#tw: suicide note

[letterstonone]

Throwback to the time I lost my suicide note in middle school and was worried someone would read it and started writing everything on my google docs after that. I remember this rn bc I left my journal outside my class, and was worried someone would read it. That shit has some incriminating stuff. Ah the memories.

[the-day-after-i-killed-myself]

Dear whoever found this note,

...

By the time you're reading this, my brain is splattered across the ground, I have a bullet in my head, and you came to my room to investigate for the class trial, or something like that. I'd pretend to be smart, but really, it's all a bunch of showmanship that I can't bear to keep up anymore. Don't worry, although I'm sure that you wouldn't, no one murdered me. I'm dead because I did this to myself. Yeah, that's right: this is a suicide note. You all must be thrilled, right? That's good. Glad to be a burden off your shoulders. I could tell from the get-go that none of you liked me in the slightest, and it really made me upset. I hate to be a burden to you guys, because I love you all. Truly. Even if I act like a bitch constantly, that was never how I actually felt. So I've decided that this would be best for us: me to be dead on the ground, probably rotting away in an unmarked morgue for eternity, as you all have a party full of games, food, fun, and laughter, to celebrate the wonderful occasion. This is for the best, so I can no longer make your lives anymore miserable than they already are. Now that I'm gone, everyone can finally focus on getting out of here together, and I won't be in the way for once. And that way, also, now that I'm dead, it increases the chances for the rest of you to survive. I don't want to be one of the remaining students. I would much rather it be one of you guys than me any day. I'm sorry, for everything. For being so unruly. That's the only way I really know how to communicate. But that's no excuse. I'm especially sorry to Shuichi and to Kaede. I wanted so badly to get close to you two, but I can tell you hated me with your whole being. So now I'm gone. I wish that me finally dying, although bringing myself much despair, will bring you all the hope you need to make it out of here. See you… someday. Enjoy the rest of your lives. I may not be able to do the same, so you'll have to do it for me, too. Not that you'd care about my final wishes, but I really do just want you to be happy. No more violence, no more death, no more incessant bloodshed. And finally, to whoever found this, show it to everyone else so you all can have the easiest class trial possible in this dumb Killing Game. Remember that I love you guys, and that I'm only doing this for your sake.

Well, that's it for me. I'm running out of space on the page, so I'll have to cut this short. My "journal" is filled with some journal entries but also some letters to you, individually. So don't feel like I've left you with nothing. All my findings on the Killing Game and the Mastermind are in there. I hope you find the strength to make it out and to defeat whoever put us here, but I can't win this fight. I'm sorry.

...

Sincerely,

Ouma Kokichi

[dykedvonte]

Curly not immediately punishing Jimmy for assaulting Anya is something I don’t think a lot of people are viewing in the complex context for Curly as the superior to both of them and closest confidante they had.

Like I am in no way saying he didn’t under react or fail Anya by not being harsh or direct with Jimmy but it really is the case that he really couldn’t. Imagine being stuck in such a confined space with very little areas to genuinely hold someone if they commit a crime. It’s not like this was an event that occurred before they departed or that they have easy communication with The Pony Express to ask for how to proceed when something like this arises. Not to mention, Jimmy’s relative power in relation to Anya as the co-pilot and second in command, he has the knowledge and access to do something to her had Curly directly punished him in this setting.

They were also Curly’s friends. It’s not just the case of him mediating something between his subordinates but people he is personally invested in don’t want to see spiral further in Anya’s case while also not wanting believe his friend go that bad in Jimmy’s actions. They were both suicidal and Curly putting Jimmy’s stability first is both out of bias but also the fact he’s aware at some level Jimmy is a danger to himself and others if not constantly placated. Combined with the fact he was in denial or just not piecing together what Anya said it’s hard to say what he buying time for and what he had treat as urgent. This isn’t even saying he doesn’t care about Anya but he’s not going jump to the worst conclusions about his friends even if part of him acknowledges the evidence saying so. It’s a complicated thing but he’s still human and needed to process it on top of trying to keep a ship that already took on a lot of water from further sinking, metaphorically.

I just personally think that while Curly failed Anya, it was a scenario where there wasn’t much he could do to the best thing by her safely and like Jimmy, we are underestimating what a good leader would do in a very fragile and tense situation like he was in. By the time he may have been ready and had a plan, things were much too late.

[justoneotherthing123]

Okay but like he's not working as a video essayist anymore though. He was trying to rebrand on tiktok and the "free advertising" the "Online Leftist Discourse Industrial Complex" gave him made him stop doing that. It's because people keep pointing out that he lied and scammed people that he's not currently lying and scamming people on youtube and tiktok.

On the hbomberguy subreddit there's a weekly thread talking about good youtubers that aren't as famous. It's a weekly thread that's trying to give attention to people with less clout in their community who do deserve that attention. They've been doing that for months. By contrast, they spent five months NOT talking about James Somerton until they found out that 1) he was trying to go back to tiktok, 2) also he was never sorry about plagiarism, and 3) he was absolutely manipulating people with that suicide note.

I know that some people out there consider all criticism a personal and hateful attack, but do you maybe think there's a reason why The Left™ chose to show that this specific guy had two alt accounts? Do you think they chose to show the tweets in which he goes "plagiarism and lies are no big deal, stop being angry about it," "if plagiarism and lies are a big deal then his cowriter did it," and "you people made him kill himself" for some reason? Do you think it may have something to do with him trying to rebrand on tiktok after he wrote a suicide note that made a bunch of people call the people who accused him of plagiarism and lying of being murderers?

[abnomi]

random assorted headcanons for Turbo because I like thinking and having fun !!!! 🎉

Read More to Find Out...or are you too scared?... i bet ur too scared ahaha youre too scared Lol! Hahaahaaa!!!

The steering wheel of his kart is covered in bite marks, similar to how one would bite their favorite pencil. he bites things to mark his territory because Nobody is gonna touch that unless they want all of his diseases (150+).

i just know he was fighting to restrain himself not to chew on any of the candy civilians

when it comes to music, he doesn't see the point of listening to it. he doesn't have enough patience to really take it in; to him, it's just a thing that exists and not much more than that ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ∵⁠ )⁠_⁠/⁠¯

adding onto that point, this guy listens to metal clanking sounds and loud engine roaring for entertainment because he likes things that would overstimulate any normal person. turbo is incredibly sensory-seeking and will do anything for The Sensations

someone should take him to a heavy rock concert i think it would change him a little. keep that thang on a leash

related to being sensory-seeking, i think he would absolutely love running his hands over random textures. if anyone has run their hands along a wall while walking alongside it...He does that...If u know u know... he is SO stimmy its unbelievable. Unreal.

very pain-tolerant. he'll whine and complain about it for attention, but physical hurt really doesnt bother him much until it gets in the way of what he wants to do.

funnily enough, he is very picky when it comes to temperature. he can handle getting ran over but if its 1° too hot or cold he'll start nagging and nagging for it to go back to normal. turbo really needs his own enclosure i think it'd do him a lot of good

this is a more popular headcanon and its canon-leaning, but he's an artist :-] he usually sticks to graffiti art because its generally considered more "rebellious and cool" but he also sketches cars, design decals, and other stuff when hes alone!

i would love to see his process of character designing king candy because i dont think he really knew what he was doing

he was just like "ok what does a generic king look like. uhhhhh.... 1, old and jolly like santa claus.... 2.... uhh crown..... 3......... purple.... FUCK YEAH im so good at this!!!!🔥🔥🔥"

i just noticed how his design has like 0 actual candy motifs aside from his bow being a candy wrapper and his shoes having those little gumdrop end pieces. what was he THINKING

while King Candy has a lisp, i think it's a coverup for his actual voice because of how goofy and recognizable it is. Overall its the same as his regular voice, he just gets silly with it. i noticed that he still does retain some of his lisp when hes screaming his lungs out at Vanellope, however, so maybe he genuinely does have a lisp that makes itself known when furious :3

another thing i noticed is how he hisses his S's. very cool very cool the reptilian

@/tasticturbo made a post abt how he has tinnitus from the constant noise in his game and i couldnt agree more

AND THE PRESCRIPTION GLASSES. where did he get those...he needs to See

side note, the aforementioned account has made so many interesting analyses on turbo and theyre all so insightful. i recommend u check them out

i think he gets migraines from stress. constant buzzing or pain flood his head but hes like "IDGAF i need to DO something at ALL TIMES no matter what"

hes like a shark in that way. if hes not moving he'll die instantly. idk a lot about sharks or if thats how it works srry but im going off of what the Worms are saying to me and i dont have much to work with

i think a really big contributer as to why he lacks in the self care department is because he fails to notice that something in his body is wrong. hes far too distracted on something he thinks is more important than remembering to Eat Food or Drink Water or Wash Himself or

he's like "WHY DO I FEEL LIKE SHIT ALL OF THE TIME!!! I HATE MY LIFE" and he hasn't slept in 4 days

hes so me. Sorry.

i dont think turbo is necessarily suicidal, but the way he behaves shows a clear disregard for his own safety and wellbeing. he thinks that he knows what he needs but he really doesnt :-[ i think he has some kind of immortality complex, feeling untouchable and like nothing could get to him. as scared as he was when ralph was about to turn him into sloppy mush, he didnt take the threat very seriously. like it was some kind of joke

his kart regenerates every time his game starts up, so what if he smashed it into buildings for fun. He's the number one fan of car accidents. he is all about that shit

i think his living space would literally be a garage btw. its a place to sleep and a space for his car all in one!! he thinks its very convenient and awesome but i think he is coping. he has some old dingy stained sheetless mattress that he has never washed in his life and its covered in dirt and smoke particles. no wonder he has such heavy eye bags Dude Please

the turbo twins have a garage used in a similar way, and while its still pretty shitty, they still at least TRY to maintain it. they just fight a lot over who has to care of it. nobody taught them how to take turns ever

but this aint about them. maybe another day

i think that turbo would find comfort in garbage and keeping it around because its familiar to him. a big clean empty space would make him so mad and if anyone moves even an inch of scrap off to the side he will throw a fit. he generally doesnt pay attention to his surroundings but when its his personal space he is 1093 times more neurotic

i think the big empty castle he stole wouldve been a big transition for him. maybe it helped him clear his mind a little more to practice his tricky schemes...it helped him get more subtle

thats all i have for nowww ty for reading ^_^ if anyone else has any wacky ideas pleeeease tell me i would love to hear them!!

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[hotwaterandmilk]

PEACEMAKER TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE Isekai Suicide Squad ✪ Episode 10

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Chosen: Part 3

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The Dark Lord's castle was under seige... but it it felt very far away. Most things did, these days. Cacophonous booms and terrible screams wrent the air, somewhere beyond the greeting chamber's walls. People were dying. Monsters were dying. I... I should care. D..Did I care? I could not remember anymore.

A warm hand continued to pet my head.

My Grandmaster sat upon his throne. Unamused. There were pests that would not die. They stood in our way, he said. I... I could not understand. Yes, Grandmaster. Of course, Grandmaster. (I was so far away, Grandmaster. My body did not feel real. Nor my own. Had I left? Why?)

The world shook. Again and again. An irritated inhale from above me. Grandmaster did not like wasteful, showy, displays of power. They were needless peacocking, he said. Yet... yet my Failure Master enjoyed them. Said magic was to be enjoyed. Meant to be shared. A gift.

But he was a Failure Master.

We do not need him.

.....my head hurt. Grandmaster was kind though. Loved me so very, very much. He stroked my hurting head, as I sat, pretty and leaning against him, at his feet. A good Grandlearner. Dressed in soft and beautiful robes. Dark as night. Red, red, RED as the blood of my me-!

My headache spiked. I winced. Pretty jewels tinkling softly as the thought slipped away. Or... at least... I THINK I was thinking a thought? Was I? Probably not. My head hurts.

It's easier not to think.

I turn my face, to tuck it against my Grandmaster's leg. The soft fabric of his leggings is, as always, cool and blissfully fresh against my face. It is a miracle the delicate, ornate accessories I wear don't catch on something. Like so many drops of blood. The thought tries so desperately to catch, but there is nothing to hold. My mind is mist.

A pleased noise, as my Grandmaster stokes my hair.

I am a Good Grandlearner.

The grand doors crashed open. A painfully loud noise that spears my aching head. The sounds of battle have slowly grown more and more distant. Running feet. They are here. The wretched Beloved. Here to end this little play. Why... why does it feel like hope? I hate them. I feel nothing. I miss one.

My... my head hurts.

"MASTER! It ENDS TO-!" Shouts a familiar voice. Once, it was family in this unfamiliar world. Or at least... I had hoped it would be. "....no. Learner. You... YOU MONSTER! Master, what have you DONE TO HER!?"

There is such horror in his voice. Such grief. As though I am already dead. Truely... truely he IS a Failure Master. That he would not even fight for me. That I would, only now, become relevant again. Master... oh my Master... am I nothing but a prop in your story? Motivation for you to fight on? You do not even see me... do you?

"Disgusting."

My Grandmaster has finally lost his patience. Rising to his feet. Not as my Master's Master. But as Alaric Blight, the Arch-Mage of Red, Dark Lord, and final boss of the game. With him, the cycle will begin again. But oh... OH. His wrath is a terrible thing.

The so called Heros have gathered behind my Failure Master. SHE is there. Short hair the color of sunlight, eyes like dawn. Her mere presence cuts through the mist that has swallowed my mind. Slowly, relentlessly, but enough. I can... can claw my way.. with bloody mental hands... to something like aware.

I wish I could laugh.

She looks so delicately horrified. A proper Protagonist facing "horrors". Ha ha... this? Oh, little Saint. This is nothing. They made you weak by shielding you. And now? Now we may all die for it. I... I hope your love story was worth it. Now die, so this can finally end.

The battle is pathetic. Not a single one of them worth even a fraction of the brave souls that once gave their lives for me. For their kingdom and countrymen. They flail and jump around like grasshoppers. Call out attacks like children trying to impress. But dispite it all... they have the very GODS on their side. And it holds an unfair advantage.

One that they ultimately? Waste.

Die. Like vermin. And I can not even be glad for it. Because I know they have learned nothing. WILL learn nothing. They will continue on to be selfish and spoiled forever. Favored children at the cost of us all.

But... they did free me. And for that? I can almost forgive them. Almost. The so called "assassin" dropped one of his blades. More like flung them everywhere. But it makes no difference. It is close enough. I do not watch as my Grandmaster gives his speech. Sneering down at the God's favorite brat. She offends him on a visceral level.

He plans to rip out her heart. Make me EAT it to steal some of her power.

If she is not dead, the cycle does not yet repeat. And he is more then powerful enough to keep her alive with out vital organs. But... but I know. I KNOW! He can not TRUELY bring back the dead. Only their meat, in shambling and mindless service. He is distracted. And I?

I Will Be Free.

The knife is sharp. So fine it barely hurts. But oh, oh it takes everything I am not to choke loud enough to be heard. He would turn. Stop my death. I... I can not allow that. It will take mere moments. After all, once and deep, right across the neck. Already I feel cold. My eyesight grey and limbs weak. The knife falls to my lap, the noise muffled by the ornate skirts.

He turns too late, a heart in his hand, to see I have defied him. Bidded my time. I am not weak. Not so easily kept and conquered, Dark Lord. I fought to defy you. I... defy.. y..ou... sti..ll....

And so the Cycle Ends. And So it Begins.

The Gods don't have all the Endings yet.

[theunwedbride]

Hello everyone.

Due to recent events I will be killing myself.

@vampirel00rd I loved you. You clearly didn’t love me.

@archerslittlefox I wish you well in life my friend

@fatedprinceofhearts treat Eva right and also go bash chaos and dante please and thank you.

@cindetella you were a nice wife

@meridianempress I wish we had more time. But I enjoyed planning your wedding

@crimsonsfavouritelover I’m sorry Julian. For everything. Your dress is in my workshop

@theauroravalor @princeapollothearcher go to hell

@iminyourwallschaosvalor bye ghost. Come visit me.

@crimsonsrosegold @rosegoldscrimson @thesailors-favouritelover @fatedprinces-favouritelover bye gays

@legendary-chaoss @chaotic-legend you guys are so much better than your straight counterparts.

@highking-cardan bye

@his-littlefox @faerievalerian sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding.

@legendarydante THIS IS ALL YOU FAULT YOU HOMEWRECKER

All my possessions are to go to Evangeline, tella and scarlett. Ghost can still live in the walls.

And also @the-heckler make dante and chaos’s lives hell would you?

[vorareromantic]

anyway i have some more proof for my "mello still would've killed himself if he lost to near" theory. special shoutout to @melloneah for giving me input while i talked my head off about this. ur a real one

first of all, this:

his "great and respected predecessor, the man whose actions were a strong influence on me personally." beyond birthday, the second child much like second place mello. the second child, the backup, the second choice who went off the deep end. he could never succeed, bound for failure. and of course, mello goes so far as to say he's trying not to base his analysis of beyond on his own experience. trying, but not succeeding. he takes influence from B because he understands and relates. he knows what it's like to be second best, to feel like a copy. and the "if this was how i felt, i shouldn't even need to say how bad it was before."

then, there's this:

the emphasis on beyond's failure and loss. but then, mello circles it BACK around to "my poor, poor predecessor," which has a strong undertone of mockery, given what we know about mello and how he views failure. and then he says that B must've "longed for death," and offers condolences for the humiliation that he experienced.

obviously, i can't bring up any of this without mentioning mello's introduction to the story where he knows he's going to die and has accepted that.

mello knows he is going to die because he knows his options are a victory by default if near dies or not beating near and surviving, which as i mentioned before, he implies to be embarrassing and not worthwhile. he studies these actions through beyond as he leads himself knowingly up to his death. but he knows what he's doing. that's why he takes off his helmet. he can't and won't live with the failure and shame. he studied where beyond went wrong in his own failsafe suicide attempt so that he wouldn't make it out alive and suffer the same shame and embarassment.

not to mention the phrasing. "died like a dog," according to merriam-webster, is used to describe a dishonorable or shameful death. he acknowledges that through beyond too, with the embarrassment of failing. he knows his own death will shameful, but he also hasn't died yet, which implies his choice in the matter. he chooses to die a shameful death because he believes it's better than feeling his own defeat. he compares himself to beyond repeatedly and admittedly takes inspiration from his actions all the way until the end.

he references the hardest part of killing someone in one of the paragraphs above, which is important because it's a callback to when he says this:

he acknowledges that killing is hard, and in the part where he makes this callback, he says that humans aren't designed to die easily. so he has to do something more extreme to not make beyond's mistakes. something that would keep him from the same embarrassment of surviving when he meant to die. perhaps even something that violates those natural laws of the universe-- oh, wait, wait.

interesting. very interesting.

i also must point out my own personal views on the labb murder cases book. firstly, i do not think it is canon in the sense that everything in it happened. i do think it is how mello personally views the events that unfolded, but despite his denial i do also think it is largely influenced by his own experiences and worldview. there would be no way for him or L to know the exact dialogue that occurred, or anything beyond the major plot points. a lot of it is left open for interpretation, and mello makes up his own dialogue and perspective. was B or misora really anything like how they were depicted in this story? who knows. most of it was made up. and given he expected near to be the first to read it and the only person to care or understand, i think he knew that near would know exactly what that book was.

mello knew he would die, was yet to die, seemed to know how he would die, foreshadowed it, recognized all of the risks of the notebook and yet continued to show his face, and then all of the connections of himself to beyond especially right before acknowledging his suicide attempt as a power move and the humiliation of surviving through failure. he never had any intention of making it out alive. his case study on beyond was truly an analysis on himself. the labb murder cases wasn't just a story or a fanfiction, it was a suicide note. one last insight into the complexities of mello's mind, and perhaps most importantly, he gets the last word.

edit: i also just realized the full title is "death note: another note the los angeles bb murder cases" but none of the other death note books are called "another note" because the rest of them are not notebooks or notes. but this is. mello says he doesn't want it to be a novel, but it's because it's intended to be a suicide note and that EVEN IF IT TURNS INTO A NOVEL it is always a suicide note first and foremost.

[fedtothenight]

americans love to approach any discourse, any news, any media, any relationship and incident through the american lens, and yet i haven’t seen anyone spell out a really obvious reality regarding the suicide of the italian call of duty cosplayer inquisitor ghost / vincent: at the end of the day, a white woman with a large following contributed to the hanging of a man of colour through the spreading of false sexual accusations.

[softpine]

rip my hair, tear my soul show me things i should not know

[transcript]

[wolfram-afternoons]

waxing & waning

[gearbit]

Additional Memory - Jin

Disappearing, rotting My true feelings melted In a story where proof that I lived is forbidden

[strixcattus]

Chapter V: Water/Steel

Everything is going to be okay.

History

(A note: This chapter contains descriptions of suicide/attempted suicide/suicidal ideation. It is relatively contained and should be possible to skip—the first comment on this post will explain how to avoid it)

At first Broken thinks everyone is just choosing to be quiet. Have they given up already? It’s about time for that. Now everything will go so much more easily.

But then the silence continues, and so does the stillness, and not even the Narrator is insisting they continue to struggle. That’s not normal. Someone’s supposed to be insisting they do something, even if they’re clearly suggesting the wrong thing.

They must have left him here alone. Abandoned him or something. Or maybe they’re all dead, and he’s the unlucky last one left. Both things are possible.

The cabin looks as though it’s been ripped apart, shredded wood sticking out at angles from every surface. The windowpanes sport gaping holes, looking almost more torn than smashed. The door hangs limply off one hinge, not that the doorway is still of a shape to fit it. Broken has to weave between curled and snapped planks to reach the threshold.

The blade is there, of course. But the table it’s resting on is tall and twisted, reaching far above his head. He could probably knock it off if he wanted, but what good would that do? He’s no good at fighting.

He’ll have to go down and see what the Princess wants from him. That’s always the fastest way out.

The stairs are pretty much the same as the rest of the cabin, each step looking as though it’s been violently torn away from the staircase and jammed back into place without any care for “positioning” or “useability.” He can feel the splinters poking into his feet as he undergoes the arduous task of stepping up to the edge of each stair and slowly lowering himself onto the next.

If he’s lucky, this Princess will feel like carrying him out of here once he gives her what she wants.

As though the thought of her was enough to summon it, her voice carries up the stairs. “Is someone here? Finally! I’ve been waiting down here forever!”

Broken freezes midway through climbing down a step and lets himself fall onto his face, curling into a ball where he lands. Maybe he should just lie here for the rest of time. It’d be a better fate than what this Princess has in mind for him.

He didn’t recognize the cabin. How could he? It looks completely different. It’s supposed to be made of shattered metal, slick enough that they can barely keep their footing, sending reflected light every which way. It’s not supposed to be shredded wood and there aren’t supposed to be glass windows, no matter how torn-up they look.

He’s not supposed to be alone, either. And he’s usually not supposed to wake up in the cabin directly.

But the Princess’s voice… that he does recognize. He knows who she is, which means he knows exactly how hopeless it would be to come face-to-face with her. He must have done something terrible to deserve being sent back here.

“Aren’t you going to rescue me?” the Razor asks, clearly growing bored with his silence. If he’s really unlucky, maybe she’ll decide to go looking for him before he even reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Aren’t you going to rescue the scared little Princess locked away in the basement?”

He tries to still his breathing as much as possible. Maybe he can convince her he was never here. If he just resigns himself to his fate, lying on a staircase with wooden spikes digging into his feathers until the end of the world, everything will be okay. He won’t have to face her again.

Everything is going to be okay if he just does nothing. Forever.

The silence is broken by the Razor’s voice once more. “Please?” she asks. She’s dropped that teasing edge to her voice. “I’m all alone down here.”

Everything is going to be okay if he stays on this staircase forever. Nothing can happen to him if he stays on this staircase forever.

He picks himself up and resumes the trek down the stairs.

The basement is different, too. Instead of the same sleek metal that the first floor should have been made of, its walls and floor are carved roughly out of stone, disappearing into the distance behind the Razor. The ceiling is not much different than the cabin walls, shattered planks passing just over the Razor’s head, a gutted window frame letting in light.

The Razor’s face shifts into an open-mouthed smile when she sees him. “Aw! I didn’t think you were going to be so tiny! Did the stairs give you trouble, little guy?”

Broken remains silent, pressing himself into a ball. He shouldn’t have come down here. He’s only about as tall as one of the steps, and she is so much faster even compared to the flighty one. Everything would have been okay if he’d just stayed out of sight forever, but now he’s here, and she’s going to kill him, and he’s never going to be able to get out in time. As though that would even be worth trying.

The Razor looks down at him, face falling. “You’re not going to say anything, little guy? Aren’t you down here to get me out of my chains?” Her voice plays at disappointment. It isn’t real. All she cares about is killing him, sooner or later, and he still hasn’t figured out which of those would be more merciful.

“You’re just going to stab me if I try,” he mumbles, eyes focused on the ground in front of the Razor’s feet rather than any part of her body. Maybe it’ll be less painful if he doesn’t see his death coming.

“Now why would I do that?” the Razor asks. “Why would an innocent Princess who’s never killed anyone in her lonely, lonely life go and stab the first person to show her any kindness just because he got a little close to her?”

Broken curls in on himself even further. “I don’t know. You’re the one who wants to stab me; you’d know.” If he keeps talking, eventually she’s going to stab him anyway. But maybe that’s better than being stabbed right away. Or maybe it’s worse.

“But I don’t want to stab you!” The Razor plops herself to the ground, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. “And even if I did want to stab you, which I don’t, look!” She holds up her hands. “Hands! With no knives! And there’s a whole other lack of knives in my sleeves! I mean, if you were to add up all the absences of knives I have, you’d come out to practically zero!”

Is that zero knives or zero absences of knives? Broken doesn’t say. Saying that would probably get him stabbed, and he still hasn’t decided if he wants to be stabbed as soon as possible or as late as possible.

He needs to make a little more time for himself to decide. “What would you even do if I let you out?”

The Razor hums questioningly. “Lots of things, I bet! The world is so so very big and this basement is so so very small and there are so so many things to do when you’re not chained up!”

“Like skewering people?”

“Maybe!” She claps her hands together. “I would have to try it out. Since I’ve never skewered anyone before, I’d need to do it at least once to find out how fun it is! But that’s not all! There are so many activities to do that don’t involve cutting people up with sharp objects! For instance I have always wanted to see a tree and maybe touch it. Also a bird, but since you’re here I guess I get to check that one off the list early!” She grins. Even from across the room, Broken can see her teeth are sharp, though they’re shorter than they were when he met her before.

He’s going to run out of questions sooner or later, and then she’s going to stab him. There’s no way she would let their standoff continue forever without getting tired of it eventually. Maybe it’d be better to get things over with so he knows when the end is coming, and then when he wakes back up he can stay in the cabin forever and never have to be skewered again. “Can you stop dragging this out? I know you’re going to stab me eventually.”

“Aw, weren’t we just over this?” the Razor asks. “I already told you, I would never impale the one who came to rescue me just because I was bored with him. And even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I don’t even have any knives! Look!” She holds up her hands again. “I’m completely unarmed!”

“That’s one way of putting it.” How much longer is this going to take? “Just get it over with and kill me.”

The Razor’s hands drop to her sides and her face falls. “It’s no fun if you ask me to kill you, you know. You’re supposed to be all surprised when I start chasing you around.”

“Does that mean you won’t kill me if I just lie here?” Broken risks craning his neck to get a proper look at the Razor.

Her face is contorted into thoughtfulness or mock-thoughtfulness, chained hand tapping at her chin. Then she sighs and drops her arm, and Broken allows himself to relax.

Then there’s the sound of slicing through meat, and he doesn’t even bother to look back up as the Razor comes storming towards him, blade-arm piercing directly through his body.

Again he wakes up directly in the cabin, and again it’s the twisted mass of planks it was at first. Everything is back to how it was the first time around. That isn’t how it usually goes, right?

Maybe this is the universe’s way of giving him a second chance to do what he should have done immediately. That being curl up in a corner of the cabin and wait for time to collapse.

The splinters of the boards are too rough for him to find a comfortable place to curl up between them, even at his size. It’s probably what he deserves for being too much of a coward to face the Princess again, but he doesn’t really care. Everything is going to be okay if he just lives in the floorboards forever. She can’t make him dead if he’s all the way up here.

He’ll just wait here. Alone. Forever. And neither he nor the Princess will get what they want, and everything will be okay.

She isn’t saying anything. She probably doesn’t know he’s alive again. That’s good. If she doesn’t say anything, he can pretend she isn’t there and he isn’t hiding from her.

Who decided he should end up here alone? She’s the only Princess who doesn’t want to end the cycle they’re stuck in. She’s the only one who would rather watch him die, again and again, than bring things to a close. Anyone else and he would have let her leave already, or she would have killed him once and they’d be done. But no. He’s going to be stuck in this cabin forever one way or another, and this is the less painful of his options.

Everything is going to be okay.

Is he the only one left, now? Normally someone else would have shown up when he died, but normally he wouldn’t be put in charge, and he wouldn’t be alone, and he wouldn’t be here in this cabin that’s sharp and wrong, and he wouldn’t be coming back to it twice, and he could just let someone else make the decisions, even if they weren’t the right ones.

But there’s no one else here. Maybe all the others have been locked up in cabins that are just as wrong as this one, and they’re all going to suffer alone forever. Or maybe all the rest of them are dead somehow, and he’s the last one left. Or maybe he’s just been condemned to his personal hell, and all the others are off enjoying themselves, having forgotten about him entirely.

He hopes it’s that last one. They can be happy without him and without the Princess. And he… probably deserves whatever this is, given he’s here.

Forever is a long time to wait.

Is the Princess also down there, waiting? Watching the doorway for any sign that he might be arriving? She almost never tried anything before they were on the stairway, always waiting for them to approach her. Would this one wait forever with him? Or would she try to break free once it became apparent he wasn’t coming down?

It shouldn’t matter until she actually does try to escape and cut him up. She hasn’t done so yet, so until and unless she does, Broken will just wait upstairs, and everything will be okay. He’s not going to be the one to cut his life short this time.

He tries to focus on the others. They’re probably somewhere much better than this cabin, and even if they aren’t, they’re resourceful enough to make it better, since it can’t be this cabin. The Razor is here, and she’s the only one who wouldn’t take giving up—or anything else—for an answer. Even if they are stuck with other Princesses, at least he’s the one who landed with the worst of the bunch.

They’re okay. They have to be; they’re them. And he’s going to be okay, too, as long as he doesn’t move.

It’s so quiet in the cabin. Shouldn’t something have happened by now, what with the bloodthirsty Princess in the basement? She can’t be content to stay silent forever, can she? Maybe he’s just making things worse, staying up here.

No. That can’t be right. If he stays up here, he can’t be cut into tiny pieces.

…Just a peek. He won’t even go more than a step down. Everything will be okay as long as he doesn’t get within the Princess’s line of sight. Then he’ll know if she’s mad at him or not, and if she isn’t, he can go back to waiting in the cabin forever.

If she is… he’s not sure what he’d do. What he could do. Begging for mercy has already proven not to work on her.

He climbs down to the second step.

There’s no sound from the basement except scraping. The Razor is down there—she just hasn’t noticed him yet.

He climbs down another step. Then another.

This one seems to catch the Razor’s attention. “Is there someone up there?” she asks, still not bothering to make her tone sound convincing. “That means you’re here to rescue me, right?”

Broken freezes, trying not to let himself be heard. She doesn’t sound mad, which means it’s probably safe to leave. Unless she notices him leaving and becomes mad, and then he won’t have a chance to beg for forgiveness.

Why did he think coming back down here was a good idea?

“I’ve been all alone down here for ages,” she continues. “It’s so lonely and scary being locked up in this basement, and no one has come to rescue me. But now you’re here! And we can leave!”

Her voice is clearly the same. How could he forget it? But she sounds… she sounds as though she doesn’t remember him. That isn’t how this usually works, is it? She’s supposed to remember killing him.

There’s a long silence before she speaks again, and this time her voice has dropped its edge. “There is someone up there, right? I’m not imagining things?”

He shouldn’t believe a word she says. This one is a liar. He’ll just climb back up the stairs, and wait in the cabin forever, and everything will be okay.

He begins to pull himself back up the stairs.

“Wait!” Oh, no. She’s heard him. “I’m not imagining things! You’re there! You’re coming to save me, right? You’re not going to leave me all alone in this basement?”

She’s lying. She sounded like this the last time, and she still killed him. But if he tries to leave now, she’ll probably come after him now that she knows he’s here.

Oh well. He was going to die anyway from the moment he thought it would be a good idea to check on the Razor. He may as well get it over with and go back to waiting forever in the cabin, like he should have done the first time around.

The Razor is waiting exactly where she was the first time, hands once again behind her back. Broken can’t tell if her arms have reset or if a blade is still sticking out of her flesh, but there isn’t any blood on the ground and the chain seems to rise up to her wrists.

Her face lights up on seeing him. “Aw, you’re tiny! I didn’t think you’d be tiny.” She crouches down, still far above Broken’s height, and extends her unchained hand, making a little beckoning gesture. So it’s not a blade anymore, then.

One more time. He’ll let her kill him one more time, and then he’ll be back in the cabin, and then he’ll never leave again, and then everything will be okay. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he’s inches away from the Razor’s hand.

She reaches forward and sinks her fingers into the feathers on the back of his head.

…And begins to stroke his back, mindful of the chain around his neck. What’s going on? She should have killed him, right? A flick of her wrist and there should be a blade through his skull. That’s what she wants. That’s what she always wants.

But no. She’s running normal, flesh fingers through his feathers. It almost feels nice.

“And you’re so fluffy!” she exclaims, moving to scratch just beneath his shackle. “I didn’t know you were going to be fluffy. It’s almost worth being locked up for so, so long in this basement, all on my own, not knowing if anyone was going to come to save me.”

Her grip tightens on Broken’s back, and against himself, he looks up to meet the Razor’s eyes.

They stare down at him, wide and glinting in the darkness of the basement, as she looms over him. Broken is entirely at her mercy here—even if he wanted to escape, her grip is too tight and his only escape route would be right into her lap.

“You’re not going to leave me alone down here again, are you?” she asks, face devoid of expression. She still isn’t blinking.

Broken holds her gaze for a moment, unable to look away, before his eyes sting and he’s forced to shut them and drop his head. The Razor returns to stroking his feathers.

He’s almost forgotten the way she looked at him and that her bones are made of metal when she pokes him. “Hey. Little guy. You talk, right? Don’t you have anything to say?”

He glances back up to see her mouth pressed into a thin line. “What would I say?” he asks. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Kill you?” She laughs, the sound barely registering for what it is. “Why would a poor, abandoned Princess want to kill anyone? Much less the first person she’s seen in ages and the only one who can get her out of her chains? Especially when he hasn’t done anything but lie on the floor since he got here? That would be boring.”

Boring? Killing him is… boring? Did he do something wrong? Should he try to be… more interesting to kill?

No. Why is he thinking like this? Dying hurts.

But it might be his only way back into the cabin where everything is okay and no one has any knives. Except for the blade on the table, but he can’t actually reach that, so it doesn’t count.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe the Princess likes killing.”

The Razor shifts, just out of his line of sight. “Now how would the Princess know she likes killing? She’s never killed anyone before. She’s never done anything before.”

Her voice is flatter than it was before. This is bad, maybe, by a certain measure. This is how she sounded when he hid on the stairs and left her alone in the basement. How she sounded when she stared him in the eyes and asked if he was going to abandon her.

She continues. “Maybe all the Princess wants is a chance to do something new.”

This might be his chance. “Maybe I could go upstairs and find the key for you?” If she lets him go, he can hide once he’s back in the cabin. Find somewhere relatively comfortable and stay there for eternity, and the Razor can stay in the basement for eternity, and everything will be okay.

No. What is he thinking? The Razor doesn’t need him to set her free. She could cut herself out of her chains any time she wanted to. The only reason she’s still down here is because she doesn’t want to—the only thing she wants is to keep him trapped down here with her.

“Okay!”

Broken jerks his head up, staring at the Razor’s face. He did hear her right, didn’t he? “What?”

“That sounds like a great idea! You go right back up the stairs and find the key, and then you can get me out of these chains and everything will be perfectly okay!” She grins. It looks more like a shark’s mouth than any human smile.

Broken tries to slip backwards out from under the Razor’s hand. She lets him. He takes a few more steps back, not yet ready to turn away from her. She lets him do that, too.

She’s not—she’s not gullible enough to believe that he’s being honest. Is she? And she’s not naive enough to believe there really is a key to her chains. Is she?

If she does decide to kill him, it’s not as though there’s anything he could do about it. And isn’t this what he wanted, anyway? A quick trip back to the cabin, where there are zero sharp objects and everything is okay, regardless of whether he gets there of his own efforts or of being impaled to death?

He turns around and dashes to the base of the stairs. The lowest step rises to around his head, but he can still clamber up, one step at a time, until he’s safe and out of the basement. He just has to grab the edge of the step and ignore the splinters as—

The sound of a blade slicing through meat comes from behind him. He should have known.

Before he can so much as reach the top of the first step, a white-hot pain enters somewhere around his spine. Everything goes dark, and he dies.

Again he wakes up directly in the cabin. It’s not even worth paying attention to its appearance anymore. He’s back in the cabin, and the Razor is still in the basement, and he has another chance to make sure everything gets to be okay.

It’s easier to find a place where he can ignore the jagged edges of the floorboards stabbing into him this time. He must be getting used to it.

The cabin is still silent. One would think the sound of the Razor scraping… something… (what could it be? Her blades were still hidden within her arms at that point) would carry past the threshold of the steps, but no sound makes its way into the cabin proper.

That’s probably a good thing. He doesn’t want to hear her trying to convince him she’ll let him out this time.

A few minutes, and he can almost imagine he’s comfortable enough to fall asleep. That’s good. Time will pass more quickly while he’s asleep, and he’ll have to pass through a lot of time if he wants to avoid being skewered again.

It’s a good thing he’s the one here. He’s the only one with the sense to know there is no hope to be found in this cabin. The others would all be convinced there was some way out that they could find if only they tried hard enough.

He’s the only one who ever accepted the truth. There is no way out of this cabin. Not from the moment anyone sets foot in it.

Time passes. He’s one second closer to eternity now. Now two. That wasn’t so bad. He can wait like this for a good while.

The others would probably be ashamed of him if they could see him. Let them be. He can handle a bit of shame if it means he doesn’t get killed again.

He can practically hear them.

“What are you, pathetic? Maybe if you tried fighting her, you’d actually be able to achieve something.”

“You can be faster than that. Stop letting her kill you on her first attempt.”

“It’s your fault she’s this powerful. You’re the one making her bigger.”

“Are you just going to lie there and accept that this is unfair? Stand up and do something for once!”

“This is a puzzle, and puzzles have a solution. You have to start thinking about this.”

“How could you be so callous as to hide in a corner and leave our beloved to fester alone in a basement… I balk at your cowardice.”

“You’re just going to accept being at the bottom of the food chain? This is why you’re the worst one of us.”

“Why are you putting so much stock in all of this? Even now you care too much.”

“If you’re really so intent on avoiding her, why don’t you just throw yourself out the window?”

Yeah. It’d be something like that.

They’re not wrong. In another world, in the worlds they’re meant for, they’d know better than him. Most of them would, at least. They know how to do things like fight and think and lie their way out of the situations where fighting and thinking and lying are the right things to do, and all he knows is how to give up.

But sometimes giving up is the right thing to do. And the one thing none of them understood is that this is one of those times.

It’s okay if he’s stuck in this cabin forever. As long as he doesn’t have to die again, everything is going to be okay.

Another voice, or the memory of a voice, drifts up from the back of his mind. “It’s not as hopeless as you think, you know? Everything has to come to an end sooner or later, but staying in this cabin forever isn’t going to get you any closer to it. There’s always something you can do.”

Wouldn’t it be nice. But that mindset is the one that locks them into this endless loop, each iteration only separate from the last in that it brings another voice, and their head becomes louder and louder until he can’t even tell what exists outside of it, and then…

And then nothing. There were so many of them he never managed to see past it all and find out what had happened, beyond that everything stopped somehow. It was like dying, but for real.

Maybe that’s the answer. As long as he faces the Razor, she will never let him leave. And as long as he is alive in this cabin, he will always have to accept the reminder that she is still right there. He’s already returned to her once. Who’s to say he won’t find himself going back to the basement again, unable to ignore her?

If he died, he’d be… dead. But he wouldn’t be in the cabin anymore. It would be just like looking into that mirror.

…Maybe it wouldn’t work. It probably wouldn’t work. But if it didn’t work, and he woke up in the cabin again, he could go right back to waiting for eternity to be over, like nothing ever happened.

The table towers over him, legs stretching far above his head. But he can see the blade hanging dangerously over its tilted edge. It looks as though all it needs is a nudge to send it crashing down to the ground.

He shakes the table, wincing as the sharp edges of its leg dig into what passes for his hands, and the blade does just that.

It looks much bigger now that he’s in his own body. His fingers can barely wrap around the hilt, even when he holds it in both hands. But it’s fine.

This isn��t the first time he’s done this. And this time, no one is there to attempt to stop him.

“Mate. This isn’t what I meant. You can find a solution without resorting to stabbing yourself. You’re not even solving anything here, you’re just—”

He plunges the blade into his chest.

It’s easier than he expected, for some reason. As though he’d been convinced his own imaginary version of the other voice would be able to wrestle the blade away from his vital organs again.

Blood falls out of him, and his strength fades. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to pull the blade back out. It’s okay. He’s going to die now, just like he planned.

Everything goes dark.

His eyes snap open to reveal the cabin again. The blade is still lodged in his chest, but he can feel it working its way out of him—no. It’s being pushed out, his organs reconstituting themselves behind it in a cycle of knitting themselves together and falling apart as they press against the edge of the blade.

Every part of him is fighting against the blade in a stalemate, seams coming undone as soon as they assert themselves. And he can feel all of it.

He gasps for air as soon as his lungs hold together for more than an instant, and that breath turns into a cough as the blood caught in them no longer has anywhere to go save his windpipe. The momentum jostles the blade, shredding more of him as it twists out, and then he’s free. He is free, and his stomach is free to knit itself back together, and the blade is lying on the floor, slicked red with his blood.

“Are you okay, mate?”

Of course he isn’t okay. He’s never going to be okay. He’s trapped in a cabin with a Princess who doesn’t care about setting either of them free, and he can’t even escape by killing himself.

What was he thinking, so sure he had the right idea? Of course he wasn’t any better than the others. Of course he wouldn’t be able to just avoid the Razor.

Maybe they did know more than him. Maybe they knew that, no matter what, the Razor would destroy them, over and over again, and there was no point in trying to convince themselves otherwise.

Fine. If he can’t even give up properly, he’ll do the only thing he can do, over and over, until death finally decides to stick.

He must still be distracted by his failure, somehow, because two steps down he lands on what has to be the only smooth part of the stairway and loses his footing, sending him crashing down into the next step, momentum only building as he tumbles down and down and down and is sent skidding out to sprawl on the ground, belly-up, several feet away from the base of the staircase.

The Razor’s eyes light up again, as though seeing him for the first time. “Aww! I didn’t know my rescuer was going to be so tiny and cute and adorable! Do you have a name, little guy?”

Broken doesn’t say anything. He’s in the basement, which is clearly the only place he’s allowed to be. The Razor is going to kill him again. He’s done his part, and all that’s left to do is wait until she does hers.

“Did you have a tough time on the stairs, little guy?” she asks. “They must have been really big for you, huh?”

He remains silent and supine. She continues to stare down at him.

“You do talk, right?” she asks, the edge slipping from her voice. “You do. You have to.”

The Razor takes a few steps towards him, until the clink of her chain signals she’s reached the end of her leash. If she wanted to, she could cut herself out in an instant, and then it would all be over again.

And then Broken would have to return here, again, because it’s still the only option he has left.

She looms over him from a distance, her face out of view. “You haven’t given up that easily, have you? Not when all you have to do is help me out of these chains?”

She’s trying to goad him into talking. Why? It’s not as though it’ll make him any easier to kill. She could slice him up any time she wanted.

“Don’t you want to leave?” she asks. “You must have something to do other than mope on the floor, right? Don’t you want to go back to wherever it is you came here from?”

Broken keeps his beak shut and his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but he still catches the Razor dropping into a sitting position, shifting backwards to allow for the chain. “I know! I bet you’ve been to all sorts of places, while I’ve been stuck in this basement! So why don’t I try to guess what’s outside, and you can tell me if I’m right!”

Something shifts at the edges of Broken’s vision, as though the Razor is putting her hand to her face. “Let’s see. There’s a sky, and a bunch of stars… aw, but that’s boring. I can already see those.” Her arm drops to the floor. “Maybe there’s trees out there? I bet there’s a whole forest. And birds, ‘cause it’s boring if there are trees with nothing living in them. And…”

Her posture changes, and Broken has to fight to keep himself from glancing up on instinct.

“There’s people out there, right? I bet there are! And I bet you’ve got friends out there, too, right? Little guy like you, you must have lots of friends! Don’t you want to see them again?”

She’s trying to get him to let his guard down by making him think there’s something he needs to have hope for. It’s clearly the whole point of this ‘game.’

She can save her breath. It wouldn’t have worked even if he hadn’t already given up.

“You do have friends, don’t you?” she needles. “Come on, the least you could do is tell me about them.”

Why would he do that? This isn’t even a good attempt at getting him to open up.

The Razor sighs and attempts to flop forward, her motion interrupted by the chain pulling taut. “Do you not want to see your friends again?” Her face is about level with Broken’s now. “Do you just not care about them?”

He—never said that. Where would she get that idea?

And besides, it’s the other way around.

She keeps staring at him, face resting on her pointed elbow as her other arm trails behind her, held up by the chain. None of this makes any sense. Why is she so focused on any friends he doesn’t have when she could just kill him and get it over with?

It’s probably the confusion that distracts him enough he forgets his decision not to speak. “It doesn’t matter.”

The Razor immediately perks up, pushing herself off the ground with the one arm she can stretch in front of her. “You do talk! I knew I could get something out of you.” She tilts her head almost sideways as Broken tries and fails to look anywhere but her eyes. “But why wouldn’t it matter, little guy? Don’t you think they’re worried about you out there?”

Why did he say that out loud? Now she’s just going to try to make him talk again instead of killing him and getting it over with. Unless… unless doing what she wants will get her to kill him faster? But that still doesn’t make any of this make sense…

“They wouldn’t care.” He’s not sure why he starts talking again. He’s not even sure what he’s doing here anymore, or what difference it would make if she killed him or if he lay on the floor forever or if he hid up in the cabin and never moved again. It would all be functionally the same in the end, no matter what he did. “They’re probably all back together already, so they wouldn’t care about me. It’s a good thing I’m the one stuck down here, really.”

The Razor continues to stare at him. “I like having you down here too, little guy. But I thought you didn’t like being stabbed?”

“It’s better if it’s me. The others are all too idealistic. They’d just keep trying and trying and refusing to accept that it’s better to just give up and do whatever she wants—” Broken freezes as the Razor’s face comes out of nowhere, eyes wide, as close as she can be with the chain still on her wrist. Did he say something wrong? What did he—

“Who’s ‘she?’”

Oh, he did say something wrong. Now he’ll have to explain everything with a murderous Princess barely a few feet away from his face. “...It’s not important.”

Her face rises out of view, and for a moment Broken can’t stop himself from thinking he’s managed to escape the worst. Maybe everything will turn out okay after all. Somehow. Or maybe she’ll kill him, and then… he’ll just go back to the cycle, maybe.

The Razor returns to her seated position, a bit more slack in the chain than last time. Broken could try making a run for it if he thought that would work—and it wouldn’t, even if he were tall enough to properly use the staircase. He probably wouldn’t even be able to right himself before she had the chance to skewer him.

For a moment, the basement is silent. It’s probably better than the alternative, whatever that could possibly be. If anything that could happen down here could be “better” than anything else.

“You’re selfish.”

Broken’s head twists to meet the Razor’s eyes. Her face looks… serious, maybe. At the very least she’s dropped her smile. When did that happen? A while ago? Just now?

And he’s not… selfish. He’s never wanted anything for himself. All he’s ever wanted is for the Princess to get what she wants, so that everything will go as smoothly as it can.

“You were talking about the Princess, weren’t you, little guy.” Her voice is completely flat. What did he do wrong? What did he do wrong? “You just want to do whatever she says, and you don’t care if everyone else disagrees, because you know better than them. They’re all tricking themselves into thinking there’s a way out that doesn’t require sacrifice, and you’re trying to help them by forcing them to make the sacrifice they’re trying to avoid. Isn’t that right?” Even the question at the end is barely a rise in tone.

She’s wrong. That’s not what he does at all. He’s trying to stop them from getting hurt, because it’s always less painful if you give in. Trying to resist just forces them to repeat the same paths again and again and again until they’re falling apart at the seams, completely broken, unable to keep resisting. It’s less painful if they don’t try to resist in the first place. He’s trying to help them. He’s trying to stop them from becoming like him, and they don’t see it.

The Razor’s face resolves into a wide-eyed expression. That’s… shock. He almost didn’t recognize the first genuine emotion she expressed after all those fake smiles and exaggerated pouts.

She’s also a lot closer. Did she cut herself free? No, the chain is still around her wrist, and if the slack has changed, it’s even greater than before.

He stepped closer. He stood up and stepped closer without even noticing. And… did he say all that out loud?

“…Woah.” It takes a moment before the Razor can rearrange her face into its usual smile and start speaking again. “And here I thought all the fight had been drained out of you before you even came down here, little guy.”

Broken slinks backwards, squeezing his beak shut. He shouldn’t have said that. He should not have said that. Now he’s going to have made everything so much more painful for himself.

The Razor doesn’t move—at least not yet. She will eventually. She’ll kill him eventually, and it won’t even matter, because she was always going to kill him, and he was always going to end up in a situation where she was going to kill him, and it doesn’t even matter what he says or does before he ends up killed.

Her eyes look almost like they’re glowing in the relative darkness of the basement as they stare down into him. She has him exactly where she wants him. For what, he doesn’t know anymore.

“Do you ever listen to them?”

Broken flinches, almost throwing himself back to the ground, before realizing the Razor still hasn’t moved. “What?”

“Do you ever listen to your friends?” the Razor asks again. “Do you ever pay attention to what they want, or are you the only one that matters?”

That’s not… They’re not… “I’m the only one who’s right.” He’s the only one who recognizes that they can’t win, ever. “And they don’t even listen to me.”

The Razor’s expression is still blank and stony. It’s not right. He liked it better when she still had that fake smile on and he could tell what was going on in her head. Now he doesn’t even know if she still wants to kill him.

He should have made himself more interesting to kill when he had the chance. Then everything would have gone so much more smoothly.

“Do you talk to them?”

…He does. Of course he does. But they don’t care enough to take him into account, and they just keep going and coming up with more plots that are doomed to fail. He can’t really tell if he’s saying this out loud. He may as well be.

He shrinks back and does his best to bury his head in his wings so he doesn’t have to keep seeing the Razor’s face out of the corners of his vision. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” The Razor places her free hand under his beak, gently nudging his hands away, and he stops fighting, though he still refuses to meet her eyes. “Done talking, huh?” Her fingers find the edges of the shackle around his neck and hook into it.

Broken experimentally tugs his head against the collar. The Razor has left him enough freedom to look around, but even though her grip is light, he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to.

For a moment, neither of them moves or speaks. The Razor is the one to break the silence, her face shifting back to its previous smile in an instant. “Oh well! I guess it really doesn’t matter, does it? After all…” She leans down, face looming over Broken. This is the part where he should struggle, probably.

“You’d have to get out of here first, wouldn’t you?”

Every muscle in Broken’s body shuts down. This is where she’s going to kill him. This is where he’s going to die.

Finally.

The Razor’s grip tightens on his collar as their eyes meet barely inches from one another. She could probably kill him just by flicking her wrist, and then he would wake up in the cabin again, and then everything would be—

“...Okay. I’m bored now.”

The grip on Broken’s collar releases, and the Razor sits back, regarding him with a relaxed posture and a still-fake smile. Is this a trick? Is she giving him a moment of uncertainty only to cut it short as soon as he begins to wonder if he’ll be allowed to live? Has he really failed at dying so badly that she can’t even bring herself to skewer him again?

Only one way to find out, probably.

Broken finds his footing on the cold floor of the cabin and looks up. “Are you going to kill me again?”

The Razor’s face splits into a grin. “Aw, little guy! If you ask so nicely, I have to, don’t I?”

There’s a flash of metal in his vision, and then there isn’t much of anything at all. Everything goes dark, and he dies.

Again he wakes up directly in the cabin. His heart is racing, and his breath catches on each inhale, and the blade is still lying on the ground in the corner of his vision, blood congealing and already halfway darkened to brown, but the metal of the floor is cool against his back, which is nice. It’s grounding.

The Razor is still in the basement. She’s waiting for him to go back, no doubt. She’s… She’s confusing, is what she is. One minute she’s stabbing him like she’s supposed to. The next, she’s ruffling his feathers and exclaiming about how cute he is. The next, she’s back to stabbing him and everything is normal again. The next… she’s trying to get him to talk about his feelings or something and… he doesn’t really know what to make of what happened last time.

…Maybe he should go see her again. Maybe it will give him some sort of insight into what’s going on.

And if it doesn’t, if she just kills him again and he learns nothing, then he’ll just wind up back where he started and go downstairs to let her kill him again. Everything will be perfectly… something.

A voice comes unbidden to the back of his mind. “You just want to do whatever she says… and they’re tricking themselves into thinking there’s a way out, is that right?”

That’s… well, maybe that is right. It’s only because there isn’t a way out. It’s pointless to even hope for one that doesn’t rely on the Princess letting them out. She’s… so powerful, and they’re so small and weak.

He’s even smaller and weaker, now that he’s on his own.

He presses his fingers into the seams between the door and the frame. It’s fortunate that the balance of the thing is such that it barely takes any encouragement to swing outward, or else he’d have no way back to the stairs. The doors always made way easily, even when the rest of the cabin seemed almost hostile. As though the one thing they were allowed to do painlessly was move closer to the Princess.

The stairs betray his balance even sooner than they did last time, but instead of tumbling from step to step, his face hits the ground and slides smoothly until he’s deposited on the polished floor of the basement. It doesn’t even hurt. That’s nice.

He brings himself to his feet and looks at the Razor again. She smiles down at him, head tilted. Is she going to pretend she doesn’t know who he is this time?

“Aw, did the little guy lose his footing on the stairs?” the Razor asks. Her voice is back to the upbeat, clearly-faked tone she had at the start. That’s good, probably. It means she might not try to do… whatever happened last time.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It usually didn’t, right?

“Looks like you don’t have a way out anymore, huh?” She tilts her head to the opposite side. “Not to imply you did before. You’re really tiny, you know that? It’s almost like those stairs were made for a completely different person!”

…So she is acknowledging what happened last time. That’s… not good, probably. It’s not normal, at least.

Maybe he can get some answers, though, if she’ll talk. And failing that… he can get her to stab him quickly. Maybe.

He takes in a deep breath. “What do you want from me?”

The Razor laughs. It still sounds far too metallic for a noise that supposedly comes from a human mouth. “Aw, little birdie really doesn’t change, does he? And he still doesn’t pay attention to people.”

What… what’s that supposed to mean? He pays attention to the things that should determine his chances of getting out painlessly. He pays attention to the Princess. But this one… all she’s done is stab him and ask confusing questions.

She said she was bored, last time. And… he’s pretty sure she said that before, too. As in, before before. Just before some of the times he met her for the first time.

But he already knew that. He already knows she wants something “interesting,” and that the “interesting” thing she wants is stabbing him. She wants him to be more fun to kill, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do that, and so they’re both stuck here.

Is there something else she wants? But how is he supposed to know that? And how is he supposed to give it to her, even if he manages to figure it out?

…He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to be stuck in this loop, in this cabin, with a Princess who just wants to skewer him again and again. But he is. He’s stuck here forever, and even if he tried to leave the Princess behind, he’d never be able to leave the cabin. He’s too small, and what pass for his hands are too useless to do much more than clumsily fumble a blade into his chest. Not to kill himself. Just to fail. He’d never be able to leave the cabin on his own.

At least he’s the only one stuck down here. The others couldn’t handle this. They don’t… they don’t deserve it. He’s the one who was broken from the start. It’s better, this way, where they don’t have to break, too.

It would be nice, to be able to convince himself there was some way out. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just be getting his hopes up in order to let them be crushed again.

The others would… they’d probably still be trying, even after dying this many times. It would take a while for them to realize there wasn’t any hope. And all that time, they’d be killed again and again and again, probably even more times than he was, going through so much pain, and for what?

…Is that it? Is that what the Razor wants? For him to keep trying? But how is he supposed to…

He can’t fight her. They fought her before, plenty of times. Sometimes they even managed to not die for a few minutes. But it never worked out, in the end. And even if it did, it’s not as though he could fight on his own. He’s too small, and even if he’d brought the blade, he wouldn’t be able to use it.

What was it that one voice said, whenever they tried to fight? “No more moping… we’re going to win?” Something like that. He was wrong, of course. He probably never realized he was wrong. He just kept hoping too much to see it.

Unlike Broken. Broken doesn’t hope for things. It’s pointless. It doesn’t get anywhere and it doesn’t change anything and he is not hoping for anything right now. He’s still thinking about this situation in a completely rational manner, and so he is not getting any “hopes” up, and he definitely doesn’t want anything he can’t have, and—

He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to not be here anymore.

The Razor hasn’t moved. Waiting for him to do something interesting, no doubt.

Fine, then. He’ll do something interesting. Might as well try listening to the others for once, if only to prove there really isn’t any way to win.

He looks up at the Razor, squeezing all the height he can out of his frame. It’s not much.

“Let me out.”

She doesn’t react, face still frozen in her fake grin. Did she not hear him? Is she ignoring him? …Did he not actually say it out loud?

“Let me out.”

He tries to put a little more force behind his words this time. It’s… not something he’s used to doing—no, that’s not exactly right. He’s raised his voice a little before, when the others destroyed their only chance of a painless escape.

It’s doing it to the Princess that’s a first.

And it isn’t even helping. She’s still standing there, not moving a muscle, not making any indication that she even hears him. What is he supposed to do to get her to pay attention to him? He’s not cut out for this. The others might have been dedicated to sabotaging their chance of escape at every turn, but at least they would have had the spine to—

They were… sabotaging their chances? They were keeping themselves trapped. But he’s not the one trapping himself here; he’s trying to get out. The only one standing between him and freedom this time is—

Is the Princess.

“Let me out!”

If he had even a slightly reasonable amount of height, he would have looked the Razor directly in the eyes. As it is, all he could manage was a pitiful hop in her direction, but—there it is. The slightest drop in her smile, the slightest widening of her eyes, the slightest crack in that mask—

“Let me out!” he repeats. A part of him can’t believe he’s actually yelling at anyone, let alone the Princess, but he can process that later, when he’s no longer trapped here. “Let me out,” he says, a little quieter this time. “Let me out. Let me out of this cabin right now.”

The Razor doesn’t move for a few moments, mask fully shattered. When she does regain her composure, her smile looks… different. It’s actually hitting her eyes.

“Aw, little guy,” she says, crouching down to approach his level. “That’s all you needed to say.”

Then she twists her arm in the shackle, and something happens that’s very red and that Broken wouldn’t really be able to follow even if he wanted to try, and she’s loose. She’s free.

And Broken is, once again, very small, and starting to forget why he thought it would be a good idea to yell at her.

He doesn’t have a way out. She might not have a way out, at this point. The stairs are a slide again, and the only way back into the cabin is for him to die, and he can’t even get the door open on his own (he could barely manage the one leading to the stairs, and that one wants to open), and—

The Razor scoops him up with her one remaining hand, fingers spread out to support his weight, then stands up, holding him steady, and raises him to her eye level.

“You’ve been here before.”

What? “You know that. You were there.”

She shakes her head. “Not that, silly! I mean when I don’t remember. You know me from before I knew you, don’t you?”

That’s… that’s ridiculous. Not that it happened, that is. Broken definitely has known the Razor for longer than she could even imagine. What’s ridiculous is that she could possibly have figured it out on her own. “No, I don’t.”

“You’re not very good at lying, are you?” The Razor isn’t blinking. Is that normal? Does she just not blink? “You’ve met other Princesses. How? You clearly can’t leave this cabin without help, or else you’d already be gone. And you have friends from somewhere, but they’re not here right now, are they? And you knew I wanted to kill you even before you came down those stairs. So you must have met me before I met you.”

…She’s right. He isn’t very good at lying.

His face must betray more than he thinks it does, because he doesn’t even have to confirm her before she says, “I thought so. So how does that work, little guy? Care to share?”

Maybe if he knew how it worked. “I don’t know. I never get to see it.” Because of the mirror. But that would take too long to explain, and he’s not even sure he understands it enough to explain it.

“Aw, really? That’s too bad.” The Razor pouts. “I guess we’ll just have to find out, then, huh?” She bounces him a little in her hand, as if testing his weight for something. And winks.

And then some form of momentum takes him, and he doesn’t have time to figure out what, exactly, it is, until it hits him. In the shoulder and the back of his head. “It” being the edge of the door he hadn’t been able to pry all the way open.

He spins, or something—the initial collision blacked out his vision for a moment, during which his eyes must have closed, and he has no intention of opening them again until this is all over—and comes to a stop at the base of a wall, and crumples to the floor. The metal is cold and soothing against his sore everything.

Then the screeching begins.

It’s the sound of metal against metal, colliding with and puncturing and scraping against itself, and it’s only getting closer. The symphony comes to a head with a bang that can only be adequately described as the sound one might expect from hitting a suspended piece of sheet metal with a lead pipe.

That doesn’t mark a reprieve, mind. If anything, it gets worse.

Something is sawing, and clearly doing a terrible job of it, and some piece of metal somewhere is tearing and bending and the noise is echoing through the entire cabin, folding in on itself, and there’s a snap that he doesn’t want to think about and another snap and—

And a clang that reverberates through the metal walls, and the metal floor, and into Broken’s bones and out again, only to collide against itself and retreat back into his insides, skittering away all the way to his eyeballs and back out, tearing past his stomach as it—

A hand finds him and lifts him away, and the noise only exists as a slowly-fading roar in his ears. He’s being moved. There are footsteps landing against metal, and—

He opens his eyes.

The sky is full of stars.

He’s seen this landscape before, but only briefly. A forest of metal spikes stick up from the ground, dense enough to confine all movement to a single narrow path, and even then they scrape in close enough to scratch at anyone who dared stray from the very center. It was probably for the best that that other one always tore them away and into the cabin before they could lose an eye (always running towards the Razor. Always so insistent on going back to her, even though it was always a losing battle. Why?).

“Aw, I was hoping there would be trees out here.” Broken hazards a glance up at the Razor’s face to see she’s pouting. He can’t tell if it’s honest or fake anymore. “Oh well! This is still so neat and there are so many things in this world there must be trees somewhere!”

She then taps at one of the spikes with her unoccupied hand—or, blade. It’s still a blade. The spike lets out an echoing ring, as though it’s hollow inside.

It makes a much louder ring when the Razor winds up her blade and strikes at it with, presumably, full force. It doesn’t yield. Not even a dent.

The Razor turns away and begins walking down the path without a word, curiosity apparently sated. She doesn’t seem to care much about the oppressive spikes beyond occasionally trailing her blade against them, the scraping sound it makes echoing through the woods and joining the whistling chorus of the wind threading through the spikes.

Broken isn’t sure how long they’ve walked for by the time they reach the river.

There’s a sort of thinning in the spikes as they approach the banks, providing enough space between them that one could slip through with minimal risk of losing an eye to their points. It’s probably safer than trying to ford the stream—the banks are smooth, sloped metal, and with the water splashing onto them it would probably be impossible to keep any sort of footing. The riverbed probably isn’t any different.

On the other side, the spikes begin to reappear, until all that’s left is another path, identical to the one leading to this point. Not as though they’d be able to reach it.

The Razor seems to be considering it, though, gaze fixed a little too earnestly on the other path, and Broken is reminded of how, somehow, she’d dragged herself to the top of that poor excuse for a staircase, and all the screeching that entailed.

It doesn’t seem he’ll have to repeat the experience, though, because a different sound interrupts them.

“Hey! There’s people over there!”

Broken’s field of vision shifts as the Razor turns to face whoever has a lax enough grip on their personal safety to come here on purpose. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, and the figure is still far away and obscured by the spikes, but once he has a grasp on their form it’s not hard to tell who they are, or at least what.

They’re another Princess. Probably not one he’s met, either, unless his memories are failing him like everything else. They raise a hand in greeting and begin rushing towards him and the Razor—

—and then stop, and look down at someone else by their side.

Broken can’t even begin to identify the other person. They’re short—though still tall enough to tower over him; there probably isn’t another person in the world who matches his height—and their figure is completely obscured by something roughly the same shade as the spikes. He can’t even tell if it’s their body or some kind of cloak.

The Princess crouches down as well as she can while avoiding the spikes, and has some sort of exchange with the other figure. Broken can’t hear what they’re saying—they’re still too far away for even the tone of their voices to carry above the whistling of the wind.

After a minute, she stands back up and resumes making her way towards them, the other figure trailing behind her with one hand gripping the skirt of her dress as though trying to drag her back.

Their forms come more sharply into view as they approach. The Princess looks generally human, with a voluminous dress swirling around her. The other figure is tugging only on its outermost layer. Broken can’t tell what sort of creature they are beneath the quilt they’re wrapped in—only a glinting pair of eyes are visible from its shadow, and, as they come close enough for details to become apparent, a pair of clawed feet and a beak.

Are they the same sort of creature as Broken? One of the other Voices? It would make sense that the others were already well out of their cabins by the time Broken managed to escape his, and they are with a Princess, so…

“I’m telling you, you need to stop before you get too close to her,” the shorter figure hisses as they approach close enough for their voice to carry even at such a low volume. “We did not escape that cabin only to be sliced to ribbons by the first person we meet.”

The Princess keeps her pace slow as she responds, but doesn’t stop moving closer. She ought to be listening to the short one—they sound as though they know what they’re talking about. “But she’s just standing there? It doesn’t look like she wants to kill us.”

“That’s her ploy.” The short one leans forward, tugging further on the Princess’s skirt. “She’s trying to get us to let our guard down.”

For a moment, the Princess falters. “She’s holding something in her arms, though?” she says. “I think it’s… a bird?”

The glint of the short one’s eyes shifts as though they’re squinting for a moment, before they falter, hand losing its grip on the Princess’s skirt. She stops at the sudden release and turns to look at them as they stammer, “That’s—no, that’s not a good sign, she probably used him to escape, we need to go—”

“Can’t we at least try talking to them first?” the Princess asks. She doesn’t wait for a response before straightening up and calling out, “Hey! Do you want to kill us?”

Broken can only stare at the apparent naïveté of this Princess as the one next to her begins to emit a noise similar to what one might expect from an attention-starved kettle. The Razor doesn’t move, either, for a moment.

Then she shifts Broken in her arm and says, “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll tell you?”

The other Princess puts a hand to her face as the short one continues squealing. “Hmm… what about if you tell me and then I come closer?”

“You drive a hard bargain!” The Razor leans forward. “Here’s my final offer: I come closer and then I tell you!”

For a moment, the other Princess keeps her gaze on the Razor, tilting her head to one side. The short one slowly begins to quiet.

“Okay! It’s a deal!”

The short one’s pitch reaches a height Broken could never have imagined possible for the briefest of moments, before they collapse into a coughing fit, forcing them to grab onto a nearby spike for support. The Princess spares a glance at them before returning to watch the Razor as she begins to step closer.

Her grip on Broken changes again, nestling him between her arm and the flat side of her blade. The other Princess watches this motion with curious eyes, not moving herself except to extend an arm in front of the short one.

The Razor stops not a foot away from her and leans in. She barely leans back. The short one is chanting something so hysterically it may as well be gibberish. Broken closes his eyes and retreats into himself. One of the arms supporting him pulls away.

“Boop!”

Broken cracks one eye open to see the Razor’s finger hovering just over the Princess’s nose, her blade arm now the only thing keeping him aloft. The Princess herself stares down at the finger before breaking into a grin.

The Razor seems to return the grin—Broken can’t quite tell from his peripheral vision—before leaning down to address the short one. “See, little guy? I don’t want to stab you! It would be so wasteful to cut you both open to find out what’s inside you when we’ve all only just met!”

The short one makes a noise that sounds very much like, “We’re dead.”

“Oh!” The Razor straightens up. “You guys all have names, right? I can’t keep calling both of you ‘little guy’ since then there’d be no way to tell you apart, and I can’t just call one of you that since you’re both so tiny and it wouldn’t be fair. So do you have other names, little guys?”

The other Princess answers immediately. “I’m the Damsel, and he’s—” She cuts off as the short one holds up a hand. “Hm?”

“Not yet,” the short one says. They are looking directly at Broken. “I want to hear what he has to say first.”

Broken blinks. They want him to speak first? What on earth could he possibly have to say?

It seems as though he’s not the only one confused by this. “Do you guys not know each other?” the Damsel asks. “Or… do you know each other?”

“Trust me, I know both of them better than I’d like,” the short one spits. “Allow me to introduce you to the Razor… and to the Voice of the Broken.” They say the title as though it possesses much more gravity than it actually does.

So they do know him. That… makes sense. It doesn’t mean that Broken actually recognizes them any more than he did earlier, but it does make sense, them being a Voice and all.

“Aw, so you guys do know each other?” The Razor lifts Broken by his collar. “Why didn’t you say so sooner, hmm? Broken? Brok? Little guy?”

Oh, great. Now he’s being perceived. And just when he had started to become comfortable as a little forgettable accessory to the Razor.

Besides, to say they know each other is a stretch. This one, whoever they might be, clearly knows Broken. Broken does not know them. They certainly seem to have taken away a less-than-favorable impression of him whencever they know him from, but that doesn’t exactly clue him into anything—everyone dislikes Broken, no matter who they are or what’s been happening around them.

The short one squints at him for a moment longer. “Nothing to say for yourself, then?”

Probably not, no, even if he did know what, exactly, the short one was mad at him about, but— “Could you at least tell me what I did to you first?”

The short one freezes at that, beak opening and closing as though trying to chew on words that won’t properly form. At last they say, “Do you… not know who I am?”

No. “Should I?”

A nervous giggle escapes the short one’s beak. “You don’t recognize me? You really don’t recognize me? It doesn’t, I don’t know, ring any bells to say that you stabbed us and then kept wailing on about the Apotheosis and how we should give in to her while the rest of us did our best to find some way to not be subsumed by her…” They wave their free hand around in what must be a way of indicating the Apotheosis’s radiance.

Well, that does clear things up somewhat. A little bit. At least, Broken definitely remembers being with two other people at that point. At least two. Possibly more but probably not.

“You’re. The heroic one?” he asks, and the short one sputters.

“Heroic? Heroic? Do I look heroic to you? If I were the heroic one, we wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t have—” They wave their hand around some more. “Heroic. Can’t even believe it.”

The Damsel glances down at them, smiling nervously. “Maybe you could tell him your name, then, so he can remember it this time? Maybe that would be the best thing to do here?”

They freeze up and drop their hand. “Yes. Right. I’ll just… sure, can’t hurt any more than everything that’s happened up to this point, right?” They look back at Broken. “The name is Paranoid. Don’t forget it this time.”

The Damsel smiles, more genuinely this time. “See how easy that was? Now we all know each other, so we can get along when we’re walking together, right?”

“...Right. Wait, walking together?” Paranoid startles. “You don’t really mean to imply that we—”

“I think that walking together would be a great idea!” the Razor interrupts before anyone else can speak on the subject. “It would be so nice to get to know other people and find out more about them!” She leans down, face-to-face with Paranoid. “And don’t worry, little guy, I can guarantee there will be almost no stabbing whatsoever when we’ve only just become friends!”

Paranoid says something far too quiet to make out—is he even saying words?—even when Broken is being cradled almost next to his face. The Razor pulls her hand away to pat him on the head before standing up, which only causes him to retreat further into his quilt.

“I’m glad you think we’re friends now, too!” the Damsel says. “It’s nice to know there are other people out there, right?” This last remark seems to be directed to Paranoid.

“Yes, it’s very… nice,” Paranoid says, eyes fixed on Broken—no, they’re not, actually; he’s probably staring at the Razor’s blade. That would make more sense.

As they begin to walk, Broken swears he can hear the Damsel whisper something else. “Don’t worry; I can protect you” or something like that.

Whatever helps them both sleep that night, assuming any of them survives that long.

But they’re alive now, and they’re walking together, and Broken is no longer trapped in that basement. And if Paranoid is out here, the others must be, too, and maybe they’ll still hate him, or maybe they won’t. And maybe the Razor will get bored and kill them all before they can even get to that point, or maybe she won’t.

And maybe they’ll turn out to be trapped in an only slightly larger cage than last time, or something equally horrible will happen. Or maybe they won’t. Maybe everything really will turn out to be okay.

Or maybe it won’t.