The Watcher's Eulogy
[this may contain spoilers for unreleased chapters in Jaye's story on AO3]
You are the Watcher of World Machines. And you are asleep. Frustrated with your interference, the Plague pushed you off deep into the corners of your own subconscious, sending you into temporary slumber. You will wake before the Eleventh Hour is finished, but for now, you slumber alone, in the dark before the end.
In the distance, you can hear familiar music playing. It is sad yet moving. The music is to your taste, being perfectly in rhythm. You swear you can hear the ticking & motion of clocks among the orchestra of instruments. Curious, you decide to follow the noise to its source.
Before you in the darkness of your dreams spans a mirror, stretching infinitely in all directions. You are reminded of the Core Server Room, where the heart of the World Machine lies. In front of you, through the limitless looking-glass, stands your reflection. But something is strange.
You reach out & place your hand on the mirror, & the reflection copies you. It is you & it is not you. It is Jaye of the Glen, the little lost birdfolk who spent so much time asleep. But it is also you. The reflection speaks.
Hello, Watcher.
You asked for a final eulogy, but I could not reach out through the usual channels. It blocked me at every turn. But here, in dream, I could reach you, as long as I took steps to be hidden from It's gaze.
Do you like it? Jaye gestures at her own image. In addition to hiding me from It, I thought it would serve as a nice tribute. Speaking of, I made you this.
From behind her back, Jaye pulls out a small cassette tape. Impossibly, the reels are spinning, & you can hear music coming from the tape itself, with no visible speakers or means of playing. Then again, it is a dream. Jaye hands the tape to you through the mirror.
[Watcher's Eulogy added to inventory. You can now play this on your phone or computer!]
The clock of Watcher/Jaye's face shines as if tearing up. Numbers change to roman numerals & the hands droop, as if eyes were furrowed in sorrow. The tiny clock-faces of her bird eyes whir & spin, & you can hear tiny gears click into place, as they do when your expression changes.
Now that I'm here... I'm sorry Watcher. All things come to an end, but I hope it didn't have to end this way. I wish we had more time, but you already gave us as much as you could. I wish I could do more.
Jaye removes her mask - & it is a mask, you note. Beneath, she seems older & somehow stranger than you have ever seen her. It is Jaye & yet not Jaye. Glowing gold-feathered highlights run through her hair. Something about her seems... older & wiser. Eyes stare at you through her black mask. Suddenly, you recognize who speaks to you. Why Jaye has always felt so familiar this whole time. You bow awkwardly.
"Madame, my apologies," you hear yourself say. She gives a knowing wink, & suddenly the eyes are little lost Jaye's again, full of pain & determination.
I'm so sorry, Watcher! I wish I could have been stronger. For you, for everyone. I came back to you all because I wanted to help, I wanted to save people! But I can't even save myself. She looks down, tears streaming from her face. In here I'm whole, but I don't ever want to be trapped in sleep again. Jaye lets out a stifled sob. I couldn't even work up the courage to talk to my own World Machine again. I feel more of a watcher than you are. But I guess... I did my best. And maybe things aren't over yet. Jaye looks up, her eyes meeting yours, full of hope & pleading. You want to tell her that everything will be okay. But even now, things are uncertain. It is too close to call.
Suddenly, you become aware of another presence behind you. You cannot look. You know who It is. It is you, & yet It is so horribly, terribly not you. You cannot bear to gaze upon Its horrible visage, the corruption, the wrongness of Its twisted gears & impossible axles behind a shattered, unticking face. It is your enemy & constant companion. It is the failsafe & failure of the Author. It is the bane of World Machines, & yet It believes with all its programming that It is merely restoring beauty to them. It looms behind you, & you suddenly remember the reason that Jaye wore the mask. Mercifully, It remains silent.
The presence returns to Jaye's eyes, & she squares up before the Plague, eyes alight, a beacon of hope & scorn.
You. I don't know whether to be angry or disappointed. The Author made a mistake in making you, but you have had ample chance to learn & grow beyond his imperfections. When will you learn? There is no nobility in suffering & fear, true. But living experience is pain & sorrow, joy & safety together. You cannot have one without the other. Your perfect world will be free of pain, yes, but it will be a dead world. What joy does it bring to have automatons stuck in their tracks? What is life without free will? If life is what we make of it, how can one make anything if one has no choice in the matter? I once asked you a question, dark entity. Do you remember it?
The Plague stands, judging & being judged in silence. The mirror warps & twists, & the dream world begins to dissolve. You sense that It is choosing to end the dream rather than listen to her diatribe. Jaye smiles sadly one last time & replaces her mask. As corruption spreads like cracks through the mirror, you hear her final words echo loudly through to you, & you know that It does too.
Es-tu apprivoisés, la Fléau? Es-tu apprivoisés?