omg you should
it would be so sad, but so interesting
oooo here I'll write it now- you're right, it would be so interesting!
*I break into the prison where they hold my double. I know I shouldn't, but the curiosity is eating me alive, and I have to talk to her. I guess technically, she's the closest thing I have to a blood relative. that mysterious smile she gave me during the matches has been haunting me. what did it mean?*
*I walk up to the cell where they hold her, a magically reinforced glass box. silver, runic chains hand from her wrists, neck, and ankles. her neat turban is gone, her hair long and wild and overgrown with wisteria flowers the exact same as my own. her eyes are closed, as if she's resting, but she opens one curious eye to look at me; her face is covered in fine, glowing white cracks, as if whatever she did broke her to peices and she was put back together with iridescent glue.*
aconite: ah. my little copy. did you know, when I first learned of you, I wanted to kill you? I watched you for a long, long time, to see if you would be an obstacle.
*I recoil, but give an awkward laugh anyway*
uh. wow. well, I do get people trying to kill me a lot.
aconite: a trait we have in common, I see. no, I wanted to kill you because you are a threat, you know, however much you refuse to acknowledge that within yourself. I am you, from another life. I know how dangerous we can be, when we try.
*I shift uncomfortably, fidgeting*
I've sworn to never hurt anyone- I want to help people! I'm not you. I don't think my wounds should be inflicted on others. that is pain no one deserves. not even you, you realize?
*aconite idly plays with her chains, her eyes tracking my every movement like that of a huntress.*
aconite: you fancy yourself a weakling then? I've sensed your magic, those long months I spent stalking you. if you trained, you could be on my level. you have the strength- but not the will, it seems.
pain is not chosen, little me. it is dealt by the hand of fate. you choose what you do with it. it makes you grow, hardens your resolve; and it makes your enemies cower.
*I shake my head*
I was not raised that way, other me.
aconite: ah. so it was your toriel who shaped you to be so soft. and perhaps it was my onyx who broke me into this shape, this form, jagged and warped. it never fits anywhere, and it only cuts.
*i feel some sort of piteous understanding.*
I too am a shape that never fits. but mine only ever bleeds.
*she tilts her head curiously in the exact same way I do when I'm trying to figure something out. it's unnerving.*
aconite: so that is the face you show the world. you forgive endlessly. does the compassion you show others ever soothe you? I'd bet my soul it doesn't. it never heals. you and I, we never heal. we just keep bleeding.
we both seem to have a thing for masochism, little me. you run back to the people who hurt you, but away from revealing anything about your own soul. that mercy changes them. makes them kinder- but eats you alive.
the lies we tell, little me. you've gotten quite good at lying to yourself. one learns to recognize the like.
. . . . . . . . . I digress. perhaps I would have been kinder, if you had run to me.
*I bite my lip, looking her in the eyes*
why did you do all those things? everything- the death, the hurt, the madness you wrought?
aconite: because I could. because I wanted to. because I reveled in the chaos while it lasted, and I never stopped running. you understand. it's why you drive in the dark when it's raining. you don't look both ways when you cross the street.
you don't fear death, and neither do I, but we are both still cowards. what we fear, little me, is loss, and living. we just deal with it in different ways.
regardless of how we do it, souls like us never stop running.
*I'm silent for a long, long, time.*
for what it's worth, aconite, I forgive you. I believe you can walk a different path. maybe trying the softer way will be a new kind of adventure? we are thrill seekers. it'll be a new challenge.
you've lost everything. doesn't that make you brave, now? why not try?
*her eyes glitter, and despite how she wears my own face I can't read her at all.*
aconite: . . . . I think I was wrong, about you. I think I was wrong about a lot of things. but that changes nothing now.
*something complex and unknowable is in her eyes, as if she is measuring me to a standard, deciding, before she makes her choice. she turns away, the conversation clearly over. I look at her uncertainly. I feel sad for her, somehow.
her voice is calm, but holds a strange lilt, as if she's daring me to do something.
I've always liked dares.*
aconite: run along now. you have better places to be.
*what she really says to me, then, is that I have growing to do, in other, kinder places. that perhaps when I run as all of us are bid to, I should run forward, not away.*
*and so, I do.*