SING CRIER CH.8 - Fell Color Scheme ...Don't misunderstand; I don't think the forest is ugly. Despite what was said, Sal'venakai is beautiful in its own way. Much like a blank canvas, its emptiness invokes desire... feeling. Much like a blank canvas... so much... would I love to vandalize it with you... Do you still think about me, Streya? Do you miss me, Streya? ...Me too. ...The sound of howling wind slowly comes back to me. Archaic echoes of a dream drill into my brain, before fading to black. My breath is heavy. My skin is moist. There's a dry, salty aftertaste... ...and I feel sick. I lick the insides of my mouth; thirsty. Looking up from my huddled position, I see Crier, sleeping on the ground. The blood markings I drew on her cheeks are still there, but they've dried. She looks comfortable... with her head resting on the squishy leather pouch... ...I feel I should leave her be. I wipe my face with my forearm, it wipes the blood off surprisingly easily. My cheeks feel wet and cold, presumably from crying but I can't remember from when. The blood that isn't damp from sweat or tears, is dried and crumbles off like powder. I don't get all of it, but I get enough for my skin to start breathing again. ...I'm starting to realize how badly I want to take a bath too. 『 ... 』 I feel my heart thumping out of my chest, so I let my eyes fall on Crier, and control my breathing. My breath and heart rate promptly slow to a normal pace... and my senses... slowly... catch up to me... ...Was that a nightmare? What happened after I drew those marks on Crier? How did... we end up back here? ... What happened... I... I can't remember. Wh... why can't I remember what happened next...? Am I... losing... memories? How could I... just forget...? How... Why... why...? No way... Why am I losing my memories? Why do I have to lose my memories?! I was proactive! I did my best...! Hah... Wait, did Eldritch Fear do this...? No, that was... level one... it couldn't have... right? But then what else...? ... I... I should have... How could I lose them...? What did... I do... to deserve this? Why... does this have to happen to me... Why must everything always happen to me... I'm sick of these mysteries... am I supposed to solve this too? Am I supposed to magically resolve this too? I don't know how to do something like that... Why do I have to worry about fighting myself? I don't want that... I'm tired of fighting... I'm not... even supposed to be here... Why are we here? 『 I... want to go home... 』 I tell Crier, who is asleep and can't hear me. The rest is just... pulled out along with it. 『 I... don't want to die here... I want to see everyone again... I hate being hungry. I hate being scared. I don't want to be hurt... I... I didn't know dying was going to... 』 『 ... 』 『 I... 』 I'm... talking to myself again. N-No... I'm... talking to my sister. I'm not talking to myself! I'm not! There are two of us, I'm not, okay?! That's right...! I'm... not alone... I'm not... alone... here... I move -- and stumble. My joints are stiff, but I make them move. I run, the cave rocks bite my soles but I don't care. I run out of the cave where the wind attacks and snowflakes cut. I run through the trench we made when we first went out. I run through the greyscale trees that all look the same. I run straight and don't turn, wary of getting lost. I run to a battered dead tree and hit it- until my fists start bleeding. ...Then I rest my head against the trunk. I want closure. I need it. Who am I right now? Who is Marie? Who is Jing'ra? Why am I here? What did I forget? Why did I do those things? Why did I do all of those things? Why am I still doing all of those things? All of those things I did were awful. All of those thoughts I had were awful. I died... ...I died so I wouldn't do them! I committed suicide to stop these things from happening- ...but here I am, still doing them. I don't really like doing them, I just... I...I'm tired of questions without answers. I'm tired of pain and suffering. I'm so sick of me. I'm disgusting. It's like I'm watching a never-ending horror film. The tragedies, they build-up, they come, but I can only watch... watch in hate as I do nothing to stray from the collision course. I know... this pathetic self-awareness changes nothing... but what more can I do but acknowledge it? These latent cravings... that bring suffering to others... Everyone I betrayed... My genuine attempt at Jing'ra's life... That suffering Aggrabon... Why... why must I smile when I remember them, whilst I so easily forget how we got here? Sing and Crier... are supposed to be masters of themselves, always in control, always calculating and never to truly lose their heads... but my aberrance is shredding that image into pieces... Are they just weak? Are The Devil Twins really unable keep these repulsive behaviours in check? Even losing who I am to become them... is there only... so much they can do... ...with a complete psychopath like me...? Haha... Cold on the outside, and on the inside... Born to die... reincarnated to suffer... Streya... that's me... isn't it? I can cry all I want... nobody will stop me... All my strengths... fueled by fear... I hate everyone and everything... because I... I... 『 I'm here. 』 『 ?! 』 Sing turns around frantically in complete shock. She's trembling, and erratic; she looks like a mess. Dried blood, dust and dirt, reddened eyes, both dry and fresh tears. Despite being twins, we've never looked further apart than we do right now. 『『 You- 』』 We stare at each other. 『『 How... 』』 No answer. 『『 ... 』』 We know we heard it... we're not... imagining it. Crier moved on her own, spoke on her own, thought of her own accord just now. We saw her sleeping and we didn't move her here, but here she is in the flesh. We can't recall any memory of moving her... She... she really... on her own she... ...Sing holds her head, and Crier hurries over to her side to support her. We hold Sing's cold and bleeding hands to warm them. ...Ha ha. For a moment, we just stop and let the wind blow. A short-lived moment of shame. One more memory to regret and forget. 『『 ... 』』 Sing takes Crier's shoulder for support, and we begrudgingly begin the walk back. Our eyes are heavy and downcast. Cold truths seep into our idle thoughts. They say there's nowhere left to go but up once you hit the bottom. But this thing they call the bottom... ...doesn't really exist, does it. We start to faintly smell something... metallic. Crier lifts her head to make sure we haven't gotten lost. In the distance, is none other than our very own cave... All around the cave, are the same old trees of the evergreen variety... but on every single tree... is a crude eye, drawn in demonic blood. A legion of eyes, all looking away from the cave at all who approach. Eyes... eyes that weren't there before. Eyes we don't remember drawing. ...Our heads hurt. What happened after we killed that Aggrabon...? The question makes us feel worse. We decide to ignore the eyes. We don't trust our eyes. Once we make it a considerable distance into the cave we sit against the wall. We decide to just suck the blood from Sing's hands to quench our thirst since the opportunity presented itself. It turns out to be a flavorful delicacy that warms our hearts a little. It's a bit salty, but that's... not surprising. Our stomachs churn at the newly acquired sustenance, and they once again cry out for more. Sing's bleeding hand can't provide enough, so our attention naturally turns to the meat we poached earlier. We scramble over to the pouch to open it, but in it contained not meat, but blood. Our own blood. In our leather pouch. This is... despair inducing. We look deeper into the cave, just expecting, and hoping for yet more things we don't understand or remember to be of use to us. And we notice something, in the back of the cave when we squint. Just in case, Sing picks up the dagger, and Crier ties the pouch. We walk, deeper into the cave, to the place we first woke up. We find bones. Dozens - hundreds of bones, and a large pile of butchered and dried meat. The way it's arranged implied it's been eaten from. ...Who butchered it? Who knows. Whoever butchered it must know demonic blood is nigh inedible, since its all been carefully dried, removed of all of that foul liquid. That person could very well be one of us... most likely Sing. Good job Sing, are you self-conscious like Crier? Speak. ... Tch. We grab at the jerky and eat without abandon. It's dusty, and trace amounts of dried blood add an awful acidic taste, but it's edible, and by edible we mean non-lethal. Acceptable, at best. It's enough to suppress our hunger and thirst, taking care of our basic needs. 『『 ... 』』 We sit and breathe, just letting the food digest. Sing wipes away her remaining tears, it smears her face in blood. ...We can't be bothered to remove it. Apathetically we return to the centre of the cave, returning the dagger and pouch to their places. We lie down next to each other and close our eyes. There are hundreds of things we need to do and prepare. Hundreds of things wrong with wasting time like this... We know, we know... we need to work towards finding answers... But... it hurts. Not because of Sing's bleeding hands or Eldritch Fear or anything like that... It hurts... on the inside. It's a cold feeling that makes Sing twitch, and makes her feel like her blood is running cold. Crier can see it in the way she opens and closes her hands. We... need to sleep it off. Sleep. We'll sleep it off. Best case scenario, we'll even forget this all happened and go back to doing whatever we were doing before this. All this happened because we didn't get enough rest... Yeah.. we must be pushing ourselves too hard... It's... okay to take our time out here... We can figure it out later... Ah... let's rest... okay? It'll be... okay... It's okay... ...I can't sleep... ...It hurts inside... ...I'm cold... ...Crier... ...Cri...er... ...I... ...He...ar... ...Y...ou... ...I d i o t. ...Don't misunderstand; I don't think the forest is ugly. Despite what was said, Sal'venakai is beautiful in its own way. Much like a blank canvas, its emptiness invokes desire... feeling. Much like a blank canvas... so much... would I love to vandalize it with you... Do you still think about me, Streya? Do you miss me, Streya? ...Then, please, don't let me die. The gentle whistling of wind slowly comes back to me. Archaic echoes of a dream drill into my brain, before fading away. My breath is heavy... my skin is moist... there's a dry, salty aftertaste... ...and I feel sick. [END]