I was trying to write my cute fluffy Coffee Shop AU, but I am too melancholy today, and instead started writing an epistolary fic where Siffrin is writing diary entries.
I have yet to run across any epistolary fics in the ISAT tags. I have one from my other favorite fandom that I adore, so I thought I would try my hand at it.
It is surprisingly cathartic. I did not realize I had so many thoughts on Siffrin's relationship to memories, but at this point, I should know better.
It is short, though, for my AO3 and very experimental. So I will post it here to throw it into the void.
Dear fellow traveler underneath the sky.Ā
Today was another rough day. I am still stuck in bed waiting for Mirabelle and the doctors to let me out.
Luckily, they let me move to the clock tower instead of the Houseās infirmary.
They told me when I first woke up in the infirmary that I had panicked and run away as fast as my busted craft could take me. In the process, extending my recovery time.
I have no memory of this, and while I worry it is a sign that I will forget even more outside the loops, they reassure me that it is most likely a ātrauma responseā, whatever that means. Vaugardian can be so hard to understand at times.
I remember the loops. I remember they ended. Isabeau reminds me every time I wake up. This blinding tower does not help. Although I have the bed all to myself for my recovery. So it is slightly different.
During the loops, I was usually the last one awake at the clock tower. At least when I could still sleep. Later, I just stayed awake. Listening to my family party friends breathing alive and well before the horrors of the house. Reminding myself it was all worth it. They were there and as happy as they could be, before the end of the world.
I felt so righteous as if I was saving them, protecting them, when I was really just trapping them, freezing them in my perfect moment, a play just for me.Ā
I really was no different from the King, no matter what they say. He loved Vaugarde, so he trapped it in time. I know he was going to join it in the end once everything was frozen. How am I any different?
I know Odile, Mirabelle, and Isabeau all say I was trying to help them. I did it accidentally. It was only I who was trapped. They donāt remember and forgive me.
But how is that any different? Nobody the King froze remembered being frozen. All they remember is the moment just before it hit. And it was peaceful! I would know! I had been frozen so many, many blinding times! Sometimes just to take a break! No matter how twisted my dreams got from my broken, blinding brain!
Ah, I had to take a break just now. Isa noticed I was getting worked up and made me set this down for a bit.
I need to get this out of my head. I feel myself going in circles, driving myself even crazier! And that is impressive because I thought I was as crazy as a person could be!
Recovery from Craft Sickness is so slow and boring. At least I am so tired I can actually sleep. I donāt know the last time I was able to do that outside of the mentioned tear use.
Is it weird that I donāt dream?
I thought I would be waking up with nightmares all the time, but I can sleep for twelve hours. Apparently, it is nearly impossible to wake me up as well. Only waking at the smell of Bonbonās cooking. It worries everyone that I can sleep so long and deeply, but the doctors say it is a good sign and that I will heal faster the more I can sleep for now.
Not dreaming is weird, but I canāt say I missed it. The tear dreams were upsetting, and my normal dreams in the clock tower were just a dramatic reenactment of all the painful and stupid ways I died. Like a private show of my failures. I faintly remember having dreams before the loops of things I can never remember when waking, and if I try, all I get is a head-splitting migraine for my troubles.
So no, I donāt miss dreaming.
Instead, I close my eyes and blink and wake hours later to the same blasted ceiling.
I am so tired I donāt know or care to do anything else.
Siffrin, no middle or last name.
Siffrin sighs as they put down the pen and look at the first entry in their journal. Not on the first page, since that had felt too intimidating, leaving space for it to look like a blank book. Hiding the emotions they spilled across the pages.
Odile has suggested that they write it as if they were writing letters to a friend. It might help, but so far it has just felt awkward.
They donāt feel anything except the tug of exhaustion, and they let it pull them under once more.