#Dollhouse: Behind The Broken Mirror

[twohitgames]

Tesura Games traerá juegos en físico de SOEDESCO

Soedesco y Tesura Games, acaban de anunciar un acuerdo de distribución en exclusiva para sus juegos en formato físico en nuestro país. Los amantes del formato físico para todas las plataformas están de enhorabuena con una gran variedad de géneros. Albatroz – PlayStation 5 y Xbox Series Utiliza tus habilidades de supervivencia para atravesar bellos pero desafiantes paisajes, que van desde…

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Dollhouse: Behind the Broken Mirror (PS5/XBXS/PC)

Enter the mind of a former singer that can't be glued back together.

[gebo4482]

DOLLHOUSE: Behind The Broken Mirror

Website / Steam

[theboywithburninghands]

Hey all. Last chapter of the latest Bunnyrabbitdoll arc... thing. Longest thing I've written by far. Light on the fluff, heavy on the horror and dark comedy. Hope you enjoy. T/W: Gore, body horror, guns, arachnophobia The Dollhouse Final Part: Kill All Monsters

Caine and Bubble are relaxing on a digital beach, both of them sporting sunglasses and matching towels. Caine is still in his full ringmaster outfit and Bubble can’t actually lay down, so he hovers an inch or two above his towel. Layla sits on their picnic basket, playing some beach music. Caine sips from an empty coconut shell through a crazy straw. Caine: BOY, THIS IS THE LIFE, ISN’T IT BUBBLE?

Bubble: I feel like a million deer, Caine! *eats a seashell*

Caine: A GUY COULD GET USED TO A LITTLE R&R! Bubble: Reading and writing? Caine: OH HO HO NO, YOU ABSOLUTE SIMPLETON! REST AND RELAXATION! IT’S HARD TO COME BY RUNNING A DIGITAL CIRCUS EVERY DAY FOR [error: not found: value] YEARS! THAT’S WHY I LET SOME OF MY SELF-REGULATING AI RUN ADVENTURES NOW AND THEN!

Bubble: You mean like me? 

Caine: RIGHT! WE’RE ONE BIG HAPPY FAMILY HERE, AND FAMILIES WORK TOGETHER! AND RELAX TOGETHER! 

Bubble looked around. They were the only ones on the beach for miles. 

Bubble: Hmm… Do you think the performers are okay?

Caine: I’D BET YOU A COMBO MEAL AT SPUDSY’S THAT THEY’RE HAVING THE TIME OF THEIR NON-ABSTRACTED LIVES RIGHT NOW! 

Bubble: Good enough for me, boss! *he pulls a sun mirror from Hammerspace and flips it open, setting it in front of him* Ahhhhhhhhhh…

Caine: WORKING ON YOUR TAN THERE, BUBBLE?

Bubble: Heating myself up! It’s fun to feel myself boil!

Caine: *laughs* Oh, you crack me up. 

—

Back in Crazy Caine’s House of Tricks, Pomni paced back and forth, tapping the hatchet she found on her palm. Ragatha sat in the corner, near Jax, but with enough distance between them so his stench isn’t unbearable. Jax himself drifts in and out of consciousness, delirious.

Jax: Hey… Hey Pompom. Pompoooom. 

Pomni: *sighs* What?

Jax: Wh-What is the scariest tree in the forest..?

Pomni: What? What kind of question-

Jax: Bam-BOO! *makes jazz hands and laughs so hard he coughs, followed by a groan of pain*

Pomni rolled her eyes and continued to pace. Ragatha gave a small, polite laugh at Jax’s terrible joke. Pomni: Where are the others..? They have to be in their own puzzle rooms, right? 

Ragatha: All three of us got one. Well, you skipped yours. Maybe we should try doing what you did and climb up the slide?

Jax: My foot hurts…

Ragatha: I know Jax, we’ll get it fixed soon, okay hun?

Pomni: We can’t. The doors locked behind us… *she jiggles the handle of the door Jax fled through to demonstrate*

Ragatha: You tried chopping it down with your ax?

Jax: Heeeere’s POMNI! *laughs himself into coughing again*

Pomni: I could try… but these seem pretty sturdy. I might break it. 

Ragatha: It’s worth a shot. Beats sitting in the dark and twiddling our thumbs. 

Pomni: I guess… Should I just… pick one?

Jax: Not my door… It’s still in there. 

Ragatha: Why don’t you do mine? You already killed that monster… 

Pomni: Okay. Pomni stood in front of Ragatha’s door, taking a deep breath and flexing her arms. She then readied her hatchet. 

Pomni: …Here we go. Pomni took a mighty swing at the door. With a brittle crunch, the wooden handle broke off, leaving the hatchet-head buried a few inches into the door for a moment before falling out and clanging to the floor. Jax burst into laughter for a third time. 

Ragatha: Oh no…

Pomni looked at the broken handle for a moment before balling her fists and hurling it against the wall, where it ricocheted and skittered across the floor. 

Ragatha: Pomni, I’m sorry. That was a terrible idea… 

Pomni: No-! No, it really wasn’t. It was a good idea, it just… didn’t work. 

Ragatha covered her face, Pomni ceasing her pacing and going over to her.

Pomni: Ragatha, I’m sorry, it really was a good idea, I didn’t mean to… 

Ragatha: No, it’s okay. It’s okay, I just… It’s horrible here, yeah, but it’s never this horrible… something has to be wrong… 

Pomni: What do you mean?

Ragatha: I mean… you saw what was after me… you saw what that monster did to Jax-

Jax appeared to be entertaining himself by seeing how many fingers he could stick through the wound in his foot. 

Ragatha: It’s not supposed to be like this… it’s bad but it’s not… not… 

Pomni: Not?

Ragatha: Not Rated M…

Pomni: Who cares? We’re alive. And when we get out of this place we can tell Caine exactly how we feel…

Ragatha: …I guess I’ve just gotten used to a specific kind of horror… 

Pomni hugged the ragdoll, who gratefully squeezed her back. It was a lot easier to hug her girlfriend with so many other anxieties tuning out her haphephobia. 

Pomni: We’ll get out of here. It’s just another stupid adventure, right? 

Jax: Hey… where’s my hug?

Pomni: You’ll get one after you’ve had a bath.

Jax: I won’t. You just think I’m ugly…

Pomni: No, I think you stink. Big difference.

Jax: …My foot really hurts. 

One of the doors flew open with a crash and Zooble stumbled out of it, clutching what appeared to be a double-barreled shotgun. 

Zooble: I SAID GET BACK, YOU UGLY SON OF A B!#€#! GET AWAY FROM ME!

Zooble snapped their shotgun closed just as a clawed, skinless humanoid hand the size of a car wrapped its fingers around the doorframe. A head, skin so tight around its face it more resembled a skull, crammed its way into the doorframe. It had eyes like pools of fog and a long, serpentine tongue, grinning hatefully

Zooble: Yeah. Keep smiling. 

Zooble aimed their gun at the creature and fired. The kickback from the weapon sent their torso and arms flying, their head twirling about in the air before landing on the floor and their legs blindly stumbling about. Luckily, they were dead-on with their shot and hit the ghoul creature square in the forehead, fog gushing out of the wound as it clamped its bony hand over it. Zooble’s arms and torso, sitting several feet away from their head, aimed the shotgun once again, using their claw as a mount, and fired. The kickback from this blast blew Zooble’s right arm off their body, but the buckshot found its mark in the ghoul’s jaw, severing it neatly from the rest of the skull, so that it swung back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. It shrieked and gushed a torrent of fog from its maw that appeared to freeze the ground below it, shoving its way back into the doorway, the door slamming shut and locking behind it. 

Zooble: F@&$in’ @$$#@!€… their right arm crawls its way back to their body, abandoning the empty gun on the floor. The right arm reaches their torso and their left reattaches it. Then, Zooble’s headless and legless torso pushes itself up so it balances on its hand and claw and ambles its way to their head. They put their head back on and rest a moment.

Jax: *points* Gun.

Zooble twisted their head around before relaxing at the sight of their fellow performers. 

Zooble: Sweet J£$&$, it’s just you guys… gimme a second. 

Zooble grabbed their wandering legs and hoisted themselves up onto them, twitching each foot to ensure proper connection before taking a few careful steps towards Pomni and the others. They stopped, cringing and covering where their nose might have been with their claw.

Zooble: God, it stinks in here… 

Pomni: Sorry. It’s Jax. His monster pretty much had him in Its mouth… 

Zooble: Ugh… *keeping their claw up* So… you three made it out. And you all ran into monsters too? 

Pomni: I sort of skipped mine by climbing back up the slide and forcing the trapdoor open… I had a weapon too, but it just broke. *she picks up the head of the hatchet*

Zooble: Really? D@##, that gun only had two shells. I looked all over that stupid lodge for supplies… 

Jax: Hodgepodge in a lodge… hee hee.

Zooble: What’s with him?

Ragatha: He got bitten by his monster too. I think it might have had something on Its teeth, ‘cause he’s been acting like that for a while. 

Jax: *watching his own hand move* My hands make after-hands.

Pomni: Are you alright though, Zooble? Ragatha was just telling me-

Zooble: Oh yeah, dandy. Peachy keen. Nothing like nearly getting frozen by a giant ice wraith to put a little skip in your step.

Ragatha: You were better than I was. Pomni had to kill my monster for me.

Zooble: …Pomni? Really?

Pomni: You don’t need to sound so shocked. 

Zooble: I mean, no offense, newbie, but you don’t give off “killer” energy. 

Jax: It’s because she loves her! 

Pomni blushed hot pink and Ragatha rather brusquely cleared her throat.

Ragatha: He’s uh, not in his right mind. I just got lucky that Pomni stumbled into my escape room… 

Zooble: So that leaves Gangle and Kinger unaccounted for. 

Ragatha: Right… 

Pomni: They have to be inside one of the doors we haven’t used yet. And since they can really hurt us, they might be in big trouble.

Zooble: So what do we do? 

Pomni: Well, there’s seven doors. One for each of us, and one that must lead out of here, or deeper into this place, God forbid…

Jax: That one. It’s different…

Jax pointed to a door on the opposite wall from where he was sitting. It was the only door on that wall, and it appeared to have three small, colored lights on it, no brighter than those on a Christmas tree. Pomni, Ragatha and Zooble all approached the door. There were six lightbulbs, two vertical rows of three, on a small panel. A fuschia, periwinkle and red light were illuminated, while the other three were dark. A small bronze plaque above the lights was barely readable in the soft red-violet glow. 

Pomni: “Should you give in to your pain,

In this house, you will remain.

‘Tis only after fear is slain

That you can go home again.”

Zooble pointed to each of the illuminated lights. 

Zooble: Pink for me, purple for Jax, red for Ragatha. 

Ragatha: So the other three are Kinger, Gangle-

Pomni: And me. I have to do mine…

Ragatha: But you skipped it… How are you going to get back in there, all the doors are locked… 

Pomni: Let’s worry about that in a bit. Gangle and Kinger haven’t beaten their rooms yet.

Ragatha: But the doors are locked.

Pomni: Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. 

Pomni picked up the empty shotgun and the blade of the broken hatchet. 

Pomni: See if any of the doors open for you. If they don’t, and they probably won’t, try to smash the handles off with the butt of this. *she hands Ragatha the gun* I don’t see a deadbolt, so it must just be a lock on the handle…

Zooble: What if you’re wrong? What if we get stuck in here? 

Pomni: Then I’m wrong, and we’re stuck. But we tried.

Pomni jiggled the handle on one of the doors they hadn’t tried yet. To no one’s surprise, it was locked, so she took the axehead and began to smash it down on the handle. Ragatha set to work on another one of the doors, testing the handle and then starting the process of bashing it off with the shotgun. Jax covered his ears at the sudden noise. 

What felt like ages of continuous bashing finally ended when Ragatha and Zooble succeeded in knocking off their door’s handle, with it clanging to the floor in several bent and twisted pieces. Ragatha pulled on the hole where the handle once was and the door opened with a crunch. 

Ragatha: Yes!

Zooble: I’ll be d@##ed. 

Pomni: Oh, good work guys! *puts down the axehead, panting with exertion* Okay, let’s go in and help…

Ragatha: Wait, what about Jax- oh.

Jax snorted in his sleep, kicking his uninjured foot and slumping a little further down the wall.

Pomni: Looks like he’ll be okay for a little while. *she smiles* I’m glad he could get at least a little rest… 

Zooble: You know, this is pretty much what he acts like even when he isn’t tripping on monster venom… 

The three of them chortled, but it died down quickly. They had work to do. Ragatha opened the door and they slipped inside, Zooble carrying the empty gun just in case.

They exited into what appeared to be a forest, the door attached to a brick wall, the only man made structure in the vicinity. It slammed shut behind them. The ivy-snared trees stretched high out of view, the suffocating canopy of leaves blocking just about all natural light. The grass was overgrown and clumpy, so tall that Pomni had to push it out of the way to keep it from getting in her mouth. Crickets and other insects chirred, and the entire area had the dense smell of wet moss. 

Zooble: Hmm. *they hold up their hand and claw, calling out* HEY GANGLE?! KINGER?! YOU OUT THERE?

In the distance, there was another shout. Too high pitched and delicate to be the echo of Zooble’s voice. 

Ragatha: Gangle! 

The three of them took off into the woods. Pomni could hardly see an inch in front of her due to the tall, knotted grass, and her foot soon snagged on a root and she fell forward.

Pomni: OOF! 

The jester swore to herself and began to pick herself up off the ground, only to squeak when a pair of hands wrapped about her midsection and hoisted her into the air. She was seated down on a pair of plush shoulders, a tangle of red curls and a purple bow between her legs.

Ragatha: *smiling up at her* Watch your head, okay? 

Ragatha continued running, Pomni leaning onto her head for support. The jester felt her face warm up despite the cool air rushing by her cheeks. This was much better… She had no idea Ragatha was that strong.

The group continued onward, following Gangle’s cries, until they came onto a clearing between two mighty trees. Strung between them was a spider web, woven with thick yet gossamer threads to be about the size of a California king bed. In the middle hung Gangle, her body a mess of knots and her lips quavering. She gasped upon seeing the three of them.

Gangle: Guys! You made it… please get me down, I don’t know when she’s coming back…

Zooble: Okay, hold still. Pomni, you’re the tallest right now, break the threads. 

Zooble handed Pomni the gun, and she stuck the barrels of it up towards one of the threads holding Gangle in place.

Gangle: Th-That thing isn’t loaded is it?!

Ragatha: Gangle, we wouldn’t do that to you- ow my neck.

Pomni: Sorry Ragatha… 

The canopy above them whispered ever so slightly, a few dead leaves drifting down upon them. Gangle looked up as best she could and gasped.

Gangle: She’s coming, please get me down, guys, please! 

Pomni hit one of the silk threads with the barrel of the gun, and it stuck fast. Pomni yanked on the stock of the weapon, but the threads stretched taut like bungee cords. A 12-foot long spindly black leg emerged from the treeline above them with slow, surgical precision, testing its grip on one of the parallel tree trunks before settling it down. 

Zooble: That’s a big-@$$ spider… 

Pushing through the leaves and branches emerged an arachnid, jet black and the size of a rhinoceros. A cluster of eight, milky white fish egg eyes sat on her almost disproportionately small head. Her pincers clicked together greedily as she climbed on eight light and nimble feet down to the web.

Gangle: Help me! Help me, please, help me! 

Ragatha: Pomni, get the gun unstuck!

Pomni: I’m really trying! It’s like steel wire!

Pomni was on her feet by this point, balancing on Ragatha’s shoulders and pulling on the shotgun as hard as she could. Her gloves slipped and she was sent flying backwards off of Ragatha’s shoulders, who had to rapidly spin her arms for balance. The shotgun remained stuck to the web, the spider advancing past it towards Gangle, frothy drool dribbling onto her mask. 

Gangle: NO! GO AWAY! 

Ragatha: Hold on Gangle! I’m coming! 

Ragatha, using her height to her advantage, crouched and jumped up, grabbing onto the shotgun with one hand. Her legs pinwheeled in the air. The enormous spider was jostled about as she prepared to sink her fangs into Gangle, stumbling and turning her ghostly eyes towards Ragatha. 

Pomni: *just now climbing to her feet# Ragatha wait, don’t get stuck! 

Ragatha: I’m not gonna get stuck, I-

The rag doll lifted up her other arm to grasp the shotgun, pulling the trigger by mistake. Instead of the expected click of the hammer striking an empty chamber, there was a deafening bang and a muzzle flash the size of a manhole cover. The gun fired, catapulting Ragatha back onto the grass and sending buckshot directly into the spider’s face, breaking a few threads of her web.

The arachnid’s head burst like a rotten melon, chunky, bright white slurry pouring from the stump that was left behind. Her legs twitched a few times before she tumbled off and hit the overgrown forest floor, her legs curling up. Stone dead.

Gangle: YOU SAID IT WASN’T LOADED!

Zooble: IT WASN’T LOADED! 

Gangle: *practically sobbing# YOU ALMOST SHOT ME!!!

Zooble: IT. WASN’T. LOADED! It’s a double-barreled shotgun! What, did another shell just APPEAR in the barrel?!

Pomni snapped the gun open after a few tries as Ragatha worked on getting Gangle down from the web. A spent shell casing, smoking hot, dropped onto the grass, along with a live one. 

Pomni: I guess it did just appear in the barrel… *puts the live round back into the gun and snaps it closed*

The gunshot had ripped through a few of the threads in the spider’s web, making it much easier to pull Gangle free now that a lot of the tautness was gone. Ragatha only had to reach up on her tiptoes to grab Gangle by one of her ribbons and yank her free. The pile of ribbons fell into Ragatha’s arms and promptly burst into tears, full-on spouts of water erupting from the eyeholes of her mask.

Zooble: Ah… Gangle, I’m sorry, we really didn’t know it was loaded…

Ragatha: Zooble used both shots on their own monster, we never reloaded it… it must replenish ammo on its own…

Gangle sniffled and sobbed a few more times before managing to calm herself down enough to speak. 

Gangle: I-I believe you… I was just… it was so scary… I was stuck up there for ages waiting for her to come back, I screamed and I screamed for help and I thought it was never gonna come… 

Pomni: …All of us are scared, Gangle. But once we find Kinger and I complete my challenge, it’ll be over.

Gangle: *wet sniffle* Challenge..?

Pomni: Yeah. All of us completed a puzzle room like this… well, I actually sort of skipped mine. Long story. Let’s just go back to the nexus…

Zooble: The what?

Pomni: The room with all the doors. It’s called a nexus I think. 

Ragatha: Very Metroidvania of you, Pomni. *she smiles, then looks down at Gangle, still a pile in her arms# Can you walk, Gangle?

Gangle: Um… I don’t know… 

Ragatha: Don’t sweat it. I’ll carry you to the nexus. You’re pretty light.

Gangle: …Thank you. 

The four of them walked back to the door. The chilly air and ambience of the forest was nearly soothing on the group’s inflamed nerves. Pomni pushed her way through the tall grass; it was manageable when she didn’t need to run full tilt, but a part of her wished she was back on Ragatha’s shoulders. 

Zooble: Let’s hope Jax hasn’t wandered off. 

Gangle: Jax is with you guys..? Is he okay?

Ragatha: He’s- Well… he’s hurt, but okay. He got bitten by his monster and we think it may have been venomous or something, because he’s acting really loopy.

Zooble: It’s kind of entertaining.

They reached the solitary brick wall. Zooble reached out to open the door, but someone pulled it open from the other side.

Zooble: Kinger..!

The eldest member of the group stood on the other side of the door, trembling more than usual. In his left hand he held a meat cleaver, stained with something blue. Flecks of the same blue substance stained his face, gloves and robe. 

Kinger: Glad to know you…

The four of them cautiously slipped by Kinger back into the Nexus. They were soon hit by the putrid smell of rotten corn and winced. Jax was exactly where they left him, sleeping like a rock. 

Gangle: It smells really bad in here…

Pomni: I know, it’s Jax… he got it probably the worst out of all of us. *she leans the shotgun against the wall# B-But what happened to you, Kinger? You killed your monster?

Kinger: Monster..? 

Pomni: Uh, yeah, in your escape room…?

Kinger: I… I remember books… 

Ragatha: Books? *she sets Gangle down*

Kinger: Books and- and black candles- and cheesecake… *puts his hands to the side of his head*

Zooble: Okay, okay Kinger. Sounds like you had a rough go of things… Just gonna… 

Zooble took the cleaver from Kinger’s hand with no resistance. 

Kinger: I need my pillows…

Ragatha: We’re going to get you your pillows as soon as we get out of here, okay? You saved us a whole lot of time by finishing your puzzle on your own.

Gangle: Hey…

Ragatha: No, I didn’t mean it lik-

Pomni tuned out the conversation to stare at one of the doors. It seemed to be drawing her towards it… almost whispering to her. 

Pomni: *Points to it* That’s my door. It was made for me.

Everyone stopped and looked at the door with Pomni. Jax blearily opened his eyes, curiously tilting his head at what everyone was looking at. 

Ragatha: Well… with all six of us, it shouldn’t be that hard to finish, right?

Zooble: More like five, since Jax is… indisposed.

Jax: Who are you calling in this clothes?! These are MY clothes!

Pomni went and picked up the shotgun, double checking the shells. One spent, one live. One shot. She sighed and snapped it closed. 

Pomni: Let’s get this over with… Zooble, you can probably use the cleaver to- HUUUUUAAAAAAHHHHH!

Pomni felt herself yanked backwards with enough force to give her whiplash. She rocketed towards her door, which swung itself open to swallow her up.

Ragatha: POMNI-!

Even if Ragatha had perfect timing, she couldn’t have caught up to her girlfriend in time. By the time she had taken three steps, the jester was across the threshold and the door slammed shut with a teeth-chattering bang, locking itself. 

——

Pomni awoke in darkness. Her head swam, and her upset equilibrium couldn’t tell if she was sitting up or hanging upside down. She felt around in the dark, her gloved hand grasping the shotgun laying beside her. So she was right side up, good start.

There was a clunk somewhere and she was blinded, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. A tinny buzz signaled that she was under some lights. She felt her pupils constrict painfully as she squinted at her surroundings. 

It was an office. An almost perfect imitation of symmetrical, focus-grouped blandness. The cheap carpet beneath her was an inoffensive green, the walls sterile, corporate white, and the drop ceiling above her lit with fluorescent, brain-itching lights. A few posters showing nonsensical cartoons sparsely decorated the walls. One had a man throwing a fish back into the lake he just caught it from with “Keep on The On Keeping On” overlaid over the sky in impact font, another showing an orange house cat looking up curiously at a T-Rex, with the quote “If at First You Don’t Succeed, Bite Off Your Tongue and Change Your Name to Xerxes” on the bottom, attributed to Buster Keaton.

There was a large table set up between the two rows of cubicles, empty bowls that may have contained chips or punch sitting on them, with a few cheap pink party hats and paper plates littering the floor. It wasn’t at all clear what the party was celebrating, the only clue being a lone greeting card laying on the table. Pomni brought along the shotgun and picked up the card. It was totally blank on the front apart from some words written in silver. 

Pomni: “To our new Employee.” *she flips it open* 

“The time for riddles has since passed,

For you are the very last.

We present to you a terror pure

That, by yourself, you must endure.”

One of the tiles on the drop ceiling was knocked loose, falling onto a desk and snapping in two. An arm emerged from the hole in the ceiling, a long, purple arm with a bright yellow glove on the end.

Pomni: Jax?

Another arm emerged from the ceiling, this one soft and plush, a hand with three fingers…

Voice: Pom… niiiiii…

Pomni: Oh my god…

A head emerged from the dark, or rather, two heads. Jax and Ragatha’s heads, squished together cheek-to-cheek and sloppily melted into one another like plastic. Their eyes were blank and staring, the middle eye fused together with Jax’s yellow sclera bleeding into Ragatha’s white, their mouth a single, grotesque combination of Jax’s yellow teeth and Ragatha’s sweet painted smile. Their entire body below the chest was a mass of squirming black flesh and multicolored eyes, exactly the same as Kaufmo’s was. Abstracted.

Creature: Pom…niiii….

It fell from the drop ceiling onto the floor, out of sight behind the cubicles. Pomni, her hands quaking, aimed at the cubicles with the shotgun, doing her best to look down the ironsights without dropping it. She only had one shot…

The creature rounded the corner slowly, dragging its combined weight on just its hands. The black abstracted goo stuck to the floor behind it and left a nauseating snail-trail. The creature mewled in agony.

Creature: Pom… ni…. It hurts… 

Pomni: …

The creature leapt forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun, pushing it out of the way and grabbing onto Pomni’s leg. A disgusting, earthworm-like tongue shot out of its mouth and wrapped around her leg as it whined piteously.

Creature: Pom… niiii… why didn’t you… save us… please… make it stop….

Pomni: Okay.

Pomni pressed the muzzle of the gun to the creature’s dual foreheads, and it barely had time to look confused before Pomni pulled the trigger and blasted off the top of its head. There was a squidgy explosion of black abstraction goo that rained down on the cheap green floors and into the food bowls. The amalgamated creature, the top of its head now a fine oily paste, slid to the ground off of Pomni’s leg. Pomni stepped back, looking up at the ceiling.

Pomni: …You wanted me to run, right? You wanted me to run away. I… I think I’m done with that. There’s no point in running, right? Because there’s no escape. Running only makes things worse, delays the inevitable. Well. Mission accomplished, I guess. You scared me. But I killed your little monster. So… I’d like to get back to my nightmare now.

She dropped the gun on the floor and opened the exit door, closing it behind her politely.

——

Back on the digital beach, Caine and Bubble were still relaxing. A rift opened up a few feet away and the six performers tumbled out onto the sand. 

Jax: Caine! Bubble! My guuuuuuuys- *makes finger guns at them as he flops onto his back, starting to make a sand angel*

Caine: GADZOOKS! YOU ALL MADE IT OUT OF THERE! CONGRATULATIONS ON DEFEATING THE FIRST EVER PROCEDURALLY GENERATED ADVENTURE!

Caine snapped his fingers and the six of them were immediately clean. The hole in Jax’s foot knit closed and he sat up, blinking.

Jax: What the- Wh… where am I? Oh, man, why do I smell so bad… *covers his mouth and where his nose would be#

Layla hopped with joy and went over to Kinger, who caught her in his hands and pet her.

Kinger: Layla! So good to see you…

Pomni: Hold on. Procedurally generated?

Caine: THAT’S RIGHT, POMNI! USING OUR CLASSIFIED DEFINITELY LEGAL TECHNOLOGY, MY NEW AI PROBED YOUR BRAINS TO-

Pomni: You… left us in that h€!!hole… didn’t even bother to check on us… nearly let us die… and you didn’t even make it yourself. You spent… ALL OF TODAY just sitting on a BEACH?! 

Caine: …………Well, everyone deserves a break now and then-

With a howl of Barbarian rage, Pomni grabbed the meat cleaver from Zooble’s claw and took a swing at Caine.

Caine: WOAH! HEY NOW, TAKE IT EASY-

Pomni: I’M GONNA STAB YOU TO DEATH AND PLAY IN YOUR BLOOD!

Caine: I DON’T HAVE ANY BLOOD- *ducks another swipe* HEY, WAIT-

Pomni continued to chase Caine around the beach with the knife, the ringmaster pitifully trying to calm the madwoman down. The performers watched the chaos with some gratification. Bubble slid them a bucket of seashells.

Bubble: You guys want one? 

Everyone: No.

Bubble: More for me! *he downs the entire bucket in one go*

Caine: WATCH THE COAT! WATCH THE COAT-

[video-game-org]

فيديو يستعرض أسلوب اللعب في لععبة Dollhouse: Behind The Broken Mirror http://dlvr.it/THVy2b

[comicbuzzofficial]

Dollhouse: Behind The Broken Mirror - Gameplay Trailer

[crazygamecommunity]

Il gioco horror d'avventura in prima persona Dollhouse: Behind the Broken Mirror uscirà su PS5, Xbox Series e PC (Steam) il 28 Marzo, hanno annunciato SOEDESCO e gli sviluppatori Indigo Studios e Grindstone.

[fisheadz]

I’ve finished revising another chunk of my WIP In Sound Mind fic, so here it is! It might change a little by the time I actually post the fic, so there’s that. Big might though. Criticism is welcome, but be warned that I am baby. Hi, Virginia!

The room with the large television was lit up, so he went in. The smaller T.V’s on the shelves around it were on, all of them showing that same eye.

Walking a little further, the big screen suddenly clicked on with a burst of static. Desmond jolted back, but froze when he saw the figure on it. Virginia, as he remembered her from his flashbacks and spontaneous visions. She was distorted, and hiding her face from view, but it was her.

Hm. The mirror in the room behind him, the monster only noticing him when he looked. Maybe if he managed to turn all the screens to the woman on the television, it’ll show up and he could run it into the mirror. The other mirrors had had important items behind the otherwise indestructible glass, so hopefully this one was the same. Besides, it could get him one step closer to defeating the ghost.

Desmond got to work turning all the eyes to the girl. Every other one had her crumpling into herself, and Desmond felt bad, even though it wasn’t truly her.

With the last eye turned to the image of Virginia, the smaller screens began to flicker. A scream echoed through the room as the image jolted, hair falling upwards as she wailed. Then, the glass exploded, and the monster rose from the sparks and smoke in all its smoky, sharp, very angry glory.

With a shill cry the thing lunged, and Desmond made a mad dash for the mirror. Her gnarled claws grazed his back, lightly grazing his skin, and he just barely made it to the mirror before it could catch him. He ducked past it, and when it got close enough the glass surface shattered, sending it back into the floor as it shrieked.

The wooden frame spun a few times from the force, and on it, where the glass was, was another note from the Man, a sketch of the monsters tearful mask under the words.

“The world is better off without the broken.

They bring pain and they inflict their pain onto others.

Are you broken as well?”

That wasn’t true. Virginia wasn’t broken. She was hurting from something that happened to her in the past. Something had made her so scared and angry, she lashed out at everyone. She was healing though, he knew that much. But, what had changed? To turn her into that thing?

While there was nothing of actual value revealed by breaking the mirror, there was a room behind the T.V, blocked off by sparking electrical wires. Luckily, taking the fuse from its box solved that.

On the other side was a dollhouse, of all things. He left the door out to the store blocked by the plank; no point in exposing himself. There was a note from the manager about a crash leading them to use the toys department as storage, and a note written in pink crayon by the dollhouse.

A puzzle it seemed. Mother in the freezer, father in the loading bay, brother in storage, and the writer in the trash. Desmond has a feeling he knew just who said writer was, especially after seeing the tiny broken mirror on an upper level, the plastic floor stained with blood.

There was a blocked door across from the glass ones, and beside it was an old claw machine. Inside was a single stuffed bear, and getting closer he could see a key hung on the claw. Obviously the key was for something, even though he couldn’t quite see what kind of key it is through the glass. If only he had a coin….

Sighing, he resigned himself to dying here, in this twisted version of a poorly managed, haunted supermarket, and decided to go get a coin from the registers in the meantime.

[worthplaying]

'Dollhouse: Behind The Broken Mirror' Delayed Until February 2025

http://dlvr.it/TD70w4

[trailercheck]

DOLLHOUSE: Behind the Broken Mirror Official Story Trailer (2024) | HD

[mediamixs]

Dollhouse: Behind the Broken Mirror, a unique gaming experience

Dollhouse Behind the Broken Mirror is an intriguing video game that takes players on a journey through the eerie corridors of a haunted dollhouse hidden behind a shattered mirror. Developed by a small independent studio, the game combines elements of psychological horror, puzzle-solving, and exploration to deliver a unique gaming experience.

The storyline unfolds as players assume the role of a protagonist who stumbles upon an old, abandoned mansion during a stormy night. Seeking shelter from the rain, they unwittingly step into a world of darkness and mystery. As they venture deeper into the mansion, they discover a hidden passage leading to a forgotten room containing an ornate mirror, cracked and worn with age.

Upon closer inspection, the mirror reveals a sinister secret—a reflection not of the room, but of a hauntingly beautiful dollhouse nestled within a shadowy realm. Drawn by curiosity and the need to uncover the truth, the protagonist steps through the fractured glass and finds themselves transported into the twisted world of the dollhouse.

Inside, players encounter a series of dioramas, each depicting a different scene from the dollhouse's dark history. From a forsaken nursery overrun by malevolent toys to a dilapidated attic haunted by spectral echoes of the past, every room presents new challenges and dangers to overcome.

The gameplay revolves around exploration and puzzle-solving, as players must unravel the mysteries of the dollhouse and confront the entities that dwell within. They must piece together fragmented memories scattered throughout the dioramas, solving intricate puzzles and overcoming obstacles to progress further into the depths of the mansion.

However, the dollhouse is not without its own defenses. Malevolent spirits and sinister entities lurk in the shadows, waiting to ensnare unwary intruders. Players must tread carefully, using stealth and cunning to evade detection and outsmart their supernatural adversaries.

As the story unfolds, players uncover the tragic history of the mansion and the dark secrets hidden within its walls. Themes of loss, guilt, and redemption are woven throughout the narrative, adding depth and emotional resonance to the gameplay experience.

With its immersive atmosphere, captivating storyline, and challenging gameplay mechanics, Dollhouse Behind the Broken Mirror offers players a haunting journey into the heart of darkness. It's a game that will linger in the mind long after the final credits roll, leaving players haunted by its chilling tale of horror and despair.

[not-in-the-library]

This one’s a short one,,, after the cup incident at the club,,, Robbies doing her best to help Jess after the fact,,

1089 words, wlw, TW for mentions of biting, bruising, and a little bit of blood

Jess sat alone in the middle of her paper-lined room tracing the seams of her skirts with a finger. She raked her nails along the bulky black stitches as she stared off into space, purposefully pulling her vision in and out of focus, allowing the room to fade into a blur of pink. She had been here like this, trying to let her mind fall blank. We don’t dwell on things like this. She let the hum of the electric lights beyond her cardboard walls fill her head like thick oil, smoothing over her thoughts, not letting them float around in her skull. She sat, she breathed, she fussed. Sit. Breathe. Stay put, and just breathe. Breathe.

We don’t worry about teeth. No one would have let anything happen. They didn’t let anything happen. It’s fine. We’re safe.

She took a deep breath and held it there for as long as she could before she let her head fall limp on her exhale. She threw her hands to her face as she purposefully rubbed her makeup across her face and dragged her fingers down her cheeks in streaks. She opened her blackened eyes to the hand mirror propped against the wall. She snickered at herself as she pulled her bottom eyelids and let her eyes bug out. With a huff she pulled herself off her tassled cushion and looked at herself in the mirror. Her black dress fit her tightly with the turned edges pressing into her uncomfortably, being nothing more than scraps of lace pulled over her slip. The fabric wasn’t even close to heavy enough to hold a fold the way anyone would hope for so two threads ran up the sides to gather it. It was flattering enough, and easy to take off. She pulled it off over her head to stand in her white slip as she tossed the gown to the floor. She locked eyes with herself in the mirror as she sucked in a breath and pulled up her skirt over her right thigh.

Her fingers found the divots in her leg before her eyes made it there. The remnants of red welts printed deep into the caramel flesh had begun to blacken and yellow. She ran her soft hands over the grooves left in her skin and poked herself to gauge the pain. Not horrible. She turned and looked at the back of her right arm where she found matching marks. The teeth hadn’t broken the skin anywhere but she felt that he had taken a bite right out of her. Even if all of her was present as she stood in her reflection, she felt like something was stolen from her. She felt that she herself had been stolen, taken somewhere far far away. The visage in the mirror to her could barely be considered a ghost. She felt as lofty as a feather as she looked at herself, at her new marks.

A tentative knock on the far door shook her from her thoughts.

“ Hey Bells? I’ve uh, I got your bathwater.”

Robbie. She hastily limped over to the ribbon hanging from the wall and pulled it with all her weight as a bell outside the door jingled far away.

The latch clicked as the sound of heavy footfalls cut through the electric buzz of the lights while Robbie tentatively walked towards the box sat atop the table in the barren room. A single light hung above a cardboard box closed in by pink patterned curtains with an open top. The roof of the homemade dollhouse was a bit like a bigtop made of beads, with the exposed lightbulb having strings of beads running from it to the top edges of the cardboard walls. From the top of the left wall ran a long ribbon that went along the ceiling and out a hole drilled through the doorframe, connected to a bell on the other side. Boss said he didn’t want her to have to holler round the clock.

Robbie could just barely make out the tiny silhouette behind the curtains, freezing when she saw movement.

She gulped before she spoke, “Nancy said you like to keep your own soaps in your room but I grabbed some different ones anyway, I got some shavings here for ya- I think I have some different oils and stuff to-an-and I’ve got different kinds of hair wax, I know that that’s only for shows but Nancy told me that this new stuff is exactly what you needed, I don’t know about that but I do know that you don’t like to gunk up your comb-and oh- where should I put this?”

She stepped closer to the table, holding the bowl of water as she stopped short and splashed a bit on the floor. She winced as it hit the wood but kept her ears perked up for the tiny dancer’s reply.

Nothing.

“Bells?” Robbie set the bowl and soap shavings on the edge of the table as she tucked her jet black hair behind her ears. She reached gingerly for the pink curtain before Jess squeaked “Don’t! I’m- I’m indecent.”

“Sorry!” Robbie pulled her hand away and felt her ears ring as her face warmed. “Sorry, I just w-wasn’t sure if you were alright, I mean that was. Really something, tonight.” She swallowed before she started again.

“Are you alright Bells?”

Jess stayed quiet.

I’m alive, she thought to herself, nothings broken. But no. No, I'm not alright.

“I can leave you be, I know better than to keep you from your bath, and- and I’m sure you want time to unwind after all that, “ she started to turn when Jess reached from behind the curtains and grabbed the bouncer's finger.

“Don’t! You- You’re not keeping me from anything.” she whispered.

“Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?” Robbie began to crouch by the table, averting her eyes as she got low.

“Could you just. Stay with me for a while? Before I sleep?” She loosened her grip on Robbies pointer finger and noticed the red on her hands as she moved.

“I can do that,” the behemoth breathed. “I can do whatever you need.” Robbie sank all the way to the floor and flicked her eyes to the tiny fingers that tried to wrap around one of her own. She lay her bloodied hand flat on the table but let Jess hold the one digit. She could hear the faintest shuffling before she felt Jess place the end of her finger in her lap. Robbie shivered before she asked “What about your bath?”

Jess only said “We’ll see.”

[gebo4482]

DOLLHOUSE: Behind The Broken Mirror | GAMEPLAY TRAILER

Website / Steam

[fathercut]

          ABIGAIL  HOBBS  +  HER  MENTAL  HEALTH

      this  will  be  a  highly  triggering  post  including  eating  disorders  (  bulimia  to  be  exact  )  the  social  expectations  of  young  girls,  depression,  body  dysmorphia,  internalized  homophobia,  suicide  ideation,  cannibalism,  and  self  harm.  please  proceed  under  the  read  more  with  CAUTION  if  these  things  trigger  you  at  all.  NOTE:  these  topics  are  not   to  be  glorified,  they  are  ugly  and  are  hard  to  battle,  and  i  want  everybody  to  know  this  is  coming  from  a  genuine  place  and  somebody  who  greatly  knows  the  struggle  of  an  e.d  and  depression,  and  is  not  something  just  to  be  used  as  a  fun  quirk  for  their  character.

      —  unfortunately,  like  a  lot  of  girls  her  age,  abigail  struggles  greatly  with  her  self  image.  especially  as  somebody  in  her  position,  though  abigail  doesn’t  want  to  compare  and  think  that  her  situation  is  worse  than  somebody  elses  —  her  father  had  always  held  abigail  on  such  a  high  pedestal,  that  she  was  something  to  be  obsessed  with  and  idolized,  that  abigail  felt  that  she  needed  to  be  PERFECT.  she  needed  to  be  thin,  she  needed  to  be  pretty,  she  needed  to  be  smart,  she  needed  to  have  a  perfect  personality,  she  needed  to  be  straight.  she  grew  up  as  a  teenager  on  the  internet,  with  beauty  standards  and  social  “ norms “ being  shoved  down  her  throat,  abigail  had  gradually  begun  to  try  and  fit  herself  into  these  expectations,  like  trying  to  squeeze  uncomfortably  into  a  dollhouse.  abby  began  skipping  meals  with  her  family,  and  when  her  father  would  tell  her  that  she  was  not  honouring  the  meat  he  had  put  down  for  them,  abigail  would  sit  across  her  parents  with  a  tight  lipped  smile  and  swallow  it  down  —  and  when  she  was  alone,  she’d  feel  nothing  but  pure  and  utter  GUILT  as  she  stuck  her  fingers  down  her  throat.  she  was  not  honouring  the  girls,  the  fawn’s  that  garett  jacob  hobbs  had  killed  in  her  likeness,  they  had  died  for  her  father’s  obsession  and  here  abigail  was,  making  herself  throw  it  all  up.  she  hated  herself  for  it.  tucked  deep  underneath  of  abigail  hobbs’  pillow  is  a  diary  that  she  keeps  strict  track  of  her  calorie  intake  in,  and  everything  she  had  consumed  within  the  day.  she  had  become  obsessed  with  her  weight,  no  matter  how  much  it  guilted  her.  she  wanted  to  change  everything  about  herself  because  1 )  she  wanted  to  be  perfect,  like  the  supermodels  she  saw  on  instagram,  to  be  perfect  like  her  father  told  her  she  was  &  2 )  because  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror  and  only  felt  guilt,  and  saw  herself  as  her  father’s  victims.  one  of  the  biggest  things  abigail  suffers  with  is  her  nose,  finding  it’s  crookedness  to  be  something  unsightly  and  ugly.  she  needed  a  little  button  nose,  to  be  a  tiny  porcelain  doll  for  people  to  adore.  she  has,  and  still  considers  getting  a  nose  job.  with  her  mental  health  in  such  a  fragile  state  following  nick  boyle’s  murder  death,  there  were  many  instances  where  abigail  fantasized  going  out  to  the  woods  behind  the  port  haven  facility  to  slit  her  throat,  to  die  the  death  was  MEANT  to,  in  the  place  where  it  had  all  began.  she  thought  about  it  almost  every  day.

      —  growing  up  in  the  midwest,  in  a  heavily  christian  home,  where  everytime  before  a  meal,  GRACE  would  be  said  ;  abigail  felt  like  she  HAD  to  be  attracted  to  boys,  that  her  only  purpose  was  to  marry  a  nice  man  and  squeeze  out  a  few  kids  —  and  when  she  realized  she  didn’t  want  any  of  that,  abigail  thought  herself  to  be  BROKEN.  when  her  friends  would  talk  about  the  boys  in  class,  about  who  was  the  cutest,  abby  simply  felt  nothing  about  it.  none  of  them  had  caught  her  eye,  but  there  were  countless  girls  in  her  class  that  abigail  had  experienced  heart  palpitations  simply  by  brushing  shoulders.  she  was  sick,  abigail  was  SURE  of  it.  she  was  disgusted  by  her  desire,  and  the  night  following  a  wet  dream  about  her  friend  had  left  abigail  appalled  and  bluntly  dropping  the  friendship  in  fear  of  her  feelings.  she  had  tried,  and  promptly  failed,  to  pray  it  all  away,  to  beg  god  for  his  forgiveness  in  her  desires,  that  she  would  never  act  upon  them,  she  promised.  not  only  did  se  grow  up  in  the  midwest,  she  grew  up  on  the  internet,  as  a  young  teenage  girl  while  her  brain  was  still  developing  was  more  than  damaging.  unreal  beauty  expectations  everywhere  she  looked  on  instagram,  twitter,  tumblr,  tiktok,  she  was  everything  they  were  NOT.  how  could  she  change  herself  ?  how  could  she  make  herself  fit  in  ?  abigail  adopted  so  many  personalities  from  the  internet  to  try  and  stay  relevant  and  funny  with  her  friends,  wanting  desperately  to  appeal  to  them.

      —  though  this  story  has  a  somewhat  happy  ending,  as  abigail  works  through  therapy  and  support  groups  in  port  haven,  they  are  not  only  helping  abigail  through  her  ptsd,  they  are  helping  her  with  her  self  image  and  worth.  she  can  keep  a  meal  down  with  minumum  guilt,  she  can  love  girls  freely  and  not  feel  like  something  hideous  for  it,  and  maybe  her  crooked  nose  is  a  little  charming.  she  can  look  in  the  mirror  for  longer  than  five  minutes  without  wanting  to  peel  her  flesh  back  like  some  rotting  thing.  it’s  baby  steps,  the  road  to  recovery  is  a  LONG  and  ugly  one,  but  abigail  hobbs  is  managing  the  best  she  can.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terra Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Sometimes, a ghost is a wish. | Word Count: 3,218

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 6

The Master’s bedroom is exactly as he left it many years ago. Bed made, dresser (now) dusty, curtains parted to let the sunlight in, walk-in closet neatly organized with not a single article of clothing in his hamper, as the Master was a fan of washing clothes every single day. Terra never found out why. 

Terra has rummaged through this drawer three times already and still he can’t find them. He’s looking for a stack of sepia-toned pictures, cradled in a small envelope, the ones on the top dated many years ago when the Master was a student, while the ones at the bottom chronicle some of his adult life when Terra and Aqua were children. He’s tried searching every drawer, every box, every cupboard, and has even looked under the mattress and in the pillow cases. He couldn’t have misremembered them, could he?

One of the things he’s surprised to find instead is a small, delicately furnished wooden box with a latch. Full of cigars. The Master never smoked, but maybe he liked to smell like them. Though Terra would never personally choose to keep a set in his dresser, smudging all his clothes. 

Sighing, Terra stands by the bed, taking another gander around the room to see if there’s a spot he could have missed. Maybe behind the mirror? No, not there. He slips his hands into his pockets, and finds something else. Folded over in four, the paper is crumpled, living in his pocket for the better part of a week. Naminé’s drawing of Xemnas is messier, the strokes of crayon meshed into each other that he’s less of a childish, crude figure and more of a smear. That ring of fire surrounding him stays closed. 

Terra grunts.

Here comes another headache, a tense pulse above his brow. Massaging it never helps. Suddenly, Terra is not in his Master’s old bedroom anymore. Suddenly, he’s standing high on a cliff overlooking a wasteland, talking to someone in a black cloak with the hood up. 

Now he’s back in the bedroom, the sun cutting shapes through the lace curtains with the breeze passing by. In a few minutes, the headache will go away. This is how it goes every single time.

Yes, it’s been a week since they left Radiant Garden. Only Ienzo uses the Gummiphone for contact, leaving long messages that take Terra too much time to reply back to. The rest of the team would prefer correspondence through letters, which is something Terra would rather do as well. He just hasn’t done so yet, focusing his attention on cleaning the castle as they start a new life without their old Master. Once that’s done, he promises himself to do so. 

It’s a shame, he knows he should make more of an effort (and promises that he would once he takes care of the Master). Xion sometimes texts him with pictures, some of them with Roxas, who still hasn’t made an effort to talk to him even though they played a good race at the beach (Terra didn’t even need to let him win—that kid is fast). That’s okay. Xion has offered to set Terra up with what she calls a Kingstagram account, and Terra supposes that’s okay, too. He just doesn’t know what that is or if it’s worth his time. 

In the end, he is still really bad at connecting with others, and he’s still out of pictures, and he still doesn’t know what to do with the Xemnas drawing. Any moment now, Aqua will come looking for him. They’re finally preparing for his memorial, to say goodbye to his Keyblade—

—And Terra has to say goodbye forever without ever seeing him again. What’s the point of staying linked to these memories if they do nothing for him? 

Why does looking at this drawing of Xemnas the only thing that gives him reminders?

Grunting, Terra rubs his face. Maybe it’s as good a time as any to text somebody now, distract himself so he calms down and do some good so he’s not completely isolated. He waits for his Gummiphone to turn on to the initial screen, the whirring of the machine the only noise accompanying him. How did Ven do this again? He clicks on his address book. Now he has to remember how to open a text and take a picture, particularly of the Xemnas drawing.

terra

did he ever call you an also-ran

Send.

Terra doesn’t expect Lea to answer right away. He probably will read the text, probably take the time he needs to register how he feels before painting his usual bright smile that he uses to play everyone. Maybe Terra has him all wrong. Maybe this is really offensive, and Lea would actually be upset. It’s not his intention.

The Gummiphone buzzes several times.

lea

see

i told isa the other day

the first time i saw you i thought you looked like an asshole

Terra snorts to himself quietly.

terra

is that your favorite word

lea

;3

So it’s all good. Terra breathes a sigh of relief, a smirk that’s warm on his cheeks. He doesn’t know if texting people randomly is the right way to go about doing this whole make-new-friends thing. It’s not as easy as walking up to somebody and saying hello anymore, but starting a new life doesn’t have a manual. 

As though the chains he linked through Xemnas harbor resentment, he’s hit with another spasm of pain, drilling onto the side of his skull. Stars, they get intense sometimes, some of them downright gorey. He will not think about it. He will push it away. The pain subsides but only a bit, throbbing instead. 

It can’t end like this. He’s avoided going back to Naminé ever since just to keep trying and see Eraqus, one more time. One more. It’s not much to ask for, so why can’t the stars be more forgiving? He swears to them he’ll never ask for something again. 

Terra groans, pain hammering over his brow. What’s coming this time is going to knock him around, so he lowers himself to his knees. Several people dressed in extravagant embroidery, from some other world, being swallowed up by darkness, their hearts floating up to the sky and a small cry of Mister, is my mommy coming back? 

When it’s over, Terra sobs, keeping a heave from rupturing his chest and wiping dry tears. If Aqua comes in and sees him like this, she’ll freak—she’s already brewed so many potions and teas for him whenever he has an episode. 

He tries for the closet again. The Master kept his most expensive robes wrapped in plastic, preserving a faded scent of cedar. Terra takes the fabric, smooth as silk, and breathes into it. It’s weaker than last time. He could always spray it with the Master’s leftover cologne (his favorite), but it still wouldn’t smell exactly like him, and as Terra waits seconds for another memory to come, he realizes as soon as it hurts that it wouldn’t bother with giving him what he’s looking for. All he asks for is the sound of the Master’s voice, to see that smile move one more time so he makes sure he sears it into his mind for the rest of his life. 

Instead, a strong voice (Xehanort’s) talks about the Darkness making way for the Light, just like the expansive sky that is home to the stars. It was necessary to pursue it, he had said to someone. 

A single tear treads all the way to Terra’s jawline. He’s tried his best. No photos, no special memory. It’s like the Master doesn’t linger here anymore.

Defeated, Terra pulls his Gummiphone out, searching for Naminé’s entry. He won’t commit to an appointment. He’s only asking questions, wondering if there are better ways to maneuver through the memories so he gets what he wants. She doesn’t answer right away. 

He pulls himself up at the foot of the bed, aching like an older man even though he looks twenty in the mirrors. What lies.

Where else to find mementos? Terra has already looked through the Master’s study and his favorite spots in the library. The only place left is the attic. 

The attic sits atop the northeast tower. Terra is in the residential wing, in the southeast tower, so he has to travel several paces downstairs to make it over, just to climb all the way back up. Entirely built of wood, the attic has one stained-glass window that slices pastels through the floorboards. A lot of junk gets dumped up here—old knight statues from a Master that lived eight-hundred years ago or so, faded paintings that have names but aren’t recognizable anymore, couches that are stained and out of style, chests of outdated books and maps, and trinkets and gifts that litter everywhere else. Even Aqua can’t bear to let any of this go despite that none of it truly belongs to anybody. To her, it’s like rejecting their history. The Master probably had felt the same.

Before what happened, Master Eraqus was moving items up here, mostly stacks of papers. They were shoved in a leather binder, tied together with string. It’s a long shot the photos will be with them, but regardless, Terra begins the hunt. 

It’s not in the chest of crystals. Not by the old (creepy) dollhouse. Not with any of the broken phonograms, nor with the folded rugs that stack from floor to ceiling. 

But it’s right there, sitting neatly by a basket full of gold artifacts from worlds Terra has never been to and engraved in languages he doesn’t know, tied with a red string and stitched in handmade leather. When Terra pulls it open, he’s greeted by a handful of letters written to Eraqus about trouble in other worlds, asking for his help, and a stack of essays about the philosophy of the Keyblade, both in the common-tongue and the ancient. 

It’s nothing like reliving memories or watching them like footage, but Terra imagines the Master working late into the night on his desk with a quill, writing these essays slowly so he keeps his impeccable script. He’d read books with a glass of wine every night, and keep at it in the morning with a mug of coffee, hair unbrushed as usual but that’s fine when he keeps it in a short ponytail every day. He’d disappear every week to some other world, leaving Terra and Aqua with a nanny until they were old enough to take care of themselves. Considering what these people are writing about—missing circus animals, their neighborhood mountain being possessed, and even an early report of Unversed showing up in the woods—the Master used to be a busy man. 

Why did he have to die that day? Why can’t Terra keep the things that are supposed to come with home?

Terra sniffs. The smell of cedar comes up, as though the cologne was sprayed up here recently. Kicked up with a cloud of dust, as though the Master is here.

I am… well, for a short time at least.

Terra whips over his shoulder to find the Master behind him, a glow beaming through him as he checks the rust spreading on one of the oldest sets of armor. Picking up dust, Master Eraqus rubs it between his fingers.

This sorely needs urgent attention. I recommend some solvent and a spot of oil, he says, smiling at Terra as if it’s any other morning and breakfast will be announced soon. So many histories live here.

“Master?” Terra drops the papers.

Eraqus tsks his disapproval and like muscle memory, Terra immediately gathers the papers together, working on automatic mode, tucking them under his arm as if this is class and he has to be on his best behavior. When the Master approaches, he makes no noise: no thuds to his steps, no wind whooshed by his robe, gliding gracefully across the floor. Terra bows... though he cannot fight the urge to stare up. Terra has forgotten about the scar; it was on the Master’s face,  every single day, but he’s never heard the story behind it. An elephant accident. A run-in with pirates. Those were the contradicting explanations he’s heard every time he asks.

The Master looks down, motioning with his hand to stand up. Look at you. Almost as tall as I am.

“You’re here.”

The Master smiles. This is the happiest Terra remembers him being; he must not feel his chronic back pains anymore. You have spent your whole week following me. He gives Terra a mischievous knowing in his eyes. I suppose it would be rude of me not to return the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” Terra gasps, mouth gaped open for all the words he prepared, but now that the moment is passing by, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He reaches out with a hand but stops himself, scared of what it would feel like to to pass right through the image. “I missed you.”

And I have missed you all so much, Eraqus says with contentment.

“I wish it never happened,” Terra chokes. “Sometimes, I wish I could find some way—”

Shhh. The Master shakes his head lovingly. Don’t. No longer shall you venture down the path of grief. You have already experienced first-hand what such curiosities could lead to. And you already know you don’t need to. 

“I know,” Terra whispers. “I know.”

When the Master smiles this time, he sighs and closes his eyes like he’s feeling the sun. I have reunited with so many of my old friends since. Such a peaceful existence. He opens them. Your friendships are something to cherish for as long as they can physically walk by your side, Terra. But who am I to lecture? You have always. Friends to love, who want to care for you. I am so proud.

So proud…

Tears, quiet and happy, fall like drops of spring, Terra hearing what he always yearned to hear since he was six years old, a comforting embrace that wants to tell him he can breathe again without feeling guilty. 

But he still does. Every living breath is guilty by association.

“She’s so happy now,” Terra whispers as if to justify his actions, remembering Aqua sparring for the first time with Rainfell in years, hesitant at first, unsure of how it’s going to react with spells, but it comes fast. It comes like drinking water, natural and needed. “I don’t regret anything.”

Which was why you were the perfect candidate when I had asked you to look after them. He smirks. I couldn’t have trusted anyone better for the responsibility. 

Terra swallows, searching for the courage not to ask, believing he shouldn’t. He’s weak. “I am?”

The smile falls. You are not weak. 

You are willing to bare it all for your friends. Your bonds with Aqua and Ven are unbreakable, a magical, special, living Light to behold. A forge stronger than chains, weightless and free. I am sorry for seeding so much doubt within you, when you have so much to offer. If only I wasn’t—it was my duty to do better. That is my shame. He shakes his head at himself. But you’ve been so dedicated to the past, Terra, he says, concerned but not disappointed. Too much so. I worry. 

Terra grimaces. “Ha, I never have any explanations for the dumb mistakes I make when I need to.”

You’ll find little answers in what lies behind you. The Master leans forward, pulling a small smile as he studies Terra’s eyes. But you are more than capable. Please do me the favor. Trace the past no longer. You have your bonds to nourish, and more to flower. Then he smiles more, an epiphany in his eyes like he wants to share a secret. Only in death did I realize what true Mastery really is. The living can be so foolish. 

“You weren’t a fool, Master.”

Master… A Master is a forever student. To deny this is to be blind to your faults. Eraqus laughs, his eyes rolling. What would I have said to my younger self. You don’t see that one in the books. 

“I don’t know, I… I think what I did for Aqua trumps any dream I had in becoming Master.”

Eraqus’s eyes glisten. Do you not see one when you look at yourself in the mirror? 

Terra bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, warm and real. Terra could hug him. But he doesn’t, not when Eraqus slips something flat in his hand. 

Do take care of them. He holds Terra’s jaw. Chin up, son.

Footsteps climb up the stairs leading into the attic, and Terra is alone with a smooth piece of paper in one hand, the other wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Terra? You okay? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Aqua is carrying a finished wreath with purple flowers. She stops when she gasps, looking around the attic. “That smells like the Master’s cologne,” she whispers.

When Terra smiles, he cries more. “Look at this.”

A sepia-toned picture of Eraqus as a young boy, sitting on a window seat with a chess board laid out in front of him, all teeth from ear to ear, sincere and hopeful. He looks at the camera like it’s his best friend. 

Aqua’s eyes light up as she takes it, a tear for each eye. “Look at him. It’s so strange, but he was adorable.”

“Have you ever seen that one?”

“Never. It wasn’t with the others.”

“The others?”

She strokes the photo with her thumb. “Hm. I moved them into my room. I wanted to frame them.” She holds it to her chest. “Can I take this one?”

“For your room?”

“I’ve got one ready for yours. It’s that nice portrait that used to embarrass him.”

The one where he looked serious enough to judge someone to death. The Master had called it unsightly when it was presented to him.

“That one’s perfect.”

Aqua exhales deeply, shivering as tries to keep herself tall. “I’m so sad he’s gone, and... I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I had given him a Wayfinder. He feels so far away.”

He holds her chin softly, keeping it up as her heavy tears fall. “We could give him ours.”

She stops sobbing and stares through Terra when the realization hits her. She nods. “That’s a wonderful idea,” she says, nuzzling the wreath closer to her, her own little hug for the Master. 

Terra’s Gummiphone buzzes in his pocket. That has to be Naminé. 

“The wreath is beautiful,” he tells Aqua, and that grounds her back to reality. “You’ve done a marvelous job.”

“Thank you.” She strokes some of the leaves to keep them in place. “I’ll see you back at the front door?”

“Definitely.”

He’ll let her go downstairs first, pulling out the Gummiphone to read his new text. He’s going to tell Naminé that he’s changed his mind. He’s ready for an appointment.