[ closed ] Winter in September (October, November...) (dungeons + catchall)

[userunfriendly]

Who ❄ Michel and friends(?)
What ❄ area runs & overflow
When ❄ September and on
Where ❄ dungeons, assorted
Content Warnings ❄ kidnapping, captivity, suicidal ideation, self harm, TBA

⬣ Chasing Sunshine's Two Wings

Comments

[insinning]

[ssshhh]

T-That was only once. Before we had the infirmary. [Sinclair pouts into his cup of wine, still nursing it slowly.

The jukebox had been a request to help others; Hien had cared enough to provide that comfort, even if he denied it until the very end. Sinclair had followed his own selfish whims in the end though - everyone could access the jukebox in Moon Tree. But it was Oria he wanted to provide the most support to in the end]

...yeah, I understand. It can be a bit strange, sometimes watching the guild carry on as if it wasn't missing anything, but...things keep seeming emptier these days.

[ophidie]

[Things might feel even emptier than normal, even, given that most of them are either staying in or spending more of their time in the infirmary. The world and its inhabitants are bleeding out now, running out of energy and out of time. If this goes on much longer, it's hard to tell what'll they'll have left to give.]

It's cruel, actually. [Miharu drinks a little more wine. The taste doesn't get better, but it gets more familiar and therefore easier to bear. She can see why this forms a reassuring habit for some.] I have things that I wouldn't if this hadn't happened. [Even just considering that her life begins and ends within Fragment, that holds true. She can only imagine it's the same taking into account whatever life she had before.] But they just exist in this bleak place. Should I feel grateful that I do?

[userunfriendly]

[ Michel almost smiles for that, humorless understanding. The human players hadn't been wrong in their arguments against Gorre: he extracted the data he desired from any situation, reading things in the worst possible light.

But that didn't imply there was no truth in it, either. It is cruel. Every facet of their situation is. He swirls the cup of wine — not an adult's refined, pretentious gesture to waft the aroma, but a childish fidgeting as he looks at the light refracting through the liquid. ]

...Since my memories returned, I find myself thinking the same. There isn't a single person in the world outside that I could speak to before this. Or... perhaps I should say, I would never have been willing to. [ Either way is most likely an embarrassing admission, but he doesn't seem to make any note of that. ] But this place, itself, is hell.

[insinning]

It's like...purgatory. [Sinclair's brow furrows a little, as he tries to place the almost unfamiliar term, a snippet taken from one of the novels Hien had created for him. His chest almost feels a little heavy with it. He sips a little more at his wine]

I don't remember anything beyond what the doors or the mirrors showed me...but the life I wrote about in my journal didn't seem very happy either.

"Even if they tried to convince me otherwise, I still think it's all my fault. If I hadn't been a child showing off, too slow to make a decision, Beatrice and my parents would still be here with me."

All my happiness was found here. And yet...

[Sinclair shakes his head; the guilt still weighs heavy in his chest, suffocating. More so now that he was aware he had a sin that he allowed to be erased from his mind so easily.]

I don't remember, and that makes it worse...I'm grateful for the people who made my life so warm. But the idea that we should be grateful for the pain it has inflicted on people just because it allowed me to meet you both...it's inhumane.

[What gratitude could arise from seeing his loved ones be hurt over and over, made to repent for something that wasn't their own choice? To repent for living, as simply as they could?]