Summary: It’s 1980, before any egos other than Wilford or Dark get caught up in anything. Actor makes a rare visits to the manor, only to realize just how run down it really is, and that the entity within it could die soon.
Word count: 1016
He almost never came here anymore. Every person in his life had lost something in these walls, and yes, that was… mostly his fault. But he lost a lot in these walls too… This manor had taken from Actor long before Wilford lost his sanity. Long before Darks creation.
Coming back was like meeting up with a friend you left on… shaky terms to say the least. Tense. Quiet, but in the way that leaves you waiting for disaster to strike. And yet somehow you still can’t fully leave it. You spent too much time.
He ran his hand along some of the cracks in the walls, showing through the faded wallpaper that was once vibrant. Parts of the ceiling sagged and had crumpled years ago. The pool out back had been emptied long ago but had since gathered rainwater in the bottom which had mixed with years worth of fallen leaves and dirt, making it into an ugly swamp-like mess. Every flower had died in the garden, long ago. Even the trees were being choked out by invasive vines and weeds.
He could still remember the calming yellow tones that once pulled the house together, resembling gold. Strung together with the neutral browns of perfectly polished wood and beautiful stones placed together with the best craftsmanship he had ever seen. Once this house had been his pride and joy. It had once been his friend.
Even now he knew it was still alive. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here. Its siren song would have left him long ago. And yet it was still there, stronger than ever. Even after how astray it led him. Even after everything he had lost by following its whispers. Everything it had taken.
As much as he wanted to leave this place in the past… it still promised him so much. And what else could he do? He was in too deep now. The manor was all he had now…
He took a breath as he traced a faded floral pattern on the wall with his finger. “You haven't aged a day, old friend,” he said.
A bit of the wall behind him crumpled with the aggression of someone throwing something and he jumped a bit, “Well there's no need to throw a tantrum” he huffed out, turning around to look at the new damage. “Maybe that's why everything in here is so damaged. You’re only breaking yourself” He said, before his eyes landed on a mirror.
In the mirror was himself, of course, but not… his current self. Right now he was wearing a dress shirt, maroon dress pants, and a red tie to better blend in with the more… modern world. But in the mirror, he was wearing that red robe. And he could see all the wounds. All the ones that Actor had done to himself in attempts to better understand the manor. It almost startled him. He had forgotten just how… unnatural they had looked.
“Alright touche,” he said, quickly looking away from the mirror “but that was your fault. You got me to break myself. You promised so much and delivered so little.” He said, wandering into the old kitchen. He told himself it was just for the sake of wandering but he knew full well he just didn’t want to risk seeing in the mirror again.
The marble countertops were dusty, cracked, and chipped. He sighed softly, running his hand along them, “You’re… really not doing too well…” he said, his voice a little more sympathetic. “Can you even… will you die…?” He asked, wiping away a bit of the dust. It left a thin layer of gray dust on his hand, but to his surprise, the cracks underneath where he had wiped his hand faded…
It could die. He wasn’t sure what the defining point would be. Just how broken it could get before it left forever… but he could also save it.
Part of him just wished it would die already. Maybe if it died everything could go back to how it once was, a long long time. Maybe he could fix it all.
He sighed and turned around to leave the kitchen before seeing a photograph on the counter that wasn’t there before. He carefully picked it up, already knowing exactly which one it was. He remembered smashing the glass repetitively with one of Celine's heals in a fit of rage.
It was shortly after he had… found out about her and William. He had been fragile, to put it nicely. She had been staying with Damien, but everything was so fresh that all her things were still there. One night he couldn’t sleep. He was surrounded by the things they used to share, but alone.
He had ripped a photo he had of him and William off the wall and smashed it. Over. and over. And over.
That was the first night the house talked to him… well, ‘talked’ is a strong term for what the house did. It worked through… feelings. It put ideas in your head. It set things in front of you and let you put the pieces together. That night, the house told him he could fix it all, get everything back and more…
Actors' hands tightened around the picture, feeling a surge of rage. This time not towards the house. This time it was at who really started this all.
It wasn’t the house that took everything, he remembered. After all, the manor was the only one still here with him. The only one who even tried to be in his corner.
It was all of them. It was always them. It was still them. And it wasn’t Actors fault. He was just trying to fix what they had broken.
He threw the photo to the ground, before looking at the spot on the counter where he had wiped the dust. It looked good as new. Vibrant like it used to be.
“I’ll fix you. I’m sorry for neglecting you for so long, old friend. I’m coming back. Together we’ll finish what we started”
