You penned out a letter, hoping it would help to smooth things over with Wig after how you’ve been acting. You’d written and rewritten the first side dozens of times, trying to decide how to say things best, but eventually you had to settle. You’d never be satisfied with it, because in your mind it would never be enough as you’re unforgivable.
At first, you wanted to just shoot a quick “I’m sorry” and just be done with it, but you’ve done this before, you have to prove that you mean it. Plus, Wig’s a romantic. Just saying that so soon after would be so fucking pathetic. Prove you’re sorry, put in some fucking effort, Dirk! So you wrote a letter, and came up with some apology “gifts”.
You tie an orange balloon with a hand drawn sad face on it to a bundle of yellow flowers, and prop the envelope up on it. You even sealed it with wax! If there was a way to make this any more sentimental while retaining the ironic Strider charm, you can’t think of it. Or maybe he’ll think you’re making fun of him, or it’s so un-you that its superficial-
Before you can overthink it further, but after checking the coordinates to make sure they’re correct, you send it off. Nothing else you can do now! Nothing except zone out into your work while suppressing the growing panic in your gut.
Underneath the shark stickers keeping it closed, the letter reads;
“Hey. Let me start off by asking you to not burn this immediately, though you’re under no obligation to hear me out, obviously. I waited to talk to you because I needed a bit to simmer until I was actually sorry and had some time to marinate in it, and I think you needed some time as well, or at least a day that wasn’t so shit. I figured it would be pretty disingenuous to come back a couple hours later apologizing for shit before we’d had time to cool off. I uh. Hope it’s been long enough, but not too long.
I am sorry. I’m sorry for;
1) Being a massive asshole to you.
I was very aggressive and deflective even when I knew you were having a hard time anyway and wouldn’t react well to that. I didn’t take any of your concerns seriously and basically told you to fuck off. What I should have done was stop the conversation earlier and asked if we could talk about it later, or even better actually talk about it, but I didn’t, and that was a mistake.
2) Closing off again.
I know that I get on you about telling me or someone else when you’re having a hard time, and to turn around and do the same shit tenfold is despicable and hypocritical. We’ve talked about it time and time again, and somehow I still forget when I get worked up. I still don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it, especially if you’re talking to Crosy(don’t want you to be straddling the line between picking a side, especially when his is right), but if you still want to hear it then I will. I don’t think this makes up for closing off in the first place, I’m not sure what will. I can say that I’ll try to remember to sit down and not shut up, but that’s the thing about memory, ahah. The point is I shouldn’t have done that, especially not so aggressively.
3) Going out and getting fucked up.
I didn’t realize this would upset you, but it was probably that it was that on top of everything else. I know it’s hypocritical, I’ve been doing a lot more of that shit lately even when I condone it left and right. I could apologize for having such a stick up my ass in the first place while I’m at it, but that’s for another time. I shouldn’t have, period. I’ve got to learn to work through things instead of going for the coping mechanism that’s comfortable, but unhealthy.
This is just repeated behavior that I should have a hold on, but I don’t, and that’s fucked up. I don’t talk because I know in the moment I’m going to pull shit like this, and then end up doing it anyway. I’m just really sorry for everything I’ve done in the past few days. If I’ve missed anything, you can tell me and I’ll do my best to adjust. You don’t have to forgive me, or ever give me the time of day again, but you’re owed a proper apology. I hope this was good enough.
Of course, an apology means nothing without a visible effort to change the behavior you’re saying sorry for. Otherwise it’s empty words and broken promises. On the reverse side is an explanation of what’s going on over here in case you still want to know. You can also stop at this point if you’ve read enough. Thank you for getting this far.
P.S. The reverse side got heavier than expected. If you’re going to read it, wait until doing so isn’t going to drag you under or ruin something good? Seriously.”
Your eyes are open, though your vision remains dark save for the dancing flames of various colours around you. You've been sitting within this state for much of the day, taking a break to hang with your best bro and his boyfriend, though you don't feel you've made any progress. You told Cass what you had discovered of this state of magic, and she revealed that Dave had been practicing with his own form of it for months now, right underneath your nose. He'd told her not to tell, you don't blame either of them for that, but for you to have gone so long without noticing...
Your vision begins to lighten; you refocus. Looking down, you observe what you believe to be your soul, floating within you, or just in front. You turn it over in your hands, feeling a pressure around you, but not much else. It's orange in colour, of course, though at this point it more resembled brown. Wrapping loosely around it is a thin string, bright red, that leads away from you before disappearing at the end. Occasionally, you can feel it pulling. On one side, you could see an especially dark patch that seemed to be spreading like infection through a vein. It had been growing there for a while. You chose to disregard it for now.
Dismissing it, you look up and about the appartment. Cookie shines bright, a sort of oceanic green colour, and Two Tone a perhaps duller shade of magenta. You can see Cass's dark purple in the kitchen, Daves vibrant red within his room, and all around you was a soft burgundy. You'd come to understand this was HAL, inhabiting the house.
You begin to feel uneasy, and rememember what Crosy told you. Is that you, or someone else? How are you supposed to tell the difference? How can you tell the source of them, even if you can figure out that it's not you fueling your own emotions? Can you even trust yourself to feel anymore? Could you ever?
The structure is beginning to slip away from you again and you huff, frustrated, as you pull it back. Some powers this is turning out to be. You can look at some pretty lights whenever you choose, what are you supposed to do with that? Maybe not, maybe you're just supposed to sit here in confusion. But that doesn't sit right to you. Dave is able to turn back or forwards the clock of time relative to a specific item or small area, Rose has long been demonstrating her foresight, though before recently you had chalked that up to it being Rose. You could just ask her what you're meant to do, but that didn't seem within the spirit of the game.
Because, of course, it is a game. Or the remainder or precursor to one. It's all just a big joke to the universe, and you're meant to play along. It was just a shame the universe had thrown away the rules card. How were you supposed to know your objective, or even how to play?
You feel an ache throughout your body, beginning at your chest, and look down to see your fingers wrapped around your flame, near smothering it. You relax your hands, allowing it to brighten back up, and as the pressure releases, so does your hold. The illusion flickers out, and you're back to sitting on your bed. Internally, you swear, before opening your eyes again to bring it back up.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to finish my panic attack and convince myself that the first option was correct and Crosy just really fucking hates my guts.
