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At first, watching your stupid little stardust bumbling around had been somewhat funny.
He had gotten himself trapped in a time loop, and was trying to find a way to escape from it. You helped him, of course, even though it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. It’s your job, as their helpful guide Loop; you’re supposed to help them.
You gave them tips and tricks to help them get through it. You spoke with him about different things, answering his questions and occasionally interjecting to ask him some of your own. You grew used to talking a lot more and throwing theories around with him, even going so far as to test one of those theories against his will.
It’d been weirdly cathartic, in a way. You hadn’t minded helping him, but you couldn’t deny that seeing him go through something far worse than what you had made you feel better about the whole thing. You got to sit back and relax, knowing you didn’t have to be center stage.
But the loop count grew.
And more.
And more still.
Your stardust had blown up one loop, lashing out at his party and at yourself. He’d wanted nothing more than to kill that stupid so-called King with his own bare hands, simply because he’d been convinced it was the only way to end the loops — even though you’d known for a fact it wouldn’t.
That was the only time you had spoken with their party. Your stardust had gone into The House alone, and you’d helped their party reach them, giving them the tools and the context they needed to do so, all thanks to some weird and cruel twist of fate... but your stardust had completely burnt out before then.
Next loop you saw him, your stardust had looked so empty and lifeless. To this day (loop? whatever), you still find yourself wondering how he’d even managed to walk to the Favor Tree without collapsing.
And if that wasn’t enough, you still remember how they hadn’t responded when you’d tried to push their buttons and tease them. But it hadn’t worked, so you’d given up at one point; and now they’re still tired and hazy, like they barely know what’s happening anymore. You can remember how the star in your chest sunk when he first started calling you “Loo.”
And yet you let him.
Because that was fine, wasn’t it?
You called them “stardust,” so you’d reasoned you might as well let them have “Loo.” He’d blown up in one fiery burst of mania and anger and hate, then turned himself into a heaping pile of ash and hollowness and agony. You had the feeling he was forcing himself to go through everything again because he had no idea what else to do.
Therefore, it only made sense you let them have their silly little nickname for you, in exchange for further assistance in getting out of the loops. Even if doing so felt like someone was twisting a blinding dagger in your chest.
Because they would have to break free, right? Maybe you’ll feel like you’re swallowing molten rocks when that moment finally comes, but you would have to be content with the fact you at least did your job, should they finally get out.
Not that you’re very good at that anymore.
You were meant to help him get out. That’s why you were put here, isn’t it? Despite knowing it was through words being twisted, you were meant to be their someone who could help free them. And yet you couldn’t even do that, could you? Now look at your stardust. They’re falling apart because you can’t help them.
You’ve been watching as more of himself slips through the cracks in his memory every loop. He grows even hazier and more forgetful the longer he’s trapped. Humans weren’t meant to have so many years worth of memories stuffed in their head, after all; older memories keep falling away to make room for new ones.
He can’t remember what the earliest loops were like, or what his life was like before they ever started. They don’t remember that you were ever called Loop, their helpful guide to help them through the loops. You sometimes wonder if they remember who they are, or if they’ve forgotten what they had left.
But you.
You’re just so special now, aren’t you? They can’t remember, but you can. Because you’re not human, is that right?
Oh, who are you kidding? Of course you’re not human anymore, just look at yourself! You’re some weird star-headed thing now, a blinding ethereal being who knows things they never should’ve been cursed to learn. You speak of wrong buttons and secret Craft signs and dialogue branches.
You can bend the rules, ever so slightly.
You helped your stardust do the same.
So why are they still here, Loop?
What have you been doing wrong? How could you have let them reach this point? Just how blinding stupid are you?
You hear footsteps and look up, torn from your own thoughts.
Ah. Speak of the devil. Here’s your stardust now.