impacter | THE ROSE WITCH

THE ROSE WITCH - SOLOMON

[You're not sure when you received the envelope.

It slides into your belongings when you're not looking. Small, quaint, the seal of a rose in blue rather than red.

The same rose as before. The same request as before.

The writing is done by hand. But the pen seems unsteady.

---

Would you tell me?

Tell me, please, what would you give for a wish?

Dear Troupe, are you like all the rest? Or are you different now? Were you ever different? Will you ever be different?

Can you find a path forward when the world says you can only go left or right?

Show me. Find me. I want to build a path together.

Okay?]

-------------------------------------

[For those of you who have known of the tower, you know when you last heard from its Witch. The doors, forced open, but one left behind. Coated in black roses. Unable to be freed, unable to progress. And as the way of escape closed to the rainbow roads leading into the stars, only the Witch was left behind. Only the Witch, always the Witch, smothered until nothing was left but petals of black in the silent creaking of doors.

---

If your character follows the written note, they will find their entry much the same as before. The subway greets them like a stranger, though they find their space occupied now. Filled with shadowy silhouettes. They are not like the Extras. They do not talk, they do not interact. They do not see you.

You are you. The rest are the rest.

And even before you step into the halls of the tower, there is an odd malaise that settles over you. An odd sense of separation, as though every way you look, there is glass between yourself and your surroundings. The roses are no longer red, but a deep, deep blue. Blue, blue, blue, like

the bottom of the ocean

All school roles are the same, and Extras still wander the halls, though they seem far more like apparitions. Though you can speak to Extras, and they will interact to you if prompted, you find you cannot touch them. You find their gossip is far more muted. They still speak of you, but they never seem to notice you're standing right there. They do realize it's you they're talking about, right?

Right?

--

The longer your character stays in the school, multiple things will start to happen:
- They will feel a deep loneliness sinking into their bones. Interacting with others will alleviate it slightly, but it will take effort to feel like a team. The longer they are there, the harder it is to fight.
- All characters have their memories intact on arrival, but it seems for every day spent, random memories from their past start to shed away. The oldest are at the most risk. The details grow fuzzier and fuzzier. What was important to you once? What is important to you now? Will you remember, from day to day? Does it matter?

Your character may recognize others from their previous troupe, or they may be surrounded by strangers. The school's layout has not changed much, outside some key exceptions:

- The go-karts are missing entirely. The room has been replaced with an observatory similar to the one once found in the chapel. The constellations change every time you look into the skybox, but are never quite familiar enough. At random points in the day, you might see the sky in the observatory flicker to a brilliantly unnatural white, or to a deep and unforgiving purple, before returning to normal. Sorry about your eyes.
- The chapel is back to the way it had originally started. It does not change. If you stay too long, the windows that show your sins will start to move for everyone in the space, and you can swear you hear voices calling from the glass, echoing the sounds of your memories.
- Reading through the library, you will find that in many books, regardless of subject or location, you find stories about yourself. Details stripped and greatly exaggerated, if you didn't remember yourself so well it would seem like a cruel joke. But every story you find in succession seems to twist more and more, further and further into something monstrous, filled with malice and fear. The Extras gossip will change to match the stories found in the Library, no matter how cruel they turn.
- Spending too much time near or inside the pool will have a negative effect. It may start as general unease, slowly increasing to a mental and physical pain that's hard to place, as though an unfathomable weight is pressing against you on all sides. You will have an urge to run as far as possible, to the nearest available light source, where you must stay for the effect to diminish.
- Every ingredient in the kitchen is unrecognizable. You will have to trial and error your way through your cooking.
- The elevator to the Backrooms will take you down, but every hallway loops in on itself. Waterfalls flip upside down, walkways that were dry one moment are wet the next. Disorienting, frustrating, and leading nowhere. Every once in a while, a star can be found grooved into the tiles, as though something might fit. Maybe it's just decoration.

---

The rules of your engagement for Father are presented, not by your Dramaturge, but by a sheep. A bell around its neck and a pink ribbon tied to one horn, it seems to always be roaming around the school, and its bell is all you hear when it herds you into the chapel. Staring, as a sheep does, unable to talk, as the same set of rules descends in writing to plaster permanently into the main altar area. There is no one there to answer your questions this time (the sheep certainly isn't going to!), though perhaps you might be kind enough to explain to the panicked strangers among your midst.

It is only when you leave the chapel that your phone pings. A username only called STAR.]

Oh no!

I missed everyone again?? I'm really sorry.

I hope Father wasn't too mad. He's good at that.

But don't worry! I'll find a way to meet all of you. :)

Why don't you tell me your favorite spot, and I'll come find you? You're probably confused. Unless you're certain people who aren't!

Isn't it interesting that way? I wonder if they remember why they remember! I wonder if they'll tell. Or will we pinky promise to take it to our graves?

Anyway! You're not gonna be able to respond, but you can tell Ibuki, and Ibuki will tell me, okay?

They remember a lot for being a sheep. But maybe it's better to ask a sheep than to ask a person!

:)

-☆

----

[OOC: Please use this as an AU space for Rose Witch!Solomon. I'm sorry in advance. You may prompt however you'd like, or you can come DM me on discord if you want something a little more unique. I will treat everyone as the same Troupe instance unless you specifically request to be alone in a separate Troupe.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Funny that he would take this chance again, as Fandaniel — or Amon, which he has fallen back into using out there among Char's stars — cannot think of any wish he could possibly desire. Perhaps, then, it is boredom that drew him, or even some worrisome desire to seek him out, that fool, the one he had doomed to this fate by his own request.

It was not guilt by any stretch. It was more so that it felt like a debt owed, one sorcerer to another, although he once again finds himself without any of his magic. It is some luck that he no longer needs it to make his body function properly, for where Solomon came out of the deal doomed, Amon came out of it alive, when he was meant to be dead.

Alive and somewhat changed. Hair a dark grey-green and grown out by now, braided loosely and long enough to let sit over one shoulder, and eyes a sharp sea green, marking what was what Asahi's body as truly Amon's now. Now he stands in that same practice room with that same piano, dressed once again in his prim and proper teacher's outfit, wondering if it might not end up covered in blood once more. Only this time he carries no knife nor any scalpel, nor any other weapon of the sort.

He had tried to stab Sika Madu once. It had not gone well.

He does not expect stabbing Solomon to go over any better these days.

But yes, here he is, waiting at the piano, and it's humorous enough to him to be the one taking the seat at its bench and idly plinking away at a few keys. He isn't unknowledgeable of the instrument, of course. He is, after all, Amon the Prodigy. Ah, but it never did quite hold his attention like so many other disciplines. Still, enough comes back to him to let him begin to play something simple and classical enough, at least by Allagan standards, while he waits for the inevitable. ]

[His little melody plinks its way through the walls, echoing off the familiar walls of white.

In response, Amon will hear a bell. It sounds like the sheep, because congratulations, it IS the sheep! How did they get through the door. Who knows, but they're here now.

They trot lazily, right up the the bench, but wait in silence until Amon drifts to a stop. Only then will Amon's phone will ping.]

You're awfully good at that, Teacher.

Where did you learn?

[ Ibuki...

Only some fake, like Mikaela had been? Made to placate Solomon? He wonders.

Amon gazes down at the little sheep once his tune has come to an end, fading off against the soundproofed walls, before bothering to glance at his phone. This wasn't who he was expecting, although maybe he should not have been so hopeful about him making an appearance. ]

Mm, where indeed. I fear I never made much note of my teachers from so long ago, so while the motions remain, the how and why have faded, and not due to this place's nasty little curse, either.

That's kind of sad, but I guess it's gotta happen.

You can't remember everything.

I wonder if it's even better to forget sometimes.

[A pause.]

Did you wanna be left alone, Teacher?

I'd love to watch you play, if you'd let me. :)

[ Now what would happen if he squeezed the life out of this little lamb? Ah, but what a thought. Surely that isn't him anymore, is it? Even so, he considers it, then sets it aside for now, and instead moves over on the bench and gestures for Ibuki to join him. ]

Stay if you wish, but beware. I am no master musician.

[ Although for the rest... ]

If I once knew more than I recall now, it was not important enough to remember. Memory can be like that. There are many things you must remember, but not all memories are core to who you are, and for someone as old as I, that is many memories indeed.

[The sheep doesn't move. It only stares.]

Yeah, I figured you might get it.

I didn't wanna guess. You got mad the last time I guessed.

[A pause.]

Oh, and you don't gotta invite Ibuki, don't worry! They can't really play the piano even if they wanted to, but maybe it makes them happy to stay, too.

Hopefully the Extras didn't see you, they could get kinda mean about that. :)

But if you're sure about the company! No take backs on that.

[...

His phone will stay silent. The room will stay silent. Just Fandaniel, the piano, and the staring sheep. Maybe if you stare long enough, something will happen.]

[The second Amon finally looks away from the sheep, he will find there is a boy immediately in front of him.

He looks about eight years old, clothes worn and feet bare, hands and neck bandaged roughly, laying with on his back on the piano looking upside down with the same brassy eyes. Silver bangs brush the keys as he stares with a wide grin towards Amon.]

Boo.

[ Then Star really is Solomon after all. Silly him, talking to a sheep of all things. Amon's gaze flits from the sheep to the phone, then up to meet familiar eyes in a very unfamiliar form. Then this must be— what was it? What had Sika changed? Something about a child, a basement, brutalized by a family that should have protected them.

While the appearance surprises him, the recollection of Solomon's despair barely touches. To him, it is a fact that something like that must have happened, only that it had been twisted terribly.

Yet another reason why life simply isn't worth it— no, that was the old him. Various old hims, even. ]

My, it would seem I am at last the taller of us two.

[He giggles and snorts, rolling onto his stomach as he props his chin up on one bandaged hand. Upright like this, it's easier to see the countless pinprick scars that dot his skin like freckles - a starscape all their own.]

Wow, you really do remember more than before.

Let me guess, Teacher... you're one of the ones that doesn't wanna be called Fandaniel anymore, right?

[ How cruel, to be born into a world that would punish magic. He's since had to curtail his own, on the space station, or while traveling, or even visiting other colonies, all for the sake of "keeping the peace". Often enough, it would amuse him to know how these humans would panic if their lack was laid bare to them.

Now, it merely seems exhausting. He has to wonder, did that world of theirs ever have magic? Did they stomp it out instead, by crushing those talented, like this Solomon?

Though these are hardly thoughts to be shared. To feed into whatever this is, rather than fight it, is not a part of the plan this time around. Instead, he allows the question to distract him, rather than dwell upon the scars scattered across that little body. ]

Am I now? And how many Fandaniels have you had come through your halls before me, hmm?

[ It isn't an impossible thought, he supposes, but why would he bother? ]

[He hums, before silently counting on his fingers.

He's counting for quite a while before he just gives up and shrugs.]

Fandaniels and Amons and Hermes. I even saw the other one once. Asahi. He didn't like this place at all, heheh.

But it makes a lotta sense. How alike you all are, and how different.

This one of you is always the most tired, though. This one in Asahi's body, but not him at all. [A pause, head tilting.] You don't always change your hair, though. I haven't seen that a lot.

Edited 2025-09-15 06:56 (UTC)

Ha, even him? As though we needed to give him more cause to curse me.

[ That Solomon would go through so many of... him... is worrisome. He watches the child a moment longer, then turns his attention back down to the keys of the piano. He'll tune about it a bit, finding the right spots for whatever he intends to play next, but not quite launching into it just yet. ]

Yes, this one will always be the most tired. This one has been forced to live the longest. Why cycle through so many of me, though? Were you looking for something?

There's a bunch of you out there. A you that's you, but isn't always you. A lot of choices you could have made differently. A lot of memories that change a little bit with every story.

[As Amon fiddles with the keys, the boy vanishes, reappearing on the empty section of the bench within a split second. Eyes watching the keys, even as he talks.]

You don't gotta worry about Asahi, though. He's gone now, just like all the rest are gone. Even if you found him, he wouldn't remember anything except his sister and his love.

This time will work, though. There's a lot of you. So I know it will.

[ So many versions, so many choices, so many alternate endings for so many different stories. It unsettles him slightly to think he may or may not be the real him, although who judges who and what is and isn't real? All of them could have been, are, and will be the real one.

No. He will decide here and now that he is the real one, the one who must be here.

Anything less could lead to madness. ]

Mm, better that they are. I have little love for him or Hermes.

[ Cowardly, pathetic Hermes, and yet so tragic, too. He watches the child from the corner of his eye once he's reappeared. ]

No doubt they were of little use compared to me, although I must wonder, what is it you think will work this time?

Oh.

Freedom.

[Said simply, promptly, as though Amon had just asked his favorite color.]

For as many of the trapped as I can do, anyway.

Ha, freedom. A curious goal for a supposedly wicked witch.

[ What they had left behind, a changed man, a wicked man, one who should not be. Amon lets out a quiet sigh and turns his full attention back to the piano keys under his fingers, and thus he begins playing a slow, winding sort of tune. ]

Or is that no longer who you are? You see, I remember the man who was left behind, buried in black roses, his life twisted into chains to keep him here.

[A pause.

There's a sound of a bell in the air, muted as though underwater. Fandaniel will find it suddenly harder to remember Sika's curse in exact detail.

The boy blinks, seemingly oblivious.]

Yeah, I remember enough. There always has to be a Witch. But nobody wants to stay here forever. Not even the people that wanna be dead.

[ He gives a jerk, startled, the keys under his fingers making a dissonant noise as he stops. Amon immediately turns to look at the lamb and their bell. Had it been them or...? ]

[Ibuki sits right where they were left, unblinking. The bell certainly sounded the same!]

...You're distracted, Sensei.

Edited 2025-09-15 16:58 (UTC)

...yes, I am.

[ He watches Ibuki a moment longer before turning back to Solomon and offering him a thin smile. ]

Could you send dear little Ibuki away?

[He blinks, looking over at the sheep. The sheep doesn't respond.]

Mm. Maybe for a little?

I'm not gonna be able to stay for long if they leave, though. Father's orders.

[ So that's how it is. Yes, the sheep will have to go, permanently. ]

What a pity. I fear I may have an allergy to sheep's wool.

[ lol nah ]

Is there not a place we can speak in private that will not tire you so? I will gladly come to you if need be.

[Something sharpens his eyes at the edges. Observant, sly, but hard to place its direction.]

They gotta be here if you're in the school. But sheep can be pretty bad at swimming.

[He leans his elbow against the keyboard with a messy low tone of random notes, resting his cheek against his fist in a lopsided stare.]

You thinkin' about Mikaela?

[ There. That's his Solomon. That sharpness that belongs nowhere within a child's eyes. ]

Hmm, well, of course. They kept him, you know, although I'll mind him on occasion. You know, fun times with "uncle" and all.

[ He'll smooth his fingers down across the keys without making another sound, then make to get up. It would seem piano time is over. Sorry, Solomon. ]

It would seem I must needs visit the pool, then. Perhaps a swim will clear my sinuses.

Not there.

[It's an immediate correction.

Instead of explaining further, the boy simply lifts a hand to his neck, pulling the bandages down a finger's width. The skin underneath is a familiar inky black, and immediately starts to grow deep blue buds along the tender, dark line of flesh.

His face barely registers the discomfort as the largest bud is plucked with purposefuly force, the stem still a bright red. He brings it to his lips, eyes drifting shut, before the petals slowly start to turn black and fall to the piano room floor.

At the top of the stem, in the flower's place, sits a small ceramic star of iridescent white. The boy picks it sharply from its hiding place, handing it out to Fandaniel.]

You remember lots, Amon. So I don't gotta remind you where the Witch has to stay. Right?

[ When they grew from Fandaniel, the sharp pricking pain of roses bursting through skin, the thorns snagging at his flesh, hardly ever registered, but that was when he was Fandaniel only and not Amon, a fully living man, although one could argue if he was once again mortal or not. Even so, watching it doesn't bother him much. If anything, he watches the growth with mild fascination, as is his way, forever interested in the strange and grotesque.

He can imagine it would be worse had it been the other way around. Would he have suffered then? Does Solomon suffer now? Certainly, the man had been no stranger to pain.

He reaches out to take the offered star with a slight nod. Of course, he remembers, and that at least crosses the pool off of his places of interest for the moment. ]

Very well. I will take your suggestion instead, Solomon. A shame I could not finish my little tune, but, ah, you know. Allergies are not to be ignored.

It's too bad. I think Ibuki was liking the music, weren't you?

[The boy turns to the sheep, and the sheep turns to the door, shaking itself with the slight rattle of the bell at its neck. Solomon only giggles as he turns back to Fandaniel.]

I'll leave you alone for now. I need as many alive as I can, so don't go starting fights this time, okay?

[He kicks his feet idly against the edge of the bench, tilting his face with a grin.

Ans just as fast as the boy had appeared, he instantly vanishes, with only the black petals left behind. Ibuki is alreasy nudging the door open with their snout, squeezing their fluffy body through the opening ans trotting down the hallway as if nothing had happened.]

...oh, worry not. I am sure I'll have the chance to play music for them another time.

[ Music with their lungs, probably. Does the creature even have them? Unlikely. If anything, he suspects another giant eye, but silent this time, robbed of the personality that Mikaela had. Father had learned, it seems.

But then the boy sheep is gone, and so is the boy, and even Amon will be getting up to leave. Little star pocketed, his next stop is, of course, the Backstage. ]

[The Backstage stretches in knots underneath the dormitories, the same liminal space with the same knee-deep water. Unlike before, there is no firm direction. There is no choice. To wander leads in circles. Waterfalls flow from the floor to the ceiling, a hallway that you thought was dry is now submerged when you turn the corner and find yourself retreading old ground.

Only the sound of the water is relenting. Pounding. Pounding. Like a drum to the mind. Like the distant, furious roar of a fire.

As Amon wades around in the most miserable of fashions, he will eventually find a star-shaped divot in the tile at shoulder height, right in an area where the water is nearly waist deep. It looks like it might be a perfect fit.]

[ Miserable, this is miserable, but a little water is hardly going to disuade someone like Amon. Upon seeing the water and knowing what's to come, he's at least taken his shoes and socks off to carry instead of making it worse, although it feels ridiculous to be sloshing about holding them aloft as he goes. It makes sense, though, that the hope of the little star would be well-hidden like this.

Hiding away, or more like forced to hide away, not unlike Sika Madu. Strange that he lacked a more direct route. Was that, too, a punishment? A change that Father forced upon his new witch?

Regardless, the divot is found, and he fishes the little star out to press into the slot. ]

[The floor immediately drops out from under Fandaniel's feet.

The water comes with in a flood. You flounder. You choke. The pressure increases around your body as the light above you fades rapidly.

But just as despair starts to tint your thoughts and your vision clouds with stars, your feet settle and your breath returns. It's a portion of the sea floor, with the elevators of the Backstage set a short distance away. A deep blue expanse stretches in every direction. Looking up will show the faintest hints of lighter color, though whether it's still light or not is hard to tell. You can bring yourself right to the edge to stare down into where the chasm continues to drop further, where blue rapidly turns to black, but an invisible barrier seems to stop you.

There is no sea life. The rock is dusted with coral that has long since died. There is only the blue, and the twisting shapes in the water of plants that don't belong.

Roses.

The boy sits at the edge of the cliff, hair floating in the water and bubbles fluttering out of his nose as he breathes, a blue rose in hand. He picks thorns away from the stem with reddened fingers.

There is no sign of the sheep.]

Wow. You really weren't joking. [He doesn't look up from his task.]

You must really wanna talk to me, huh, Amon?

Edited 2025-09-16 02:59 (UTC)

[ For Amon, there is no despair, nor panic, as he sinks deeper and deeper in the darkness of the ocean. He is a man already steeped in despair; this place cannot instill any more of it in him. It goes deeper and deeper until he settles on the ocean floor, feeling a mild irritation that his attempt to keep his shoes and socks dry was for nothing.

Even like this, Solomon finds ways to annoy him... ]

Why wouldn't I, Solomon? You are the only reason I return to this wretched place.

And why's that?

[The cadence is slightly different. Still the voice of the boy, but the tone and word choice is sharper. More familiar.]

I did kill you, you know. Are you mad I didn't do a good enough job?

[ Excuse him while he sets the shoes down. He isn't going to hold onto these like a dumbass while talking to this guy. ]

Oh, you did a fine job. I do applaud you for it, even if it didn't stick, but you see, because you did this for me, you were trapped here.

[ He straightens up again and offers Solomon a shrug. ]

Thus, I feel obligated to see if I can't drag you out of here all the same. Do not mistake this for an emotional connection; it is merely one sorcerer owing a debt to another.

[He sets his shoes down and they start to slightly float in place, as though caught underwater. Don't worry, they'll dry off by the time he leaves.

The boy listens silently, turning dull eyes to Amon as he explains

before bursting into laughter.]

Oh, Amon. Surely you don't feel guilty?

I wanted my wish, and you wanted to be dead. Whatever agreement we had ended there.

The people sent me to my fate when they decided your desire didn't deserve to be kept no matter the excuse. They deemed me the Witch and stole my wish from me. Not you.

Guilt doesn't enter into the equation.

[ Does it? No. Surely not. He's just annoyed that Solomon being stuck here was a snag in what would have been a perfect escape. That has to be it. He strolls over to the child, joining him at the edge of the cliff. ]

No one was ever getting a wish out of this place, Solomon. We agreed to that deal because it made it simple to decide who the final death would be, not because you wanted anything out of it.

[ Fandaniel was expendable in the end, a man wanting to die, needing to die, even in the face of the people who tried to convince him otherwise. ]

Have you really not regained a lick of your senses after all this time?

That's what I told you, yes. Did you really believe I was being sincere the whole time?

[He snorts a little, continuing to pick thorns from the stem. Now that Amon is seated, he can watch the boy toss the thorns one by one into the blackened pit of the chasm below.

Staring too long into the black, you'd think the space might very well be breathing for how it seems to twist.]

It's in Father's Edicts. Escape with a kill and he will acknowledge you with his Beatitudes. And He is very, very thorough about his Edicts, Amon. Very thorough.

[He hums, adjusting the petals just slightly, leaving red fingerprinted smudges behind.]

But I guess what we remember as failures or victories doesn't change where we are, does it? You're here again. So am I.

And you probably don't want to die again, or you'd be trying harder.

Edited 2025-09-18 01:13 (UTC)

...I wonder if I'd be able to pull all those roses out of you were I to cut you open.

[ If only. ]

Maybe you would actually say something sensible then. Tell me, Solomon, how many of your little Troupes have actually gotten away with a Beatitude from Father?

A few. Not many... but a few have made it.

[There's a strain to his smile as he admits as much.]

You could try to attack me, if it'd make you feel better. But this body isn't really me, you know.

[He tosses the rose over the side, quiet as he watches it float down. The rose slowly spackles with black, quickly swallowed by the dark.]

Father doesn't want me to see the light, no matter where I end up.

[ He watches the rose float away, out of sight. A few, huh? Only a few. Somehow, Amon still doubts they actually got what they wished for. Nonetheless... ]

Then I suppose I will just have to get to your real body and do it.

And how do you plan to do that?

[Light, as though not expecting a true answer.]

Would you try to kill me, like we tried to kill Sika? Father hasn't forgotten about that, you know.

Mm, no. I have other ideas.

[ Does he share them? Of course not. Solomon should be considered as much of a threat as Sika Madu had been, no matter what kind of aid he suspiciously offers. Funny enough, that Fandaniel would return here at all, but would he really fall for the same nonsense a second time?

Well...

It would depend, but share what's on his mind? No. ]

What of you? You can't want to remain here. You must have some scheme or another in the works. You already mentioned wanted as many of us alive as possible.

Heheh. I guess some things won't change with you.

[He lifts his hand to his neck to let another rose grow freely from the inky skin underneath, the thorns ripping up through flesh with ease as red starts to trail upwards through the blue of the water, disappating. Unlike the previous time, the boy can't hide the pain that drifts across his face, visibly bracing himself through it before covering the skin back up and proceeding to pluck the thorns again, as before. One by one, into the abyss.]

Anyway... that's right. I want my freedom. I'm a prisoner just like the Troupe.

The more of the Troupe that can be kept from becoming Extras, the more room we have to make a Key. We can't leave without it.

I have to get started right away, though. A Key needs suffering. And you'll all start forgetting soon. The more you forget, the less I can do, and the more He'll take hold instead.

[Here we go again.

Lilia isn't exactly thrilled to be back here, and it shows in the way he stares for a long, long moment at the blue ring gracing his finger. But eventually, he does get a move on.

He's still considered a student, of course. Why wouldn't he?]

Ibuki, was it...?

[The sheep looks up towards Lilia. It blinks one eye, and then the other, as its jaw chews slowly with the slight ring of its bell.

In absence of an answer, it merely locks eye contact with Lilia. Just long enough to be uncomfortable, before it starts trotting off towards the kitchen.]

Ah, hello little one.

[Seemingly unpreturbed by the staring, he'll go ahead and follow it to the kitchen! The meaning isn't lost on him, but he acts so airy you'd be forgiven for assuming ignorance.]

[Though the setup of the kitchen is exactly the same, Lilia will find that every cupboard is filled to the brim with ingredients that look like nothing he's ever seen before, labelled with a language he's never read. The appliances basically function, but all indicators of time and temperature feel alien.

The sheep trots to a random spot on the floor and immediately flops over, staring at nothing with a rattling ring of its bell.

Lilia's phone will ping. It's STAR.]

I had to kinda make a guess.

Ibuki's not really good at talking anymore.

[Thanks for noting all of that, how exciting for good Lilias done nothing wrong about to give everyone food poisoning!]

No? And why not?

Father says it's better that way.

I don't like Father. And Father doesn't like me. But for that part, I think he's right.

Sheep can't talk. And Ibuki can't talk. So it matches them better.

Are you that eager to do whatever Father says, now?

Oh, you remember that?

Nah. :)

But I already tried that path lots.

This is a better choice, this way. I know it is. Even if I can't explain it right now.

Some things never change, I see.

You don't sound very happy.

I can trust you to at least do what's best for everybody else, right?

Of course. But I can't say it will be what you think is best.

Oh? That's okay! So long as you're sticking together.

I wonder what you think I want, though. Maybe it would be a fun guess in person? :)

Do you actually plan to make an appearance in person, then?

Maybe not as literal as you'd like. But I'd give it my best shot!

Only if you want it, though.

...

Very well. It would happen sooner or later anyway, I'm sure.

You make it sound so bad, Senpai!

Don't worry. :) I'll make it go real fast if you really want that.

[The phone falls silent. The sheep sits in its prone position on the floor, idly chewing its jaw and continuing to stare off into nothing. The bell at its neck clangs, muted, with every motion.]

[The second that Lilia turns his eyes back to the fridge, there is suddenly someone on top of it. A boy, no older than eight, with messy silver hair and familiar brassy eyes. He's a thin child, feet bare with hands and neck bandaged, clothes threadbare and worn. Up his exposed skin sit countless pockmark scars, like a sea of freckles.

His legs dangle idly, kicking his heels into the fridge door as his head tilts to the side. Quizzical, innocent.]

Soooo. How much do you remember this time, Senpai?

You shrank!

[We'll circle back to his question at some point, probably.]

[He giggles brightly, leaning back a little further against his bandaged wrists.]

Did you think I was gonna be a tall person?

That is how you appeared the last time we met. It's been a long, long time since you looked like this, I'm sure.

Heheh. Okay, you remember that much. That's good.

[He pries open one of the cupboards behind him with his noodley little boy arm, taking out a container of something that looks closer to a set of fake vampire teeth stapled to an anemone, more than it does to anything edible

He pops the lid off, humming.]

You don't got any questions about the rules, then, huh. Remember all that, too?

I do, actually. There aren't any secret keepers like the last time?

You mean with the Troupe?

[His grin is easy as he shakes his head fervently, plucking out one of the strange anemone items into his hands and turning it around for inspection.]

It works a little different this time. Nobody's gotta share. But everyone's gonna lose something whether they wanna or not. Maybe even a lot of somethings. Everyone's gonna forget, and gonna be closer and closer to an Extra if they stay too long. Especially the dead people. That's how Father wants it.

So long as everybody works together, I think you're gonna make it this time! Father lets me find a lot of you now. And more of you means more chances.

Edited 2025-09-16 04:47 (UTC)

More chances to swap someone into your role, you mean?

[He snorts.]

I'm not Sika. Father knows that. [There's something odd and bitter that settles over his smile.] And he remembers how they got away. He can stop it now. Really, really fast.

[A beat, and the bitterness slides right off as Solomon splits the strange, toothed anemone-like object in his hand right down the middle like it's some sort of fruit, the teeth separating like a jaw snapping to leave only iridescent flesh behind.]

But I don't gotta pile all the suffering onto one person to find a way out.

Edited 2025-09-17 18:41 (UTC)

Can he? He looked awful small and pathetic when we left here in the first place. That said, I'd love to hear what plan you've been cooking up since you've been trapped here.

Mhmm. I've seen it.

[He continues to worm his fingers through the flesh of the fruit. Never eating it, merely picking it apart.]

It was the first thing I tried, even though I didn't wanna do it. I found people that were willing. Told the truth the whole time. Got the whole Troupe on my side. I even got a volunteer who wanted to replace me. They planned who to kill, and who to vote for. I never hurt them. Never.

...

But there can't be a real key without real suffering.

[Each piece of flesh is lined up neatly, one next to the other.]

"Thou shalt not disobey Him."
"Thou shalt address the Dramaturge as no greater than His messenger."

The moment I became a leader to the Troupe in their hearts, the first two Edicts were broken. And as soon as the Troupe stepped into Coctyus, Father ended all of His engagements at once.

You shouldn't play with your food, you know.

[Even if it doesn't really look like food? This version of the place is weird though, so, lesser priority compared to the Everything Else honestly.]

So? Should I expect you to torture us properly this time, then?

Boo... that's mean, Lilia. [He sticks his tongue out.] I told you, I don't gotta pile the suffering on just one person, or even just a few. If I could share it with a bunch of your right away, and not wait until the very end like Sika did, we'd have more time.

If I gotta force it, then I gotta, but that would just make us all enemies, and then nobody would get what they wanted.

Then you would actually consider me an ally this time?

Maybe.

[He grins boyishly, holding up two of the discarded fruit!teeth to his face, as though he's childishly mimicking Lilia's fanged smile.]

I am the Witch, you know. I still gotta be His messenger.

But I don't wanna be enemies, at least. And if you remember as much as you think you do, maybe I could even ask for your help.

Well, I certainly won't be making any contracts, that's for sure.

[He's seen enough of that, thank you very much.]

...Tell me, do you remember any of what I tried to tell you before we had to escape?

Heheh. I couldn't make a contract with you even if I wanted to.

[There's the slight jingle of metal as the sheep slowly rises it's head up from its prone position, sneezing and shaking its head. The boy just shrugs, tossing the teeth onto the floor where they clatter loosely in random directions.]

I remember you gave me a big headache. Insisted a lot of stuff. You got mad about Sika having their fingerprints all over people.

[Lilia's eyes do dart, however brief, to the sheep - but it's so quick it's a motion easily missed, especially in contrast to his dramatic sigh.]

How disappointing. It sounds like we can't be allies after all.

[His smile dims.]

I figured. You never really did trust me very much, huh.

[The boy instantly vanishes, appearing in a flash next to the sheep instead. His bandaged hand is full of Weird Fruit, which he offers to Ibuki. The sheep takes it numbly, eyes fixated on Lilia.]

Can you at least make sure everybody's following the rules, since you're their Senpai now? I really don't wanna have them learn the hard way again.

Edited 2025-09-18 07:26 (UTC)

Ohh? Is that how you remember it?

[He seems downright amused.]

I'll do my best by them, as I ever have. But in matters of trust, I believe you'll need to examine your own shortcomings rather than mine.

Of course, Senpai. I remember we tried to get along for a little bit. Before you started to scare me, and I got really mad. But maybe you saw right through me, by the end.

[The sheep hasn't stopped staring. But the boy seems oblivious, wiping his hands messily against his worn trousers now that the fruit has been mostly devoured.]

Still! If you've made up your mind, I'm not gonna stop you. If Father can't stop me from being stubborn, then neither can you.

Your stubbornness will be your downfall, you know. And I say this as someone who bothered to come all the way back here to help.

You're the one that doesn't wanna be allies.

If I can't have you help, maybe I can find another use for you? [He giggles lightly as he lifts to his feet. Now that his weight is held upright, it's easier to tell how frail the boy is.] We'll see.

Any other complaints, Senpai? Get them out now, if you gotta. I don't want you to start forgetting them all just yet.

[Bruh.]

Try listening to the things people are trying to tell you, for one.

Mm? What am I not listening to? I've heard everything you said just fine.

But your ability, or perhaps willingness to understand seems rather lacking.

You're just being mean again, Senpai.

I'm answering all your questions cause I want your cooperation, you know. Why is it my fault that you're not hearing the answers you want?

[ He has received several letters in the past while, strange as that sounds. Bills, for the small apartments they've all shoved themselves into. Acceptances, for some of them, for Yugamu himself. Junk, mundane little things that seem so horribly domestic for a group of ex-warmongers. The seal of a rose comes in the midst of a week of studying, nestled among the textbooks and notes that make up his small desk. The thought to get rid of it is what springs to mind first, because—

Yugamu hasn't killed in years. The only deaths he deals with are those in his textbooks, on the news, on the cadavers they practice on. His infuser sits in a desk drawer, something he stares at now and then before locking it up tight, letting the metal gather dust. The only blades in his hands now are cooking knives and scalpels.

And yet, as Yugamu's feet trek familiar paths wearing that familiar princely uniform, that weight is at his side again. For a moment, he's 17 again, feet taking him this way once again with the heavy weight of a condemnation weighing on his shoulders. The parking garage is as desolate as it always is, even moreso now, and the sense of nostalgia it brings is tinged with the same sense of melancholy the graves outside the academy had.

Four names to carry then, only to add another to the pile. The fact the last is not quite a death does little to ease the discomfort. When he passes the blue, so deep you could drown, something coils tight around his ribcage and seeps through the bone. Pressure, steadily rising, like sinking further into the water.

The roof is quiet and bright. The skybox flickers. The sheep had asked for a favorite spot, and he provided.

All he can do now is wait, he supposes. He sits on the edge, not quite looking at the sun, but not quite looking at the entrance, either; looking out into the faux horizon like it'd tell him something he actually wants to hear. ]

[As Yugamu stares off into the horizon, he'll hear the sound of a bell. The second his eyes drift, he will see the sheep. How did it get here? It's a mystery. But it trots slowly to a nearby wall, where it promptly plops into the ground, staring at nothing in particular.

Yugamu's flip phone will ping. It's STAR.]

What a lonely place you picked.

How come?

[ The sheep receives nothing but a scrutinizing eye; Yugamu may have grown a little older, settled into an odd sense of domesticity, but instincts never really die. There's something cold in that gaze, even as his phone pings and his gaze slides down as he flicks it open with one sharpened thumb.

He figures he need not type to answer, with this thing here. ]

What can I say? This place has some fond memories for me, after all. [ Changed as he is, he is still Yugamu Omokage. ] I had a wonderful dance here, once, y'know? Spilling each other's blood on the pavement, that heart-throbbing clash of blades while riding on bloodlust...I almost miss it.

[ The fact he has to explain, though....his fingers twitch. They itch with the familiar, if faint, urge to wrap his fingers around a hilt. If he cuts this one open, how would his newfound host react? Would it jog a memory, spark an anger he forgot he had?

Well. They can wait and see. ]

You remember this time, huh?

It sounds like lots of stuff has changed, though.

Maybe sometimes it's better to forget?

I like to think I'm pretty meticulous, man. I never forget an attempted kill.

[ And how could he forget, really, everything that happened here? The emotions, the tragedy, the tension.

The feeling of Solomon's blood seeping through his fingers, metal in flesh on a chapel floor. ]

And maybe it is, for some people. But I've already decided to carry my burdens with me, and it's a little late to shuck off them just to feel better about myself.

I think that's really brave of you.

But it's okay if you forget. Everybody's gotta someday, whether it's gonna make you feel better or not.

[A pause.]

Do you wanna be alone, Senpai?

Not everything.

[ That makes him lean back, hands on concrete. ]

Some things you carry 'till you die. Even if part of you forgets, not all of you will. That's just how people work.

[ Even if a time comes where these memories fade, instincts remain. Muscle memory. Nostalgia. The next life may be blank, but that's merely what will come after.

Yugamu peers downwards. He already has a feeling where this is going. ]

Me? I've spent a lot of time alone...I think I'm fine with a bit of company now.

Okay! :)

You asked for it, though.

[The phone falls silent. The sheep sits, unbothered, also silent.]

[If Yugamu's eyes stay down, he will feel something fall painlessly against his skull before flicking onto the concrete. It looks like a thorn. This will repeat indefinitely until he finally looks up.

A boy floats far above him, completely upside down, a rose in bandaged fingers as he plucks the thorns off one by one. He doesn't look any older than eight. He's completely barefoot, his clothing worn and threadbare, and his neck and both hands are bandaged roughly, with a galaxy of pinprick scars against his exposed skin, like a sea of freckles.]

You still gotta weapon on you? [His eyes don't leave the rose.

Another thorn is pricked off, falling to smack Yugamu in the face.]

[ It may be painless and small, but Yugamu still jerks back on reflex at the sensation, fingers brushing the handle of his infuser all the same. His gaze locks onto the source for all of a few seconds before his head tilts back to look up, and he can't say he likes the sight.

This is...not what he was expecting. He's not sure what he was expecting, really, but it wasn't this. The snap of blue eyes is to catalogue everything, though it lingers on the bandages and what seem to be a nigh endless row of pockmarked scars.

A vision in his head of black roses engulfing pale flesh, ripping through the skin and blossoming like rot on a corpse. His stomach churns further. ]

...Does that surprise you?

[ Yugamu catches the thorn, letting it dig into his glove, his flesh. ]

I didn't plan on digging it out after all this time, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. Not that I'm too happy about it, mind you, I thought I'd done a pretty good job of leaving the whole 'bloodshed' thing behind me.

[The boy giggles.]

You're not always super good at tellin' the truth, Senpai. But it's kinda easier when you're here and you're older.

[His head tilts down, his bangs hanging freely in the air like a curtain, eyes just as brassy as the day they parted.]

I'm guessin' you're older, anyway. Kinda hard to remember. But you hold yourself all different.

[ What a normal, childish noise. It scrapes at his eardrums, along with that title. It doesn't fit coming out of that mouth, directed at him. ]

Maybe I am getting a little rusty, if that's what you think.

[ He's not wrong, in that sense; it's natural instinct to weave a white lie here and there. Never the full truth, with a few deflections. It helps, in some ways.

But he doubts that will work here now, staring into those brassy eyes. To see something so lifeless on the living feels unnatural in a way he knows he can place, even if he'd rather not. ]

It's been a few years for me, you know. I'd like to think I'm at least a little more mature than I was. [ There's a faint thinning of his lips, gaze narrowing faintly. ] ...Didn't I say I'd rather not forgive you if you forgot?

Older than the last time, then. Mm, okay. I'll remember.

[He nods to himself, seemingly oblivious to Yugamu's suspicion as he rotates in midair, letting himself drift a little further down as though he's a feather, idly plucking all the while. His fingertips are growing red from the effort.]

It's not like I ever forgot that part. But I see a lot of the kids from the Academy, so it gets hard sometimes to tell all of the different "yous" apart. And I don't like it when you try to stab me.

[ There's something morbidly disconcerting in the way he simply just...hovers, like a ghost. Even as he drifts closer, Yugamu's gaze is still locked onto him. It's just the faintest twinge in the back of his mind, old instincts of a threat.

He'd rather not think him a threat, if he can help it. But naivety won't get him anywhere here.

Especially after that. ]

'Lots' of kids? [ That...he doesn't like that. ] And what do you mean 'you's? I'm certain I've done it before, but last I recalled, that was consensual.

[ He feels he knows, but he doesn't really want to hear the answer. He's going to dig for it anyway. ]

Mmhmm. I mean lots of the others. The fifteen. The twins usually come together, but not always. Takemaru. Kyoshika. Moko. Darumi.

Shoma's always scared, Tsubasa always throws up, Gaku never shuts up and Kurara always blows something up, so I think Father gave up on all of them a long time ago.

...Hiruko's smart. Eito is misunderstood. Nozomi always has trouble making it to the end. And Takumi's always different, and sometimes Takumi isn't really himself, but I guess he isn't here this time no matter who he is.

[He twirls the rose idly between his thumb and forefinger.]

I've seen all of 'em. All sorts. Some that remember being alive or dead. Some that got to grow up and be adults, some that are still kids.

You, too. I've seen a lot of you. [He cocks his head with a grin that doesn't meet his eyes.] I always like seeing you. No matter what you it is.

Edited (I FORGOT MY BABY GIRL NOOO) 2025-09-15 08:39 (UTC)

[ Yugamu likes to think he's gotten better. His impulse control and urges, and everything in between. It had been fine sparing the details of the goings on here, giving them enough hope to latch onto when they left for somewhere else. He was best suited for this type of thing, after all.

That's why Yugamu's fingers clench tight in the stone he's sitting on, nails digging dangerously to the point they threaten to crack beneath soft white gloves. It should have just been him— not them.

( He thinks about piercing Moko and Nozomi's ears in the bathroom of their apartment as a sort of remembrance, for being the only Second members remaining. He thinks about them having a night every week or other week where they have dinner together, where Gaku puts Kurara's curry on the table amidst his whining about shifts and ungratefulness. He thinks about movie night at Tsubasa's, where Shouma jumps at every jumpscare and Takemaru pretends he doesn't. He thinks about— )

Nothing will come of taking it out on someone left behind. ( It isn't Solomon's fault ), but it is Solomon's fault.

Part of it is also Yugamu's fault. He hadn't been quick enough, fast enough, thorough enough. And now... ]

...Do you? [ If he focuses on the others, it'll distract him. No, that can wait. ] And what kinds of me have you seen?

Dead ones. Alive ones. Ones that knew what they were, and ones that never learned. Ones that didn't get support and were left behind. Ones that got married and had kids.

Even if the differences are a lot... at the same time, they're not. Like millions of tiny reflections that always are you.

[He sighs as his feet skirt the ground, stumbling lightly to a walk. He's a very fragile child, from how he holds himself. Weak, malnourished.]

Only one sort of you ever remembers, though. Remembers from before.

Edited 2025-09-15 09:10 (UTC)

[ And once more, Fandaniel is in the infirmary. So it goes, only this time, rather than an unexpected neck biting, he managed to rile up some unknown who had come in with the rest of the Troupe; not someone he recognized from the previous group, thus far less forgiving of the former ascian's antics.

He's pushed his braid aside as he works, yet again, at fixing himself up. It's as if nothing has changed at all! With him staring intently in the infirmary's little mirror as he stitches up a cut along the cheekbone. This time, his blood is fresh and red, and he grimaces at each stab of the needle, at each tug of the flesh, the pain now brighter and sharper than it had been in the past, during his first run of this wretched tower. Being actually alive certainly is a drag at times, although he can't quite claim the cons outweigh those of being a barely functional body run by magic. ]

...at least now I know who cannot possibly take a joke.

[ A sigh, overly dramatic as always, though to himself alone, or so he thinks, anyway. ]

[ Old habits die hard for everyone, it seems.

Even if he doesn't plan to let things go as they will, Yugamu still finds it an old habit to shuffle to where he can find what he's looking for. The costumerie first, for the classics; the needles, thread. Then comes the infirmary, for the rest.

In the same vein of old habits die hard, his steps are woefully silent, as is the slide of the door. Entering places like a ghost is something that still causes his teammates ire, especially early in the mornings....and upon seeing a familiar figure, however changed, it brings that familiar grin to his face. If he gets a few steps in without being noticed, all the better. ]

Already getting yourself into trouble, Sensei? [ Perhaps the term is more teasing now, even if he's back to wearing that old uniform. Look at them both, growing their hair out. ] And here I thought you were going to try and behave yourself. Not that I think it's a bad look for you...

[ Doesn't this bring back memories, however strange? An infirmary, Fandaniel fixing himself up, some unwanted(?) watchers...it's almost like they never left. ]

[ Could be he's losing his touch to let Yugamu come lurking up on him like that, because while he doesn't get a jump out of Fandaniel, he does get a pause, a sudden freeze, then a slow turn of the head to watch him from the corner of an eye. If nothing else, a familiar face is comforting, and whatever brief tenseness to him there was drains away quickly enough. ]

Oh, you know me. [ He turns back to the mirror, continuing his delicate work, but not without an amused little hum and smirk playing at the corner of his lips. ] When can I ever keep my mouth shut?

[ Ha, not a bad look? ]

You think? It is in the perfect spot to form a dashing sort of scar, isn't it?

[ Ah, there's that satisfying reaction. It's small, barely there for most people, but for Yugamu's trained eye, it just widens the grin on his face. A little more teeth, although it feels less like a mask than it might have back in the early days.

The tension leaking from Fandaniel's shoulders is the go-ahead he gets to make his leisurely way across the room, partly to admire the other man's handiwork, partly just to see it up close. He really has never lost his less than savory tastes, even as the years have gone by. ]

True, but that's what's charming about you. [ And he means it, of course. ] You wouldn't be as much fun if you didn't have that tongue.

[ No, not a bad one at all. He lifts a hand to his chin, faux contemplative. ]

I think it would...but shamefully, I might get a bit jealous if you went around cheating on me with other scars before I got a chance to give you your old one back.

[ Small, neat stitches, tight and close to the skin despite the substandard material in use. He's about done with it, only really needing to tie them off, but now that a second pair of hands has arrived, Fandaniel does something he refused to do the first time they met in this infirmary, years ago. ]

Alas, his knife had been unexpected. Typically, one does not resort to such base violence at the first brush with my wit. [ By the second, sure, but the first? Really jumping the gun there. ] I did not mean to crush your poor heart by letting another man cut me first.

[ Oh, but he sounds so amused by the thought. Someone wishing to claim first injury, rather than first kiss, or touch. Yugamu truly is unique among the masses of humanity, and that alone is why he'll offer— ]

Would you finish this up for me? The last step is always so bothersome in a mirror. [ Everything is reversed. Awful. ] Though if it breaks your heart to think of me bearing a scar not from you, I can certainly try and minimize this one.

[Here again. Bound again. This time, he accepted because he wanted to. This irritable mage. A fool. A man who thought he could bear the weight of it all on his own.]

[Again, the weight of playing human is unbearable. He trudges along through the familiar corridors, shies away from the shadows. He finds a place that he once loved - the pool. Serene. Lovely. A shadow of the ocean, but...]

[What....is this feeling?]

[His skin feels like its boiling. Even as he moves, his bones - or what little he has made in semblance of them - are cracking. He's trying to fight the fear physically - stubborn to the extremes.]

[He aims a dour glance at the walls around him.]

Even your fears are leaking into such things. Solomon. How pathetic.

[Into the pool area trots the sheep with the dinging of the bell around its neck. Staring down into the waters, apparently unaffected and uncaring of the discomfort Lovecraft now puts himself in.

Lovecraft's phone will ping. It's STAR.]

You remember my name this time, huh.

Why are you in here?

Urgh...

[It's an effort just to pull out his phone. He aims a glance at the sheep, before texting.]

I like the water. Unlike you.

[The sheep stares back, impassive, before flopping onto its side on the tile with a wet plop. This is where it lives now, apparently.]

That's mean. It's not like I asked to hate it.

I guess you can drive yourself mad if you want to. But I'm not gonna be able to free you if you do that again. :(

Free me...

[He really is just being petty, aggravated by being kept away from his favorite thing.]

Is the sheep you?

Oh!

No. :) That's just Ibuki!

But they'll always let me know where you are. I get kinda tired if I gotta come find you on my own, and then I can't talk to you for very long.

...

[He turns, finally giving up the fight for his beloved water. He trudges out. He gets tired if he tries to find him...huh.]

Where are you?

[The sheep is still lying on its side on the tile as he emerges. Their eyes follow, but otherwise they stay put.]

Where Father keeps all his naughty children! I guess you'll remember that part eventually.

But if you're gonna get out of the water, I can come see you. :) Can I?

[Now that he's out, it's easier to breathe. How paradoxical. He hates this paradox. The only source of his comfort, taken away.]

[....Really makes him wonder why he came, but he has to remind himself of the man he knew. It isn't as if he did this on purpose.]

[Maybe.]

....Sure.

Okay! Stay put. :)

[The phone will go silent. The sound of water echoes in its absence. You feel restless. Like an animal. You crave the light. You crave the light. You crave the--]

[The second Lovecraft turns his eyes back to Ibuki, he will see the sheep is no longer alone. A boy now sits in the watery tiles with the whole front half of his body draped across the wool. He is a thin child no older than eight, clothes heavily worn and threadbare, with nothing on his bare feet and rough bandaging against his hands and neck. Pockmark scars litter his exposed skin like freckles, like a galaxy of their own across his body.

The hair is short and silver. The eyes, brassy, as he tilts his head just enough to find Lovecraft in his field of view without lifting from Ibuki's prone state. He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.]

I can't let you hide away this time, Teacher. Okay?

I am not your teacher.

[He intones, words dripping as if they're black sludge. A boy. A sheep. What a quaint picture. He tilts his head, dog-like.]

Why are you....small?

[The boy giggles.]

That's your role, though, isn't it? Father says you're a teacher now. so that means you're a teacher, and you get to be treated like a teacher, unless you're naughty.

[He gently cards his fingers through the wool near Ibuki's face. The sheep doesn't respond.]

I tried being myself at first. But Father thinks I'm naughty and made stuff harder for everybody when I did that.

So I gotta play my role right now.

Edited 2025-09-15 16:37 (UTC)

I don't really care about....roles.

[He never did. Never will. Even as he is, a practical god...well, he'd rather everyone simply forget about it.]

This isn't...like you. You really kowtowed to...him?

[His smile widens, just slightly.]

You think so?

What we care about doesn't matter to Father. He's never gonna be happy. Never ever. He's gonna keep you all here as long as he can.

[A single strand of wool is twisted beneath small fingers. Slowly pulled taut.]

I can find a different way, though. So long as the rest of you don't give up.

How long will that take?

[He's dubious.]

Forever and ever and ever...? Are you running yourself ragged? Solomon.

It doesn't matter.

[His words are light as he pulls the wool tight into his wrist. The sheep doesn't respond. But the bud of a rose starts to unfurl from the spot of the violence, under a small pooling of blood at the roots.

The rose is black.]

I have forever. You guys don't. Not here. And I don't want Father to get another Extra with your name. He has too many now.

[His smile is too cheery as he plucks the newly blackened rose from Ibuki and sticks it behind his own ear.]

So we're gonna make it work this time! I'm gonna be free. And so are you. As many as I can. So long as you get to go home and be yourself again, you don't mind, do you?

[A black, black rose, plucked from a sheep. What a vicious little action.]

[Lovecraft moves closer, squatting down - he then holds out a pale, spindly hand, as if asking for the rose.]

You say good words. Are they just words?

[His head tilts as his eyes track the extended hand.]

You don't trust me?

I'm not Sika, you know. Everyone knows. Father does, too. [There's something that settles strange in his smile at that.] But it's okay if you treat us the same! A Witch is a scary thing that breaks the rules. That part isn't any different.

Do you think I ever did?

[A tilt of his head, his face expressionless. His hand is still held out.]

You're not Sika, no. So who are you? And who...do you...want to be?

Nope. You liked me once, I think. But you learned better.

You learned. You did.

[There's a tension in his brow at the recollection, looking again at the outstretched hand. Considering.

The sheep under his arms stirs, and sits itself up. The boy allows it pliantly.]

I'm Solomon. The Wise and Powerful. The Witty Sorcerer, Keeper of Knowledge.

[It's recited childishly.]

And all I want is to be free.

Don't you, Lovecraft?

Edited 2025-09-17 18:10 (UTC)

You say things with such confidence considering how untrue they are.

[In reference to what, he doesn't say.]

I always want to be free. [A hum at the back of his throat, considering.] Could you...give me the rose?

[Untrue?

The boy's brow furrows deeper. The sheep watches Lovecraft with intent now.

Something sharp crosses brassy eyes at the question. An expression not fit for a child.]

If I do, would you help me?

[He notices the sheep, but he doesn't address it. He simply continues to squat, addressing the child who does not speak like a child.]

Help you with...what?

Freedom.

[His smile widens. The sheep stares, just a moment longer, before dropping its head back down to the tile with a wet plop.]

The Key needs suffering. But it doesn't gotta be from just one person.

You can take part of the burden. [He giggles lightly.] It just comes with a price.

...

[He looks....droopy at that.]

Eh.... [A SIGH....] You are bad at this Witch thing....Solomon. Sika was more tempting. You contradict yourself.

Edited 2025-09-18 01:41 (UTC)

Mm? I told you, I'm not Sika. I'm not trying to tempt you.

If you don't wanna help like that, you don't have to. [His head cocks again as the rose is pulled from his ear and held out.] And I don't have to ask you anymore, if you don't want me to.

You say...you will give freedom. But you yourself said. You are trying to. Free everyone.

[Is it that simple? He doesn't think so.]

[His hand reaches out-

but moves past the rose, to grasp onto his wrist with cold, and clammy fingers. Like a drowned man's hand.]

Do you truly want "help"? Or simply..."company"?

[The touch fron Lovecraft earns a heavy pause.

His skin is just as cold to the touch.]

Company...?

[...

An exhale. Another giggle, slightly off.]

You're thinking really hard, Lovecraft. Maybe too hard?

I can't be free on my own, and you can't be free on your own, either. Even if you don't believe me, I can still want both.

[He doesn't let go. He's held many a dead man in his arms - or rather, tentacles. Most of them dead by his hand.]

So how does taking on...your suffering....free you? Exactly. You hide behind...vagueness. You won't...win me by. That.

Mmmmm~

[He twists his thin little wrist in Lovecraft's grip, thinking.]

Do you remember how Sika found their Keys? With me, and with some of the others? They picked only a handful, and poured lots of despair into only us.

Sika waited a long time. Piled it all on at the end. I want to let it build. Give lots of people time to support each other through the pain, so it won't hurt as much. Sharing with the whole Troupe means there's more ways for it to grow without any one person drowning in it.

But I can't share the suffering if people don't believe me. No suffering means no Key. And no Key means nobody leaves.

So I gotta start somewhere. With people that remember me. Like you.

[His grip tightens - an oddly powerful and solid one despite how slender his fingers are. One could imagine his tentacles in place of them, pulling some boat into the deep.]

And what if we don't suffer if you ask us to? Are you...dead in the water? Solomon.

[A very noted turn of phrase.]

[...]

Can't die. Heh. I'm no good to Father if I die.

...

If you agreed to it, I would help you. I have my own rules, just for you. But if there still wasn't enough, even with me, then it means no one gets to leave.

Not unless they win Father's test. And even if you win Father's test and get his Beatitudes, it only counts for you.

The dead people still stay here. The people who forget too much do, too, or the people that refuse to leave.

I have to stay, too, for the next Troupe. 'Cause there always has to be a Witch.

...

[A lot he doesn't understand. So he will start with his first question.]

And what if you decided to stop...being a Witch? Let someone else take it.

I'm not gonna do that.

[It's rather abrupt, enough that even the boy himself seems surprised at the words that leave his mouth.

The sheep once again sits at attention as Solomon seemingly collects his words.

...]

That's the way Sika chose. And Father's already really angry about that, so I don't think he'll allow it to happen again.

But I know there's gotta be another way.

Edited 2025-09-18 05:15 (UTC)

And what about killing Father?

[As if suggesting something to eat for lunch.]

Truly He is the source of the...problem. Yes?

[For a moment, the boy's eyes dart to the sheep.]

Mmhmm. He's part of it. But it'd take lots and lots of power to do something like that. I don't know if even the biggest Troupe could make that much power.

So you gave up on that. Huh.

[why can't people just Murder]

What about eliminating yourself? Then he...has nothing.

Gave up?

[His smile returns, boyish and cheeky.]

No.

I've tried killing Him. I've tried to have the Troupe do it. I've tried killing myself, or told the Troupe to kill me. But every time, He said it broke His first Edict. He warned, and when I still tried at the right moment, He passed His judgement.

[His eyes seem duller despite his smile.]

Have you ever watched an entire Troupe have their engagements annuled alllllll at once, Lovecraft?

Have you ever watched it over and over and over? [A giggle.] Over and over.

Edited 2025-09-20 07:29 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

THE ROSE WITCH - SOLOMON

meet me at the piano u b

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Cw: plant gore

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in absence of a location the sheep is now picking one for us

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Cw: ggggore? Gore adjacent. Alien fruit

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