Chapter Text
The party strides through the final hallways of the House, most faces adorned with hard-earned smiles after stopping the king from freezing the whole country in time - the only one not participating because of the sheer height of the House that never fails to paint a grimace upon her lips no matter how many times she’s been here. One of them in particular smiles the widest grin they haven’t had the strength to in ages, not only because of their victorious battle, but because it may very well be the last time he’ll ever have to fight it. And so, the script plays out as usual, with Siffrin in the front leading Madame Odile at a pace slow enough as to not tire her out, but also quick enough to hopefully catch up to Mirabelle after she excitedly ran far ahead to see the Head Housemaiden. He steels themself, the thought of having to face the Head Housemaiden again stirring something within him (it was probably fear, but at this point, shouldn’t they be used to that?), takes a deep breath in… and breathes out. SIffrin advances through that blinding door for what he hoped would be the final time.
The other dialogue carries on as is in the script, but Siffrin doesn’t let himself think about it as anything other than simple repetition, because, afterall, he hasn’t done anything particularly different this time around to influence their words! So!! This is the last time!!! And it isn’t just repeating over and over and over and over and over and over a nd o v er a n d o v e r a n d o ve r a n d o v e r a n d ov e r a n d o v e r a n d o v e r a n d . . .
No. He hasn’t spoken to Euphrasie yet. Until they do, they won't spiral. They are with their closest friends, with people who they can now call their family. That matters, and that is now, so he will not spiral. Not now. Siffrin realises that they hadn’t been properly listening to the conversation happening in front of them, having grown accustomed to nodding away while smiling, and listens carefully to take in each word of his surrounding speakers.
“--are still so stinking cute, Mirabelle!!!”, the Head Housemaiden chirps in response to Mira’s jumping in delight. In the same way as she always does, with a grateful expression on her face and her right hand over her heart, Euphrasie thanks the party. Siffrin smiles, because he really did do it this time, didn’t he? They all did, and this time, it stuck. They’re not going back… hopefully (but he isn’t going back, he won’t, he can’t, they have their family, isn’t this loop different enough to change them going back? he won’t be going back, he can’t he can’t he can’t - )
“If there’s anything the House of Dormont can do to thank you… Please do not hesitate. But for now… bask in the feeling of a job well done!!!” And with that, the conversation ends. Their family members scatter around the room into their respective spaces, and Siffrin goes around, speaking to each one and noting how different the conversations are, strengthening his hopes that maybe – just maybe! – they changed enough of the events to escape!! Maybe. He won’t hope, he isn't stupid enough for that, but they won’t go full-on doom and despair yet either. They are going to be neutral about this until they gain confirmation... or, he had planned to, but doesn’t the power of friendship saving the protagonist from their imprisonment sound like it’d make for a great ending to this seemingly never-ending play? Maybe, Siffrin did allow themself to hope, because this really is just a play he’s acting in, directed by the Universe forces they cannot understand. Maybe he isn't stupid, just human. Then again, idiots rarely self-identify themselves. Siffrin strides towards the Head Housemaiden, and starts the conversation with a giddy,
"Hello!!!"
“Travelling one! Are you done talking to your companions? Yes, wonderful, wonderful.” Siffrin didn’t even bother to continue acting, and allowed their smile to drop freely in a similar fashion to how the curtains would in juuuuust a few minutes. So much for the ever-dominating power of friendship hahahahahaha. How stupid that is, hoping. Hoping that something could help him – that they could help him. What, they hang out with their family a little more the day before and that’s supposed to be enough to get him out of here? There’s a reason he’s only seen that happen in fiction. Stupid. So, very, very s t u p i d . The Housemaiden before him continues to blabber on that all too-familiar speech of the end as Siffrin tries to cling onto something that isn’t hopelessness (to familiarity within repetition, to the fact that they can be here with his family forever, to something that isn’t the dread that's been building in his chest and waiting to burst out of their ribcage for all his loved ones to see). For just a moment, they consider something. That something happens to be the dagger that they didn't notice their muscle memory remembered to take, sharpened and ready to help him ready to just stop it stop it stop it s t op i t s t o p i t -
“Siffrin?”
There is a barely noticeable, almost… well, no, it isn’t a really peaceful pause, but it’s the closest thing to calm in such a situation. A gap in between Euphrasie’s sentences in the script, a moment of silence from Madame Odile as she quietly, carefully observes Siffrin and waits for a never-arriving response. The only sound Siffrin can hear is their own struggle to breathe due to both the sudden change in script and the air smelling so strongly of burnt sugar that they swear he can taste it as the air coils around his neck and tries to strangle him -
“...Something wrong?” Had she noticed what he was about to do? The dagger in his hand? Is that why she was calling out to them? No, no, no, that couldn’t be it, their hands are barely visible when underneath their cloak. Maybe it was just another one of the changes that came along with being closer to his family, and this line in the script would have been spoken regardless of whether or not he was about to cut his own throat open. Ah, what does it matter? This moment will be over soon enough, and they’ll just repeat everything all over again! They turn, despair too late to leave their face.
When he turns, Siffrin is met with an array of expressions from his family members, confusion and worry taking reign as they all get the dawning realisation that something isn’t right (of something being broken, something failing, rotting--) Madame Odile is the first to speak up.
“Siffrin. What is it? Is everything okay?” Mira opts to ask the Head Housemaiden what’s wrong, turning to the closest person she perceived as having authority in this situation. Unfortunately for her, nobody here has any authority, any control, so nobody can explain or lead or guide or break him out of here, only following. Siffrin’s senses start to get a little fuzzy, their hearing growing muffled as if they were eavesdropping on his family from another room, his surroundings becoming gradually blurrier as the edges of his vision grow lightless while the very air itself becomes sugar set aflame. Siffrin continues his white-knuckle grip on the dagger, surrendering the idea of suicide under this new spotlight, yet still fighting that gnawing need to somehow use it.
Their family begins to run after him, hands outreached but still so far away like their voices. As Siffrin spectates their loved ones sprint across the room towards them from a place not within their own body, he comes to a horrible conclusion that he knows to be the truth. They won’t make it in time. They’ll never make it in time. Not in this loop, or the next, or after that. In a moment of brain fog and desperation, Siffrin plunges their dagger into the ground, pleading to the Universe whatever powers above to just release him.
Their vision went dark, though not in that sudden way of dying horribly to return again in another time. No, this time his eyes disappeared in a gradually billowing cloud of dark smoke. Even in the state that he was in, Siffrin could tell that something was different.
Something was broken.