The last words of a shooting star.

by KovalSorrow_z

Summary:

Astro Novalite hasn’t slept in days. What started as simple restlessness has spiraled into endless nights haunted by whispers, phantom eyes, and faceless shadows. Determined to hide his unraveling mind from Dandy and the others, Astro insists he can handle it—until a hallucination leads to tragedy. When Brightney’s light flickers out at his hands, Astro is forced to confront the blurred line between dream and reality… and the darkness that may not be imagined after all.

Schizophrenia ACTS > 1/2
Suspicion ACTS > 3/6
Other ACTS 6/?

Chapter 1: Schizophrenia ACT : 1

BING BONG BANG VANG PLAYLIST BOOP BEEPPEOEP - 🌙💫

Astro was exhausted. Not the simple, everyday kind of exhaustion, but the bone-deep, fever-slick weariness that hollowed him out from the inside. It was four in the morning, and he clung tightly to his lavender blanket, wrapping it around himself as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered. His slippers brushed softly against the floor, soundless, weightless—he almost looked like he was gliding rather than walking, a pale, drifting ghost in the dim halls.

His chest rose and fell sharply, ragged. He wasn’t only tired; no, this was something crueler, heavier. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been able to for days. No matter how long he lay in bed, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, the stillness wouldn’t come. Every attempt left him wide awake, every hour stretched into eternity. And only Dandy had noticed. The rainbow-colored flower had pulled him aside once, tried to ask if something was wrong. Astro remembered the look in Dandy’s bright eyes—concern, real concern—and how he’d brushed it off with a calm, carefully measured reply. He always kept his composure, always made sure his words sounded casual, dismissive. He wasn’t going to make Dandy worry about him.

He could handle a few sleepless nights. Right?

But he couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

The hallucinations had started days ago, crawling into the corners of his vision. At first it was harmless—shadows bending wrong, shapes where there shouldn’t be any. But now, they were everywhere. He saw eyes, dozens of them, staring from the darkness. He saw figures, faceless and black, lurching toward him, reaching out with hands that weren’t real. They whispered, clawed, waited for him to falter. But they weren’t real. He told himself that again and again. They weren’t real.

Still, he couldn’t shake the panic that gnawed at him.

He found himself wandering again, through a hallway dimly lit by the faint glow of the garden-view elevators. The doors opened with a metallic groan and closed behind him with a heavy click. The elevator sank down, no button pressed, no direction chosen. It carried him as though it knew where he needed to go better than he did.

When it opened, he stepped out onto his floor. The air was colder here. The walls seemed to lean closer, pressing against him. His cartoonish eyes, usually bright, were rimmed with shadows, the bags beneath them dark and heavy. He could barely recognize his own reflection anymore. He was unraveling.

He needed to fix it.

He needed sleep.

If he didn’t, he’d lose himself entirely.

Astro shuffled down the hall, his blanket dragging behind him like a pale violet trail. He stopped when something caught his eye at the far end of the corridor.

A bottle.

A giant melatonin bottle.

He blinked once, twice, rubbed his aching eyes. It was still there. Relief swelled in his chest, raw and desperate. Finally, finally, a solution. Something to force his body to rest, something to silence the eyes, the whispers, the figures closing in on him. His cyan magic sparked faintly at his fingertips, trembling with eagerness. He stretched it out toward the bottle, hooked the glowing thread around the lid, and twisted.

The lid didn’t pop open.

It shattered.

Glass splintered outward with a sharp, echoing crack that tore through the quiet hall. Astro staggered back, blinking furiously, trying to make sense of what he saw—

And then he realized.

It wasn’t a bottle.

It was Brightney.

Her lightbulb head had exploded, shards glittering across the floor like cruel confetti. The once-steady glow she carried flickered wildly, dimming as her body trembled. Astro’s magic faltered instantly, vanishing from his hands. His chest clenched, his throat tight, and he staggered back, shaking his head.

“No—no, no, no—” His voice was a broken whisper.

Brightney crumpled, her light sputtering, dimming further with every passing second. Her form twitched weakly, her bright presence unraveling into nothing.

Astro’s breaths came fast and uneven, his panic turning sharp, jagged. But beneath it was anger, scorching and senseless. Anger at himself? At the hallucination? At the universe for twisting his mind into this nightmare? He didn’t know. He only knew that what stood before him wasn’t what he had needed. He needed rest, not—this. Not the death of one of his closest friends.

Her light flickered one last time before going dark.

Gone.

Brightney was gone.

Astro dropped to his knees, the weight of it hitting him all at once. His friend, the one who always made space for him at her book club meetings, the one who never failed to check in with him when he was quiet too long, the one who laughed too loudly but always made everyone else smile. She had been a constant. She had been safe.

And he had destroyed her.

His shaking hands curled into fists, pressing into the floor. His mind screamed for him to fix it, to undo it somehow, but there was no magic for this. No glow, no power could bring her back. The truth pressed down on him like stone.

He had killed her.

His chest heaved, a sharp cry breaking past his lips before he bit it down. If anyone heard him—if Dandy heard him—if Razzle or Dazzle came running—how could he ever explain? How could he tell them that he’d killed Brightney because he mistook her for medicine?

The silence pressed in thickly around him. Then, faintly, he heard it: the rumble of the elevator.

Someone else was coming to his floor.

Astro froze, his eyes wide. The atmosphere shifted, the air tightening, pressing, darker than before. The lights along the hallway dimmed, one by one, shadows crawling closer. He turned toward the elevator, his vision blurring.

Hallucination. It had to be. Just another hallucination.

He isn’t hallucinating this time.

---

Astro realized, slowly and with a sickening certainty, that the world around him had gone pitch black.

Not dark like a hallway with the lights shut off, not even dark like the shadows that clawed at him when he couldn’t sleep. No—this was the absence of everything. No depth, no texture, no air. Just a black void, heavy and endless, pressing in on all sides.

He looked down and nearly gagged. His usual colors—soft hues of his character—were gone, drained out of him. In their place was nothing but a thin, glowing white outline sketching his body, cartoonish and hollow. He blinked, trying to steady himself.

Familiar. Too familiar.

He forced his single cartoony eye open wider, though every part of him begged for rest. And that’s when he saw them:

Three stars, hanging in the nothing.

Each one burned with a color close to his own palette—almost him, but not. Their glow was faint but sharp, and each bore a different symbol etched across its surface, shifting faintly like constellations.

Astro squinted, exhaustion burning through him.

“…What…?” His voice cracked, low and dry, like it might break apart mid-word.

The stars pulsed. Then, an echoing voice—smooth, half-amused, like a ripple across water—filled the void. It didn’t come from one star in particular. It was all of them.

“Talk about dramatic.”

Astro stiffened, blinking again. His eye darted around the black, but there was nothing else here. No body, no speaker. Just stars, glowing faintly against the void.

“…Who—”

“Who else?”

The answer cut him off sharp, as though it had been waiting.

Astro swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed at him to shut his eye, to sleep, to let go—but he fought it. He shook his head violently, forcing his vision to stay clear.

“…Don’t… know you,” he rasped. “…Who are you?”

The stars shimmered, holding back what sounded like a chuckle. And then, like a curtain being drawn back, the voice shifted into something smug and theatrical.

“The name’s  Orsta,” it said smoothly.

If it had a body, Astro was sure it would’ve bowed with a flourish, maybe even thrown in some ridiculous hand gestures for flair. The voice had that kind of attitude.

Astro narrowed his eye, suspicion flashing briefly through the exhaustion.  Orsta. That name didn’t sit right. Didn’t sound safe. But his body had no fight left. He shook his head once, weakly, and gave in. Maybe because it’s little yo name backwards you dumb little— 

“…Okay.”

Astro tiredly mumbled.

“Oh—no need to introduce yourself,” Ostra purred quickly. “I already know you.”

Astro froze.

His breath hitched in his throat. That was wrong. That was too personal. That wasn’t the kind of thing you said unless—unless you really knew him.

“What—”

But Ostra cut him off with a sound that wasn’t quite laughter, wasn’t quite mockery. Something in-between. The stars twinkled brighter, and Astro could almost see joy flickering in their glow, joy at his confusion.

“Why am I here,” Astro whispered. It wasn’t a question so much as a plea.

“You can’t,”  Orsta answered immediately, the voice dipping lower, “just stand in front of your dear friend and expect everything to be all peachy right after.”

Astro’s stomach twisted. His blanket itched against his skin, suddenly too heavy, too suffocating.

Orsta tsked softly. “Now let’s see—oh. You didn’t make a mess.”

The stars began to move. Not fast, but deliberate, swarming around him in a slow, spiraling orbit. Their light flickered across his outline, bending his shape strangely, almost pulling at him.

“Makes this easier, I suppose.”

Astro’s jaw clenched. “What are you—”

The voice shifted again, sharper now, blunt but playful, like someone who enjoyed dangling answers just out of reach. There was mischief in it, but no warmth.

Astro felt it then—a pull. Not physical, not exactly, but a tugging at him, as though invisible strings were hooked into his outline and being drawn taut. His body lurched slightly, his nightcap tilting precariously. His heart jolted. He yanked back immediately, clutching the edge of the cap and tugging himself away from the unseen force.

The pull loosened. Relief flickered through him—until his foot slipped.

One step backward.

Two.

Pain tore through his side like knives stabbing clumsily, carelessly, deep and jagged. He gasped, jerking forward as though struck, his hands flying to his ribs. Heat spread across his skin. It burned.

“Hh—!” The sound was half a hiss, half a strangled groan. He staggered, struggling to keep upright.

The stars pulsed brighter, their orbit tightening.

Astro squirmed, twisting desperately, trying to resist. But the tug came again, sharper this time, dragging at his outline like it wanted to peel him away from himself.

His vision blurred, the black closing in further at the edges. He blinked rapidly, forcing it back, but the dark only crept closer.

His body sagged.

For the first time in days, the weight pressing against him wasn’t sleeplessness—it was sleep itself. Heavy, unavoidable. The edges of his sight melted away, leaving only the glow of the three stars, circling closer, closer.

His breaths slowed, the pain in his side fading into numbness.

“At least,” Astro muttered, lips curling into a weak, delirious grin, “I’m going to sleep.”

The stars twinkled faintly in response. Orsta’s voice followed, lilting and careless.

“This wall looks kinda lickable.” /j pls don’t get me bro

The sound of his own laughter echoed strangely in the black, hollow and fading, as his body finally gave in.

Chapter 2: Schizophrenia ACT : 2

“Astro.” Or… Ortsa.

The name felt wrong, yet familiar—a twisted echo of himself.

Astro laid in the back of his own mind, pressed down and silent, as though trapped behind thick, invisible glass. He could think, yes, but only in fragments, only in quiet whispers that Ortsa allowed him. Every action, every word he wanted to speak, was filtered through this foreign presence. It wasn’t cruel, exactly… but it was controlling. Possessing.

Right now, Ortsa occupied the forefront, moving his body with deliberate grace, stepping through the familiar hallways as though it were a stage. Astro felt everything—the soft scrape of slippers against the floor, the weight of his lavender blanket dragging behind him—but he could do nothing but watch, powerless and confused.

They had made it back to his bedroom. Somehow. He didn’t remember the journey. A part of him, deep and desperate, wanted to fight, to claw back control. But there was no energy left to resist. Ortsa had taken the reins completely, fluid and precise, gliding through the corridors like a shadow in motion.

And then… Shelly.

She appeared just outside his room, hesitating in the doorway. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight before her. Something was off—but she couldn’t place it. The expression she wore was a mix of worry, confusion, and the faintest attempt at reassurance, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Astro—are you okay? You look… really sleepy.”

Ortsa blinked slowly, deliberately. The motion was smooth, almost theatrical, as though mocking the natural rhythm of his own body. Then he tilted his head and forced a gentle, fake smile. The kind of smile Astro would never give—too controlled, too precise, and far too calm.

“I’ll be fine,” Ortsa said, his voice light, practiced. “You should get some rest. Plenty of things to do tomorrow. There’s still twisteds to deal with.”

Shelly’s nervous chuckle was soft, almost musical in the quiet hallway. She rubbed the back of her shell absentmindedly, a small, habitual motion that betrayed her anxiety. “Right! We’ve got plenty ahead… I’ll see you! Ah—I’ll make sure to give it my best!”

Ortsa’s mouth curved faintly, a hint of smug satisfaction in the motion. “That’s the spirit,” he replied, voice steady, unaffected.

Shelly nodded, backing away and giving a small wave before disappearing down the hall. Presumably she was heading to her bed, readying herself for whatever awaited them in the next expedition.

Ortsa exhaled softly once she was gone. The motion was slow, deliberate, like a predator relaxing after a brief encounter with prey. Easy.

Astro shivered in the back of his own mind, pressing against the walls of his consciousness. He felt the faint pull of anger, fear, and confusion, but it all bounced uselessly off the barrier Ortsa had set up. Words he wanted to scream twisted into hollow echoes, useless against the control that sat firmly over him.

They were alone now.

Ortsa surveyed the room with a careful, critical eye. Everything was as Astro had left it—the lavender blanket neatly folded on the side of the bed, the soft glow of his nightlight faint against the darkness of the room, the faint hum of the cartoonish electronics he had set up lining the walls. But the familiarity did nothing to comfort him. It was not his control, not his perspective. The room was alien, even as he recognized it, because he was only a passenger.

He let himself sink slowly onto the bed, making sure to maintain the image of calm normalcy. If Shelly were to peek back in—or anyone else—nothing about his appearance would betray the chaos within. Ortsa had mastered that control, perfected it.

Astro, trapped behind his own consciousness, felt panic rise again, thrumming in his chest like a trapped bird. The feeling of helplessness was suffocating. Every thought, every impulse to move or speak or escape, was filtered, delayed, manipulated. He wanted to shout, to fight, to reclaim his body, but even the thought seemed powerless under Ortsa’s watchful gaze.

Ortsa tilted his head slightly, staring at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “Funny,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Being you… it’s like holding a puppet and knowing it can never fight back properly. Pathetic, yet… amusing.”

Astro recoiled at the words, though he could not react. He didn’t like the tone, didn’t like the way it slid over him like cold silk. There was no warmth here, no reassurance. Just control. And a small, terrifying sense of glee.

Ortsa exhaled again, slower this time, letting a soft sigh fill the room. “But don’t worry, little Astro,” he whispered, voice smooth and dripping with false kindness. “We’ll get along just fine. After all, you’re not going anywhere.”

Astro felt the words like a weight pressing against his chest. He wanted to answer, to push back, but all he could do was feel the tendrils of helplessness coil tighter around him.

The room was silent after that, save for the faint hum of electronics and the soft, almost imperceptible creak of the floor beneath them. Ortsa stretched, careful to remain composed. Every motion was deliberate, exaggerated in subtle ways that Astro felt more than saw—like the faint ghost of someone else’s presence moving through his limbs.

Ortsa finally shifted his gaze to the lavender blanket beside him, brushing his hand over it lazily. “You really do make a mess of things when you’re tired,” he murmured, tone amused rather than cruel. “But that’s fine… it’s not like you can do anything about it now, is it?”

Astro’s chest tightened. Every word, every tone, was a knife twisting, a reminder that he was trapped in his own body. He wanted to scream, to break free, but his mind was a prisoner to Ortsa’s design.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Ortsa lay back on the bed, settling in as though he belonged there, as though Astro had never existed. The room seemed smaller, heavier, as if the shadows themselves had become alive and leaned in closer, eager to watch.

Astro trembled in the back of his mind, curled up in that invisible prison of his own consciousness. He knew this was only the beginning. Ortsa had taken control, yes—but he was still there. Still watching. Still aware. And somehow, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he felt a tiny spark of defiance.

Ortsa would notice it eventually.

But for now, he had to wait.

Ortsa sighed again, shifting slightly, letting a single, almost playful word escape. “Sleep well… Astro. Or should I say… we?”

Astro’s chest tightened even further. The words were a promise, a taunt, and a warning all at once. He could feel the boundaries between himself and Ortsa blur, the edges of his own identity trembling like fragile glass.

And yet… he would find a way back. Somehow.

The room, still and quiet, held them both in its suffocating embrace. And outside, the night stretched endlessly, indifferent to the battle now raging within one single, fragile mind.

Chapter 3: Suspicion ACT : 3

Notes:

Might be a few mistakes.. ignore those! I’ll try to fix em..

Astro stirred in the back of his own mind, the silence unbearable. Ortsa lounged in the forefront, still stretched lazily across Astro’s bed as though he’d owned it forever. His motions were deliberate, almost smug—the faint flick of fingers against the blanket, the way his body shifted just enough to remind Astro of who held control.

“You’re disgusting,” Astro snapped suddenly, his voice echoing within the confines of his mind. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, biting.

Ortsa hummed in mock delight, not even pretending to be wounded. Finally, he thought, letting his grin curl through their shared headspace. “There you are. Thought you’d gone quiet on me.”

“I didn’t choose this,” Astro hissed. “Get out of me. Give me back my body.”

“Oh, how dramatic,” Ortsa chuckled, his voice like silk wrapping around glass. “You think this is some hostage situation? Cute. But no, Astro. This is partnership. Symbiosis. I exist because of you—and now, you exist because of me.”

Astro shoved against the walls of his mind, the invisible barrier that kept him locked away. Nothing budged. “You’re a parasite,” he spat. “That’s all you are.”

Ortsa tilted Astro’s head toward the nightstand, deliberately ignoring him. “Parasite? No. Think of me as… correction. You’ve been sleep-deprived, hallucinating, pathetic. But me? I function. I don’t panic. I don’t falter. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Yes, you do.” Ortsa smirked, shutting Astro’s eye briefly, savoring the sensation. “You want sleep. Rest. I’m giving it to you. You’re welcome to stay in the background as long as you like.”

Astro snarled, but the sound echoed hollowly within their shared consciousness. Ortsa’s calm tone made his fury feel childish, impotent.

Then came the knock at the door.

Shelly poked her head in again, hesitant, cautious. She blinked at “Astro,” who was sitting neatly on the bed, hands folded. His cartoony eye blinked back with unnerving calm.

“Um… Astro?” she asked, her voice quiet, fragile. “You’re… acting a little odd.”

Ortsa immediately softened his expression, tilting his head just slightly, as though rehearsed from a mirror. “Odd?” he repeated gently. “You must be tired too, Shelly. I’m just fine.”

But Shelly didn’t look convinced. She rubbed at the rim of her fossil shell nervously. “You’re usually… more…” She trailed off, biting her lip. Her words faltered, but her suspicion hung thick in the air.

Astro, from the back of his mind, wanted to scream—Yes! I’m not me! Something’s wrong! But no sound left his lips. Ortsa’s calm, fake reassurance pressed down on everything.

“I promise,” Ortsa said smoothly, cutting through her hesitation, “I’m fine. You need rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. We’ll need you at your best.”

Shelly shifted uneasily, still not convinced. But after a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “Right. You’re… probably right.” She forced a nervous laugh, though it cracked in the middle. “I’ll… go rest then.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ortsa smiled warmly, raising a hand in an encouraging wave.

Shelly hesitated one moment longer before turning and slipping out. Her footsteps echoed faintly down the hall until they faded completely.

Ortsa exhaled, muttering under his breath once she was gone. “Easy.”

Astro was seething. You’re going to get caught. She already suspects—

“Let her,” Ortsa interrupted smoothly. “Suspicion makes the game more fun.”

---

The night slipped away quietly.

By the time morning light seeped into Gardenview, the cartoonish world stirred back to life. Colors bloomed through the halls, light spilling across walls painted with vibrancy and cheer. But beneath that cheer lay an undeniable tension.

Word spread quickly—Dandy had called a meeting. Not just Dandy, but Sprout as well, alongside Razzle and Dazzle. The leaders. The bright, central figures who didn’t summon everyone lightly.

Ortsa—wearing Astro’s skin—moved through the halls with deliberate calm. His smile was faint, polite, perfect. Shelly had passed him earlier, giving him a small wave, though her eyes lingered longer than usual. He caught the suspicion tucked behind her forced smile.

Astro, buried deep within, burned with quiet dread.

The Gardenview meeting space was circular, warm and welcoming by design. A round table sat in the middle, bright flowers and patterned cushions scattered around it. The walls shimmered with painted murals of stars, flowers, and winding vines, their cartoony glow bringing cheer to the room.

But the atmosphere was anything but cheerful.

Dandy stood at the table, rainbow petals quivering faintly as he glanced over the gathered group. His usual smile was dimmed, worry flickering faintly behind his vibrant colors. Beside him stood Sprout, her leafy hair curling gently at her shoulders, expression calm but serious.

Razzle and Dazzle leaned against one another near the far side, their matching energy muted but still sparking faintly between them. They weren’t joking, weren’t laughing—their eyes were sharp, focused.

Everyone was waiting.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dandy began, his voice soft but steady. “I know it’s early, but… we need to talk.”

Ortsa, still perfectly calm in Astro’s body, folded his hands neatly in his lap, tilting his head slightly as though curious.

Astro’s voice surged inside. Don’t—don’t say anything. Don’t let them notice.

Ortsa smirked inwardly. Notice what, exactly? That I’m sharper than you’ve ever been? That I can hold myself together when you can’t?

Astro gritted his teeth, powerless, forced to listen as Dandy continued.

“There’s been… unrest,” Dandy said carefully, eyes flicking across the group. “Not just with the twisteds. But among us, too. People are tired. Stressed. And after last night—” His eyes darkened slightly, worry deepening in the cracks of his usually sunny expression. “I fear something has changed.”

Ortsa leaned forward slightly, keeping Astro’s expression attentive, engaged. His single eye blinked politely.

But Astro inside screamed. He knew what Dandy meant. He knew it was about him. About Brightney. About everything that had happened in the hall.

Ortsa, however, remained perfectly calm.

Unshaken.

Unfazed.

The room had gone still.

Dandy’s usual radiance was muted, petals drooping slightly, eyes dimmed. His rainbow glow flickered faintly as though even his colors couldn’t stay steady under the weight of his words. He clasped his hands together on the table, pausing as though searching for the gentlest way to say it. But there was no gentle way. Not for this.

“…Last night,” Dandy began slowly, “Sprout, along with Razzle and Dazzle, discovered something in the lower hall.”

The silence that followed was thick, anticipatory. Astro—no, Ortsa—kept his body perfectly still, folding his arms loosely, tilting his head just enough to appear curious. Inside, Astro clawed against the walls of his mind, heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his teeth. He knew. He knew what was coming.

Sprout’s expression hardened, his leafy hair swaying as she straightened. His voice was calm, but sharp, each word like a blade slicing the quiet. “We found Brightney.”

A collective murmur rippled through the gathered group, confusion mixing with unease.

Razzle and Dazzle exchanged a glance before speaking together, their voices unnervingly in sync. “Her lightbulb was shattered. Neck snapped with… with force.” Dazzle hesitated a moment, teeth clenched. “Not an accident.”

Razzle grimaced, finishing softly: “Ichor was everywhere.”

The words slammed into the room like a hammer. Silence followed for a fraction of a second before breaking violently.

Poppy’s voice cut through first, shrill with panic. “Why—WHY WOULD SOMEONE BE OUT ON AN EXPEDITION LATE AT NIGHT?!” Her hands gripped the table hard, her chest heaving. “The twisteds are EVERYWHERE—what if it had been worse? What if—what if—”

Yatta quickly rose from her spot, echoing the panic in a sharper, more desperate tone. “She never should’ve been there! That late, unguarded—it doesn’t make sense! Who let this happen?!”

Their voices overlapped, panic clawing at the edges of the room, raising everyone’s nerves like static.

Boxten shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tapping the edge of the table with trembling hands. His box headed head shape tilted slightly forward, nodding nervously. “I… I agree with them… Brightney was careful. She never went out alone.” His voice wavered, quiet, uncertain. “Something isn’t right.”

Shrimpo slammed one of his clawed hand against the table, irritation sparking in his sharp eyes. “Something isn’t right? You think?” He snapped, his  tone laced with frustration rather than fear. “One of us is dead, and you’re only just figuring out it doesn’t add up?”

The room shifted uneasily under her bite, tension growing hotter.

Vee, who had been silent until now, flickered suddenly. Her screen stuttered with static, then froze on a distorted expression of shock before flickering again, settling shakily on a nervous, distressed look. “I—I can’t—my data doesn’t—” The screen flickered once more before stabilizing. Her mechanical voice trembled. “Why would she be there? Brightney wasn’t reckless.”

Shelly was beside her, arms wrapped loosely around her own shell, shrinking slightly into herself. She didn’t speak. Her eyes darted toward “Astro” more than once, suspicion lingering, heavy and unspoken.

Astro’s chest tightened in the back of his mind. They know. They all know. They’ll look at me. They’ll figure it out.

But Ortsa sat calmly, his outward expression smooth, unreadable. He offered no fidget, no twitch, nothing that would betray the storm raging inside. His eye blinked at a steady rhythm, lips pressed in a thoughtful line. He looked like someone concerned, but not consumed.

Dandy raised his hands gently, trying to settle the outburst. “Please,” he urged softly, his rainbow petals trembling faintly. “I understand your fear. Brightney was… bright. Reliable. None of us expected this.” His voice cracked slightly on the word was, but he quickly steadied himself. “But panicking will not solve this.”

Poppy sank slowly back into her chair, hands trembling as she pressed them to her lap. Yatta lowered her gaze, still tense but quiet. The room’s noise dimmed, though unease hung like fog in the air.

Sprout’s expression darkened. “This wasn’t the twisteds,” he said firmly. His gaze swept the room, sharp, piercing. “This was deliberate. The angle, the force—it wasn’t a wild strike. Someone did this.”

A heavy silence fell over the group.

Astro wanted to scream, wanted to confess, wanted to say something, but Ortsa pressed firmly over him, holding every word locked in his chest. The silence stretched painfully long before Razzle finally muttered: “So what, we’ve got a traitor?”

Dazzle shook his head, arms folded. “Not necessarily. But we have… a problem.”

Boxten’s nervous nodding grew sharper, faster. “We—we can’t… accuse without proof,” he stammered.

Shrimpo’s jaw tightened, irritation radiating. “We don’t need accusations to know we’re in danger. If someone’s capable of this, we’re already compromised.”

Vee’s screen glitched again, displaying a jagged line of static before flickering back to her worried expression. “Then what do we do? We can’t just… pretend nothing happened.”

Dandy’s gaze softened, but his voice carried weight as he spoke. “We move carefully. We grieve Brightney, yes. But we also prepare. We don’t know who—” His gaze flicked briefly across the group, just enough for Astro to feel the weight of it—“or what we’re dealing with. Until we do, no one leaves the grounds alone. No expeditions at night.”

Astro flinched internally at the word alone.

Ortsa, however, gave a subtle nod of agreement, voice steady and calm when he finally spoke. “A wise decision. We can’t afford another loss.”

The room collectively breathed out, though the tension remained thick, coiled like a spring.

Inside, Astro trembled. Every word Ortsa spoke through his lips felt like betrayal, a perfect mask that only deepened the pit in his chest. Brightney was dead because of him—or because of them. And now, while his friends panicked and grieved, he sat here with a monster in his skin, unable to tell them the truth.

Shelly’s eyes flicked toward him again, her frown faint but clear. She said nothing. But the suspicion was written all over her.

Ortsa only smiled inwardly, calm and unshaken, his voice echoing in Astro’s head. Easy.

 

The tension was already suffocating, but then Brusha’s voice sliced through it like nails on glass.

“Her book club was boring anyway.”

The words hung in the air, bitter, callous, dripping with the kind of cruelty that only someone completely detached—or deliberately antagonistic—could muster.

Poppy’s jaw fell open in disbelief, Vee’s screen glitched into a sharp line of static, and even Shrimpo’s irritation froze into shock for a fraction of a second.

Razzle snapped.

His chair screeched against the floor as he shot to his feet, hands slamming onto the table hard enough to rattle the loose pens and notes scattered across it. “YOU—” his voice cracked, loud and venomous, “—ARE ONE TO TALK!” His eyes blazed with fury, teeth bared. “ARE YOU SERIOUSLY—SERIOUSLY—MENTIONING THIS? OVER BEING REMOVED FROM A SHOW THAT ENDED LONG AGO?!”

The words came out like fire, his chest heaving as  he glared daggers across the table.

Brusha didn’t even flinch. She lifted a hand with deliberate slowness, flicking her perfectly styled hair back over her shoulder. Her narrowed eyes glittered with disdain, lips curling into a smirk that dared Razzle to keep going. “I’m just saying,” she said smoothly, her tone dipped in poison, “maybe the girl should’ve picked something more worthwhile with her time.”

“Worthwhile—?!” Razzle’s fists clenched so tight  his knuckles went white. His twin, Dazzle, placed a cautious hand on his arm, but it barely anchored her. “You are unbelievable. You act like losing some vanity spotlight is the worst thing that’s ever happened, when one of us is DEAD!”

“..”

The word cracked like thunder.

Boxten’s nervous tapping grew frantic, eyes darting back and forth as though waiting for someone to stop them before things spiraled. Shrimpo leaned back with a low growl, muttering under her breath, “This is ridiculous…” but made no move to intervene. Poppy, wide-eyed and shaking, pressed her hands tighter into her lap as if trying to shrink away from the confrontation.

And through it all, “Astro”—Ortsa—sat motionless, watching. Calm. Observing the chaos like it was theater written for him alone. Inside, Astro wanted to scream at Brusha, wanted to grab her and shake her until she shut her mouth, but Ortsa pressed back, smirking quietly in their shared mind. Let them fight. It keeps the eyes off you.

Brusha, entirely unbothered, rested her chin delicately against the back of her hand, posture elegant in its mockery. “I don’t see why you’re so upset, Razzle. People die all the time out there. If anything, Brightney’s mistake was believing she was special enough to be spared.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Even Dandy’s glow faltered. His voice, usually steady with warmth, trembled with an edge as he finally spoke again. “That is enough, Brusha.”

“Everyone—go. Get rest. We’ll… reconvene tomorrow.”

Chairs scraped, murmurs rose. One by one, the group dispersed into the halls, the weight of Brightney’s absence pressing down on every step.

“Astro” lingered at the table, calm, still, his cartoony frame outlined faintly in the glow of Dandy’s light. As the others slipped out of sight, Dandy’s gaze lingered. Longer than it should have.

His head tilted just slightly, eyes narrowing. He studied Astro as though searching for something beneath the tired look, something hiding behind the eye bags and forced stillness. The silence stretched.

Then, quietly, Dandy exhaled and shook his head. “...Goodnight, Astro.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, petals shifting as he walked slowly down the hall toward his quarters. The faint, high-pitched barking of Pebble echoed before the door shut behind him—hungry, impatient, calling for attention.

The sound faded, leaving “Astro” alone in the vast quiet of Gardenview’s halls.

Inside, Astro’s real voice trembled, rattling against the walls of his own mind. He knows. He knows something’s wrong.

Ortsa only chuckled under his breath, the smirk curling in the shared dark. Let him wonder. That’s the fun part.

Chapter 4: Suspicion ACT: 4

Notes:

Shorter Chapter, Exhausted..

 

Gardenview had fallen silent. The vibrant halls, so often filled with the chatter of its strange residents, now held only the hum of the wind weaving through vines and the occasional creak of the old structure. Most were asleep, tucked away in their rooms. All but one.

Ortsa moved like a shadow through the corridors, wearing Astro’s skin with casual ease. His steps made no sound, his smile faint and unreadable in the dark. He didn’t need to think about where he was going—his plan had already been threaded carefully, step by step.

Brusha’s door wasn’t even locked. That told him everything he needed. Careless. Overconfident. Comfortable. She believed herself untouchable here.

The door creaked as he pushed it open just enough to slip inside.

Brusha laid sprawled in her bed, purple-tinted brush-hair spilling like paint across her pillow, swaying faintly in the draft from her half-open window. The faint moonlight traced her features, illuminating the heavy shadows beneath her cartoony eyes. The sharp tongue, the cutting remarks, the snide dismissal of Brightney’s death—those things were absent now. What remained was a tired girl, vulnerable, curled up in thin sleeping clothes under a blanket that slipped slightly with her steady breathing.

Ortsa stood at the bedside, staring for a long, measured silence. He could still hear the echo of her words from the meeting earlier, that callous jab at Brightney’s memory. The timing had been too perfect, too loud. Too much risk.

A disruption to the story he wanted to weave.

“Loose ends,” he muttered softly, his voice low and velvety in the dark. “Always get in the way.”

The soft lavender-blue blanket slid from his shoulders. Four ghostly light-blue arms extended outward, graceful and deliberate. They hovered above her like pale spider legs before coiling downward.

The first touch at her throat startled her awake.

Brusha’s eyes flew open, confusion flashing before fear replaced it. Her breath hitched as the pressure closed in—tight, unrelenting. Her hands shot up instinctively, clawing at the invisible grip, her brush-hair swishing wildly in panic. A strangled gasp tore out of her throat, thin and broken, but Ortsa pressed harder, shoving her deeper into the mattress.

Her cartoony eyes watered, rolling upward as her chest heaved against the weight. She tried to scream, but the sound came out muted, swallowed by the crushing grip around her neck.

“Shhh,” Ortsa whispered, leaning close, his borrowed face twisted into something Astro never wore. Cold. Detached. Satisfied. “You’ve said enough already.”

Brusha’s legs kicked weakly under the covers, her fingernails scraping desperately at the arms she couldn’t pry off. The room filled with the muffled thrashing of the bed frame, the creak of wood under her struggle.

Her movements slowed.

The fight bled out of her as her strength waned. The edges of her vision turned to static, the moonlight dimming, her brush-hair falling limp against the sheets. Her wide, panicked eyes rolled back one last time before fluttering shut.

Stillness.

Ortsa released her, the arms withdrawing back into his form as he straightened, adjusting the blanket with a chilling calm. To anyone peeking in, she would look as though she had simply fallen asleep, eyes closed, hair spilling across the pillow in its usual careless waves.

But the quiet told the truth.

He stood there a moment longer, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. Then he pulled the blanket neatly back over her body, almost tender, and stepped away.

He was definitely going to regret killing her.. Eventually.

Gardenview remained silent.

 

Except for the fact something within Astro’s map lingered, watching from in the Dark. Its neck snapped— breathing heavy. Each step it took, Glass snapped. 

Brightney. But this wasn’t the same, she had a little friend alongside her. Her ribs were exposed, and she even owned a tentacle on one of the sides of her body.. Ohoho. This definitely wasn’t- Brightney.