Work Text:
The scars stayed.
You don't remember when you noticed it for the first time.
You don't remember how you looked before.
But you're aware, somewhat, that your body wasn't littered with scars as it is now, when you first started.
You're also aware that you were distinctly weaker. Though by how much you can't remember.
You remember the panic the first time you took off your glove, seeing a scarred mess underneath. Slipping the glove back on before the others realized.
[You
can't
let
them
know.]
For some reason, you're distracted, this loop. Daydreaming about the sun (how long had it been since you last saw it ?).
Or just tuning the world out. You know the script by heart at this point.
Maybe this is why you don't pay as much attention as you should, and instead of looking directly under the drawer, you rummage inside automatically.
[STAB]
You freeze. Taking a deep breath in, and out. You can feel the sticky substance on your glove. You know you're bleeding.
….
….
You can't remember what happens if they see. A chill runs up your spine. The thrill of seeing something new overpowering the rest of your fears.
[Hide it]
>[Don't hide]
You pull your hand out, and it's Mirabel that noticed.
"SIFFRIN?!?!"
Her shrill scream stopped all other conversation and everyone turned to look at you as Mirabel rushed to your side, grabbing your hand.
You froze, not used to physical contact anymore. But Mirabel's attention was focused on your hand, not on your "deer-in-headlight" look.
Eh. In a way, you could understand. Your hand was a scarred mess, some old, some new. And across your palm, your new wound, left by the pointy object inside that damned drawer.
[How can you still get caught by this? You idiot! You should know by now!]
But the pain was always new . It was something other than the endless monotony of this script.
Uh
Maybe that was why your hand was so scarred. After all. And not only your hand.
Your left hand subconsciously went over your chest, where you knew scars of the blows left by the king laid. Undetected, for now.
Caugh up in your thoughts, you don't see the tear coming closer behind you until your friends cry out in alarm.
By the time Mirabel realizes it too, it's too late.
Everything freeze over in a wave of blue light.
.
..
…
….
You open your eyes. Time to try again.
The show must go on.
When faced with the drawer, you hesitate for a second.
….
[STAB]
……. you breathe out. The pain is almost a relief. Something sharp, to get your focus back, and avoid snapping at the others. They don’t deserve it. [Why why why why are you the only one suffering? What did you do to deserve this ??]
….
Anyway. Time to move on.
>[Hide it]
[Don't hide]
[Back on track now, don't lose the plot already, idiot. Find the crest, keep going, get killed. Repeat]
[The show must go on, the stage is set. Don't fuck it up this time, okay?]
Stay
In
Character.