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?]

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[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.]

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[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.

THE ROSE WITCH - SOLOMON

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Cw: suicidal ideation

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