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You hear the birdsong outside the window. You must've woken up again, despite everything.
But you don't open your eyes. You try to fall back asleep, just so you don't have to be awake. You dread it every time it happens. You can't move anyway, so there's no point in getting up, no point in even trying to stretch your skeletal arms above your aching head. Blood and puss flooding your lungs prevent you from taking deep breaths, so you don't even try to yawn. You don't even want to open your eyes to see the faces of those you love. You're so tired of their pity. Their grief. Walking on eggshells and trying to be positive when they can clearly tell how disgusting you are now. Filthy. Pale. Thin enough to count each individual bone like on a medical exhibit.
You remember when you used to worry you're putting on too much weight.
Even your sheets smell of rot and sweat. You can't remember what fresh laundry smells like anymore. You reach your thin, weak hand to touch the blood you no doubt coughed up all over the pillow. You want to check how fresh it is. If it can be wiped away, still. The sheets were just changed yesterday. Or was it two days ago? You want to keep them clean as long as possible.
You hated having others bathe you like a child. You can't do anything on your own anymore. You'll even have to ask Isabeau to wipe your face.
With your eyes still closed, you slowly, unsteadily reach your hand up. You touch the pillow.
Your fingers are thin and cold like a cadaver's. You barely have the strength to move them. But you still feel the pillow under your fingertips.
You still felt the pillow under your fingertips.
You move your hand but can't feel anything underneath you. Not blood and not the fabric.
That's odd, but you wouldn't be surprised if your nerves have rotted away as well. You sigh before you realise it.
It doesn't hurt.
The sensation of air filling your lungs doesn't hurt.
The muscle between your ribs doesn't scream in protest as your chest expands. The feeling is so foreign it causes you to gasp.
You open your eyes. You breathe out. You don't cough. You don't wheeze.
It looks like a pleasant summer morning. It must still be early, the sun's rays illuminate your bedroom in such warm, cosy shades. The early morning light doesn't hurt your weary eyes. It doesn't warm you either, but nothing can anymore.
You look down on your pillow. It's messy and in its colorful shades it's difficult to tell what's a pattern that was already there and what's a pattern you coughed up. You raise your hand to try to feel for your blood again.
But again, you feel nothing. You frown.
You won't be able to feel Isabeau's face again before you die.
Yet another thing you lost.
You accept your fate and close your eyes again, hoping to drift off to the muffled conversation that began in another room. You can't tell what it's about, but just knowing they're here is enough comfort for you. And you just want to sleep a little longer. You don't want them to have to go out of their way to include you, you know looking at your gaunt face is upsetting. Especially to Bonnie.
A sudden low thud jolts you out of your attempted nap. You hear a commotion that follows and some more voices. Then steps walking away.
"I-Isabeau..?" You try to call out. Though your voice is weak and they probably won't be able to hear it. You don't have it in you to yell. Whispering hurts enough already.
But the sound doesn't feel like sandpaper on your throat this time. You brace yourself for the pain of it and clear your throat. The pain doesn't come.
"Isabeau?" You try again. Slightly louder. But the voices in the living room are now quiet, replaced instead with a distinct sizzle from your kitchen. Ah, breakfast then.
You relax slightly. You're suddenly glad they hadn't heard you. They should enjoy their breakfast in peace, since you won't be able to join them. You can't even sit, much less eat. But they'd try to include you anyway and make the whole thing worse for everyone.
You sigh again. The lack of pressure in your chest makes you want to do it constantly now, but you know you shouldn't push your luck. You're not getting better, you know that much. The blood will pool in there again soon enough.
Usually you'd be asleep again as soon as your eyes close, but now you just feel... awake. You can't feel the pit in your stomach, nor the wheeze in your lungs. But you know it's there. It has to be. There's no hope of getting better, this is temporary. You want to try getting up and get ready for the day, but you know you can't do that. Why is that happening? Second day in a row when you don't feel like a wet rag. It must be a coincidence.
You close your eyes tighter and surprise yourself with how much strength you can put into your eyelids. More than you can in your legs, that's for sure. You try your technique of listing off animals to fall asleep.
Another thud, sounds of shattered ceramic, crash loud enough to feel it in your molars.
Instinctively you perk up and raise your body up on your hands.
Raise your body up from the bed.
With your own arms.
"Isabeau!" You call again. Your voice is loud, surprisingly sure. Your throat doesn't hurt.
But the hurried steps don't come your way, of course they all make their way further from you and where you assume the crash must've been.
The realisation of what you just did catches up to you.
You look down at your hands, braced against the sheets that don't bend under your weight. That part makes sense, you guess. You must weigh as much as a feather.
No, what catches you off guard are your hands.
With actual meat on them, with your nails painted and manicured but still unmistakably strong underneath. They look like your fingers. Like your hands. Small but calloused and deceptively powerful. With fingers long but sturdy enough to hold up planks of woods.
You raise your hand to get a closer look. You don't collapse.
You try to sit up on the bed. And you succeed.
You didn't even have to think about it, come up with an entire strategy to do it with the help of two other people. You didn't even use your nightstand to pull yourself up.
You sit up. Your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. And they too have their muscles again. But that's impossible. You look down on your bed again, is there blood on your pillow? There must be, right? You didn't just...
You couldn't have looped back, couldn't you?
The wish you made together with Isa and Mira, did it... But why now? Did you come back in time to before you knew you were sick? Or did just your body get reset back?
You clench and unclench your fists on your lap. Your hands actually look like they can hold things again, and your lap with thighs that actually look like they could support your weight. Along with Isabeau's for that matter.
You shake your head. Your messy hair sticks to your forehead and undoubtedly in just about every other direction as well. That's fine. You huff out some air and send one of your strands flying.
It shouldn't surprise you that your thin, dirty hair is now fluffy and unruly as it was when you were still a person. But it does. You missed it.
Still, you need to see what broke and if anyone got hurt because of it.
With your palms digging into your mattress for support, you attempt to stand up on your own.
You do so.
There was no need to even support yourself on the bed. You move as lightly as if you weigh nothing. You don't feel dizzy from standing up abruptly. Even your knee isn't bothering you.
You take an experimental step towards the door. It brings you no trouble. You follow with the other leg and once again, it causes you no pain, you don't fall over, you don't even wobble.
You almost want to laugh.
But instead you take another step, less cautious this time, but just as you reach for the handle you hear a loud, clearly fake cough from somewhere behind you. You jump and whip your head back.
"You're not even going to say hello first?"
You stare at yourself.
Your own face, with features ever so slightly off in the wrong places. Your own body covered with that same cloak that followed you through time, sits with their legs criss crossed on the chair by the bed.
They smile and you notice they're missing a canine tooth.
"Loop."
It's not a question, because you know the answer. They might not have the starshine enveloping their head but you know. You know.
And your body feels colder than it did through any of your feverish nights. You looped back. You looped back. It's happening again. You looped back.
"You're... But-- How are you... here?" You shouldn't have stood up. You feel nauseous.
Loop tilts their head at you and raises an eyebrow. The expression and their mannerisms feel so familiar but look so wrong on your face. "Didn't you figure that out by now?" They ask, with that condescending smile you only saw through their eyes. It looks wrong with that crooked smirk you know you do.
You do. You do. You do. You do.
"I'm looping again." you whisper. Your broken voice is so quiet you're not sure they'd hear. But you can't say it any louder. You can't. It'll make it real.
Loop opens their mouth to say something with that annoying expression but their- your- face falls before they do. "You're- no, you're not looping, stardust." Their laugh is dry and humourless. Your shoulders are still tense.
You grow more tense when their face turns more serious. Sad almost, but the smile is still on their face. "You're dead, dumbass. Like for real this time."
Oh.
You're not sure how to react. You don't think you move at all.
"You died in your sleep a few hours ago, maybe?" Loop explains, moving their hand for emphasis. "I came to get you, since we don't have any actual family who'd do that."
You're dead. Like for real this time.
You don't feel dead. You feel very much alive. You feel yourself breathing, you just spoke, you...
You look down on the floor. The morning sun shines just outside, casting long and clearly defined shadows of everything in the room. Everything except for you and for Loop.
You raise your hand to your neck. You don't feel the contact. You don't feel the pulse.
You're dead. You've died. And you weren't even awake for it! Hah! Only you could sleep through your own death! You died so many times that you wouldn't even feel it! Of course!
You want to laugh, and this time you don't stop yourself. First a dry chuckle, then an unhinged giggle, finally you burst out in a full belly laugh. Loop joins you.
Of course you're dead! Stars, finally! Isabeau will finally have some rest! You're finally free!!!
You won't have to fight for every breath! You won't have to look at your family holding back tears at the sight of you! You won't ever throw up delicious food again! You won't even taste Bonnie's cooking! You won't hug Mira, you won't pull all nighters researching obscure libraries with Odile, you won't kiss Isabeau.
Because you're dead. You're dead and it's all over. You're dead even though you haven't finished your woodworking. You're dead even though you just decided to start a family. You're dead and you haven't said goodbye to any of them.
Because you're dead.
And you knew it was going to be this way.
There's more commotion from the living room. Sounds of silverware and a table being set. You're dead and your family is having breakfast in the other room. And you can't join. You think you smell crêpes. You feel sick.
You turn to look at the bed again. A bed where you died, apparently. You taste acid in the back of your throat. Even though you're dead. And that's not something dead people should be able to taste.
"Where's my body?" The question slips before you think it through. Is it already past your funeral? Did Isabeau notice you're dead? He must've, because your body isn't here. Did he bury you in the garden?
"Oh, some people came over and took it like half an hour after you died." Loop helpfully explains, in the corner of your vision you see them shift in the chair and move but you don't turn to meet their gaze. It looks too much like yours. "Your Fighter noticed almost right away, though, so you didn't have the time to soak the sheets with your death juices. He even tried to do that chest compression thing on you, can you believe that!?"
You raise your hand to your chest. You can almost convince yourself you feel your sternum ache after being compressed. Why would he do that? For what? To be burdened by you longer? He knew there'd be no other way out of this. And it was ruining him, you could tell. He should be relieved. Why try to bring you back?
"They all saw you like that. Odile went to get some people - I don't know who they were - and they came to get your body and had a little baggie for it and everything." Loop continues, but you're not really hearing what they're saying. "And The Fighter was all 'Nooo don't take my shrivelled up husk of a spouse, nooo~!" They laugh, and you wince.
You wrap your arms around yourself. You don't feel any pressure to feel better. You're dead and they all saw you like that. Did Bonnie see you? You don't ask because you don't want to know the answer, you can only hope they didn't. You shouldn't have died in this way. They probably all had to wake up for it. Did you wake them up? Or was your wheezing too loud for them to sleep in the first place, and they only noticed because it was quiet and peaceful again?
You died and they all saw your dead, rotting corpse in the bedroom. You died and you didn't say goodbye. You died and Isabeau tried to keep you alive and you weren't even there. You died and you weren't even blinding there!!!
You haven't heard their last words to you! You haven't seen how they reacted! You weren't there to reassure them! You were supposed to tell Isabeau you love him before you go! But you slept right through it!!!
"Hey."
Loop is standing next to you. You didn't notice when they stood up or when they came closer, but the unnervingly similar and yet completely different version of yourself is standing next to you with their gloved hand outstretched towards you.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
You dare to look up at their face. Yours but not. They're trying to smile softly, but they're clearly out of practice. But you still smile in response. You don't feel like smiling, though - you ruined your own death by sleeping through the entire thing. Out of all your deaths, this is the one you just had to fumble completely.
"Where are we going to go?" You drop your eyes back to Loop's hand. It looks thinner than yours. You never thought about the concept of an afterlife, you just assumed you'd disappear and that would be the end of it. Return to the void like it was before you were born. "Am I going to turn into a star as well?"
Loop rolls their eyes, making your smile turn genuine for a second. "Why don't you find out? You're sentimental enough to like it there."
That sounds vague enough to make you worried.
You can still hear cutlery in the other room. The occasional conversation. Life carries on without you. Everyone is okay without you. You'll never have breakfast again. With them or otherwise. You're dead. Your life is over. You did everything you ever will. And there's nothing more you can do.
"I don't even get to say goodbye?"
Loop waves the hand they're offering you "Nope, you blew that chance." You wince slightly. Yeah, you really did. "But when one of them dies you might get to some get them."
That does not reassure you in the slightest. You don't want to think about it. About them... dying.
But you could still see them, couldn't you? One last time? See how they're doing, make sure everything is okay without you. You couldn't bear to see them in distress... You hope they're relieved. That their breakfast is joyful and their lives are long and happy. Even if you can't see it.
You keep looking at the closed bedroom door that separates you from the living world. Just a peek to check on them. On Isabeau. On Bonnie. There's so many things you wanted to say but never got around to it. You kept telling yourself you have to, but telling your spouse to not linger on you and to try to find another love and to start a family he always wanted is something reserved for the deathbed. Or it would be, had you not slept through it.
But you suppose it doesn't matter. He only knew you for a few short years, you trust that he'll be happy with someone else. Happier than he ever could with you.
"Stardust, my arm is getting numb."
You're dead. You're dead and you're never going to talk with them again. You're dead and you're not going back this time. It's over. You lost. You failed. There's nothing for you here anymore. It's all gone now. This is no longer your home, and they're no longer your family. That's it. You died and left nothing behind.
You reach for their hand. You hesitate and they let out an exaggerated sigh, making you smile slightly.
It's not okay. It's not fair. But you brace yourself and take their hand.
And your hand passes straight through theirs.
That doesn't seem right.
Loop groans loudly and wipes their face with the hand they've been offering you. Yeah, that's definitely not how it was supposed to go. "You had months to prepare and you still have unfinished business? Seriously, you had that much going on in your life?”