCKING STOP ME FROM SEEING THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THOSE TWO CHARACTERS OK

NO O N E

Chapter Text

- - -

The morning- very early morning- was quiet, the faint chirping of birds outside the tent the only sound that could be heard throughout the camp.

Until it wasn't.

"..N-Nille?"

Petronille had been sleeping somewhat peacefully- somehow managing to get a few hours of sleep this time- it felt like a great thing. It wasn't easy for her to fall asleep lately, after all- either from the anxiety of waking up paralyzed, or whatever else, the feeling of needing to stay up to watch out for danger. Silly older sibling problems.

"Nille? Nille, wake up.."

Insistent shaking of Petronille’s shoulder pulled her from her rare slumber. Her brows furrowed as she blinked herself awake, disoriented, her vision filled with the dim fabric of the tent's interior.

As much as she didn't want to wake up, the second she heard Bonnie's tiny voice calling out to her, that woke her up alright. Her eyes shot wide open, and she propped herself up on her elbows, looking over at her sibling, then around, and then back at them. She seemed alert immediately- if not a little startled.

“What?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep, and equally as alarmed. Her sharp eyes darted around, searching for anything out of place- but it was difficult to find anything.. out of place, in a tent. “What’s going on? What happened??"

She was met with the anxious, wide-eyed face of her sibling, that made her pause. They flinched, seeing how Petronille immediately seemed to assume something terrible was happening. Their hands waved in small, frantic motions, as though trying to calm a fire that hadn’t quite started yet. “N-no, everything’s fine! I think-” they said quickly, their voice tinged with nerves.

“N-Nothing happened. I just- uh- I mean- ” They looked around, as if searching for an escape. They gave up quickly, letting out a small huff, their cheeks puffing out slightly in a familiar pout. “You were.. saying stuff in your sleep. Thought you'd.. might be having a nightmare, or something. So I decided to, uh. Wake you. Sorry.”

Petronille blinked, her brow creasing further. “..Wh. I was. Uh. I was talking in my sleep?" she asked, her voice still groggy, but her expression seemed to be a little calmer. “..What.. what did I say?"

Bonnie looked away quickly, muttering something under their breath. "..u-uh. Nothing, actually. I.. already forgot-"

Petronille's eyes narrowed slightly. "Bon." The younger stiffened, causing Petronille's to soften slightly. She shifted, looking to the side- it seemed like it was something Bon wasn't sure about sharing. Although it did cause her a bit of guilt, she felt like she should know- it came out of her mouth, after all. If she said something horrible, like- 'Bon's cooking sucks!'- she'd need to fix that, quickly.

Bonnie fidgeted, their eyes dropping to the ground as they hesitated. Eventually, they spoke, their voice quiet- quieter than normal, lacking it's usual pout in it.

“..you.. you were, uh. Ugh. You were calling out for Mom,” they finally said, seemingly anxious to even.. bring her up at all. Their lips pressed together tightly as they glanced back at her.

Petronille froze.

Okay. It was significantly worse than saying that Bon's cooking sucks.

The Dockworker's eyes widened, her breath catching as her face paled. Her mouth opened as though to respond, but she was frozen, her hands clenching against her blanket. The woman looked down, her expression a mixture of confusion and unease as she tried to dredge up any memory of her dream, only to come up blank.

Was she

dreaming about Mom?

“I..” she started, her voice low, before shaking her head sharply and closing her eyes, as if willing to not think about it anymore. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. It doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t realize I was talking in my sleep- sorry if I woke you up.”

Bonnie’s lips quivered slightly, but they frowned, their eyebrows knitting together. “It does matter!” they insisted, their tone more forceful. “You don’t.. you don’t talk about her- ever!! And then you’re dreaming about her? After acting like she doesn't even exist?" Their words took on a sharper, pained edge at the end- that caused Petronille to stiffen slightly, her hands balling into fists.

The woman tilted her head, her face hardening into her usual scowl, as she avoided her baby sibling's gaze. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she snapped, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. “And don’t call her ‘Mom’ like that. Like she's.. any important. Like she's earned it. She didn't.”

Bonnie’s frown deepened, their expression shifting from anger to hurt- to some sort of a mix of the two. “Don’t call her what?? She is our Mom!!” they shot back, their voice rising slightly.

“She might be your Mom, but to me, she's only a mother. And she was a terrible mother, even before she left us to rot on our own.” Petronille countered sharply, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Bonnie. “She left us. Both of them did. For some stupid, messed-up cult. I’m just saying it how it is. I mean every word, and every insult. Because they deserve it. And you know it's true.”

Bonnie flinched at her words, their eyes glistening with tears they clearly didn’t want to shed. “Don’t talk about her like that!!” they cried, hitting a pillow in their lap, as if in an attempt to release stress and anger. “You’ll regret it when they come back!! Maybe they're already at home, and came back after you left to look for me!!”

Petronille’s scowl deepened, her teeth clenched as her frustration bubbled over. “Like hell they'd come back now! I'm not gonna sugar coat it! I won't speak or think of them fondly, just because they brought us into this world! They were shitty parents, through and through!" She shouted this time, significantly louder than any of them had been up until now. She noticed Bonnie flinch at the volume, and she was sure that the rest of the camp must've heard them by now- but she didn't care.

“They're NOT coming back!! And if they do, I’ll kill them myself!!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and the moment they did, the air between them stilled. Silence fell between them, only interrupted by Petronille trying to catch her breath, as she glared daggers at her sibling. Bonnie’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears they refused to let fall, their face a mixture of fury and heartbreak.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, the sharpness in Petronille's eyes softened, truly taking in the look Bonnie was giving her.

Cold dread filled her chest, just seeing them looking at her like that- she took in a breath, lips pursing as she reached out towards them.

"..Bon, listen-" But before she could, her hand was harshly swatted away.

“Don’t touch me!!” Bonnie shouted, getting up and standing fully in the tent. “You’re just like them!! You left me too, Nille!! Or did you forget!? When the King attacked, you left me to just- be on my own too! You're no better, Nille! You're worse!!”

Petronille staggered back as though struck, her expression falling into a mask of shock. “Bon, that’s not-” she started, her voice faltering. The weight of their accusation pressed on her chest, even though she knew there had been no choice. She had to let them go on their own in that moment to protect them. They both knew it.

But hearing it aloud, raw and angry.. it stung in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Bonnie didn’t wait for her to recover. They spun on their heel, their face red with fury and tears streaming down their cheeks. “I hate you, Nille! I hate you!!” they screamed, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. And then they were gone, bolting out of the tent before Petronille could even think to stop them.