· · ─── ꒰ঌ· The Aftershow ·໒꒱ ─── · ·

the seats are empty.
the theatre is dark.
why do you keep acting?

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

May contain touchy subjects such as suicidal ideation, mentions of self harm, self deprecation, dissociation, topics of identity and other such things.

This is not a definitive list; nor will every entry contain such things. But heed the warnings! This list will be updated as is needed!

Photo taken from this post || divider from here

This is mostly just a thread where I might post personal writings of what creature gets up to in their Dreaming Domain for fun!

These might not be very polished, or make a whole lot of sense; but some of it is generally aimed to touch on the part of their character that may be difficult to express ICly in proper roleplay. May be prone to inaccuracies, depending on how their character plays out and the such...
I'm admittedly not much of a longform writer like this haha..

10 / 8 / 26 
Bloomburrow 23 1642

"Do you think we're… missing something?"

"Oh, silly— of course we are! We're afraid of closeness, remember?"

"I always… see everyone else. They connect so easily…"

"Don't we also? Do we not laugh along the same as others? Do people not find your presence easy on the soul? Whispering their secrets for your ears only?"

A mask of golden flair, currently seated beside them. Its voice a mimicry of the one they hold as their own, yet with a personal sharpness to it still.

Comedy was known to be condescending, at times. Dramatic, confident, loud…

…

"We don't… we're missing… something. I guess. A— feeling, maybe. Of connection." The bard sighs, as they reply.

"Do we need it?"

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?"

A chuckle from the masked one. Silence, after.

"It is safer this away. The performer only serves a role upon a stage. We are forgettable, otherwise. Nobody would want to learn of the person behind the acts."

"Some… seem to want to…"

"And how do we feel?"

How do they feel?

"… scared. I— I guess. I don't… I don't know. I want to, be… cared for like how everyone else seems to be able to be but- but at the same time I—"

"Wish not to be close? Wish they simply stopped trying? You wish for comfort, yet threaten everyone who comes close with a wall of thorns. Make up your mind."

"I—"

"But I know the truth. I am part of you, after all. And I say that we simply don't need their care." The last word is said in an almost venomous tone. Almost.

Another laugh. Empty. Resounding. Echoing throughout the darkness surrounding them. Save for the wood of the stage they were sat upon the edge of and the large curtains looming overhead. Every performer needed their stage.

"We have let them too close. All of them." It sounded bitter as it spoke that fact, shaking its head. Its motions are odd, with a sort of stiffness to it akin to a mannequin. "We can only protect whats left."

A tilt of the head after, Comedy's ever present smile never fading from that golden sheen. Gaze locked onto the maskless bard. "Or we could run again~ Run, run so far away… we could prove ourself a burden too much; a person too reckless— someone whos not worth keeping…

Someone they'd much rather see die~"

The other's eyes close, to the thought of that. The sweet nothings of thoughts whispered and echoing out. It always came back to that in the end, didn't it? The premise of death; the temptation of forever nothing.

They no longer felt fear when tethering near edges anymore, after all. It would be easy. A quiet finale.

There is another laugh, the masked one now standing with a stretch. Staring out into the empty seats, shrouded by the dark.

"You think those thoughts. Repeated again and again, planning meticulously just how you would like to leave. And yet you're holding on, still." It remarks the end of that statement quieter. The bard looks over curiously.

"You still can't let go of them?"

Soda's eyes close again, as they look out into the emptiness as well after a beat.

…

"I wish I could," is all they manage to reply. Sentence shaking slightly. The softest hint of sadness. "After all they are… probably better off without me. After… everything."

...

"And yet you hope that it was one of them that you saw back then." Its tone was… flatter. Still as prickly as ever, but there was a mild softness to it.

A nod, and the rustle of fabric as they shift. They remembered.

A flash of soft pink, a whirl of dark fabric with a shining golden trim. Arrows fired, and movement away back in the shadows.

They had hoped they were dreaming. But yet—

"Would they… would they want to know I loved them?"

This question again. The bard finds themself asking once more. Comedy does not move for a long while, eventually turning away from the seats and beginning to walk back to the everpresent void behind the curtains.

"It would be better if they did not," it states. Another empty giggle escaping, muffled behind the mask.

"We— you… have hurt them too much. All of others as well. It is only right that we are never seen again."

And then it leaves. Silence filling the space once more.

14 / 8 / 26
Bloomburrow 27 1642

Their memory has been worse, lately. Periods of short instances being lost to them, the fatigue ever weighing them down with how much they've been running around lately. So they've been taking time to just rest. A trips away from the Spire, down in the underground where it was much cooler.

It was odd, sometimes. To remember they are quite literally in the company of the very same person who killed and attacked others. The same who had carved the initials into their flesh— the same vampire who they only just recently shared casual conversation with, like she was never penaced at all.

A talent, or a skill as some could call it. To be able to walk into the maws of a beast's den and to re-emerge unscathed, and with information at that.

But that was all simple musings of the blur of recent events, as they find themself sat upon the wood of the stage once more, idly almost tuning out the words exchanged behind them.

"Seriously what the fuck were you thinking?! I could've gotten that hit off if youdidn't bump into me!!"

"We still got one in the end, hm~? Besides… dear ol' bard certainly wasn't at their top shape either… though that does not excuse our performance~"

"N-not… not like anyone… would know how we… used to be better…" a sniffle afterward.

"AND!!! Not ONLY did you fuck up my attack, you SCARED them!"

Closer to an… argument, probably. 

But that didn't really matter too much. The voices have been a lot louder recently, here in the Nocturne. Occasionally one sneaks its way into the waking world via their thoughts, though only once has one ever "overtaken" them temporarily. They've had a habit of snapping back into certain acts, either way. It's not the weirdest thing that's happened.

"Mhm… mhm… yes, yes I hear you and your ever dreadful speech, damned thing." A click of the tongue as what they can only assume as Comedy beginning to turn away.

"I did not hurt them in the end, ultimately~ what happens in a spar simply remains in the confines of that arena. If they wanted to disregard the rules, then I have the right to hold nothing back either," it states with its ever resounding giggle.

The bard admits, they haven't been following very much. They shift in their seat a little with a sigh, finally addressing the three behind them without turning around. Their tone weaker than they'd have wished.

"Are you done chattering? Get out if you are… I need the silence of you idiots out of here."

The response is at least some silence, for a few beats. The gazes of the trio piercing through them from behind. A prickles upon the neck kind of feeling that makes them tense slightly. Eventually they hear the bronze masked one grumble as ze takes zir leave, though the other two seem to remain. An empty laugh from one, a muttered apology from the other.

"I- I… I really did, um… try to… stop it…" 

"Oh, come on now. I was simply teasing that one for a bit of fun~"

The bard sighs louder, and the two remaining quiet again. Longer, this time. Enough for them to mumble a "thank you," as they sit in the silence.

They hear the two shuffle around in the back aimlessly, though open their eyes again slightly as steps began making their way toward them. The shadow of Comedy leaning down and over them making them roll their eyes a little.

"So, sweetheart! Moping about alllll by yourself again?" it chuckles. A gleam of silver in the corner of their eye catches their attention, and they tense briefly— before relaxing.

It's… it's just Tragedy. Aer silver mask didn't help with their response to seeing the flash of color in their periphiral vision very much. Much more associated with the threat of a weapon being pulled on them. Ae stood politely off to the side, hands folded in front of aer as as watched.

Comedy does not wait for their answer, in the meanwhile.

"It'll be easier to accept that you'll always be alone sooner than later~"

A raise of the brow in response. Right. Of course it would know.

"But…" Tragedy pipes up a little, the blackened tears upon aer mask always present. Streaming down the silver and dissipating into nothing as they hit fall and hit the ground. "But we could… we could try… it would be like… l-like when we were still with… still with all the others…"

Comedy stands back up straight now, staring.

"And I have told you many times that we can never return to that," it spits. "We are not meant to. Ever. No matter how hard we dig our claws in, how many teeth we remove— people will always leave."

They've been as lonely as long as they could ever remember. Even as a child, the other kids never quite liked their silence. Storybooks were all they ever remembered. And how they learned what people liked more than them.

"We changed for them." Comedy continues, "and we are nothing more than an act of entertainment to the people."

"We will never be more than that."

Tragedy seems to want to respond— yet, ae simply glances away. Rubbing a thumb on the back of aer other hand quietly.

"Will… will we have to change again?" aer asks.

"We will." It's not a suggestion. "And we will keep doing so as we need to. As long as we still live, we cannot stop performing."

It takes a deep breath. Exhaling loudly, slowly. Turning around to face the backstage.

"Besides. What else are we good for in the end? Nobody likes a broken child. Not even other children."

And it takes its leave without much else of a word. Leaving the other two as the remaining still around. Tragedy watches, and though aer mask hides whatever else ae might express; they swear ae would've looked more concerned. Ae turns back after, still in the same spot and the same pose. Politely standing still, occasionally broken by the softest sniffling.

"It's right, you know… n-nobody would… probably like us w-without…" ae looks down at the wood beneath aer. Tears still ever flowing.

What good are they, in the end? Without their masks? Without their act? People like them better this way, after all. Isn't that a good thing?

Tragedy eventually glances up again.

"Sorry," another apology. "I… I'm just… thinking of th- the…" ae turns to begin shuffling away, not daring to mention exactly who aer means. 

"Wh- why… why couldn't that have… why can't we ever be loved… like that? With such- such a big… f-family…"

And then ae's gone. Leaving the bard alone once more to their silence.

"Family, huh?" they whisper to themself. They know who aer speaks of; someone whos been through so much more. People loved him, from what they could observe at least.

But perhaps it did just mean they were not meant to be loved like such. They are different people, in the end. They hope he was happy.

A glance back toward the backstage. Large, heavy curtains blocking the rest of the void behind them.

…

They swear they saw something there. Peeking out from behind the curtains, ghostly still. A silver color, yet not shimmeringly so like Tragedy's mask. It was a duller sheen, more subtle.

The figure disappears back behind the curtain before the bard could fully notice them.

How curious… but they suppose that's for another day.

16 / 8 / 26
Lowsun 1 1642

A deep breath taken, a long exhale out. It was rare that all four echoes were present alongside themself. But this was important. And so they had to gather everyone. They didn't think this might've happened so soon.

"You all probably already know what I'm going to say…" they begin. The four masks of differing expression all staring directly at them in anticipation.

"But," another breath. "For the…. for…. the sake of all of us here. Please, on the name of the Lady— do not do anything stupid for when Caleb visits here."

Its first met with a long silence, then exchanged glances. Tragedy is the first to speak up.

"Caleb… is…. visiting?" ae parrots. Comedy speaks next.

"Ah~ that jester wants to pay little old us a visit?" it giggles, leaning forward with its hands folded behind its back. "For what, hm? Surely you realise we are not accepting of a live audience?"

"I know," the bard mutters almost guiltily. They wished it wasn't so obvious something seemed to be up, but their echoes recently have been bleeding into the waking world. People were taking notice of it. 

They should've been better at preventing this.

Comedy chuckles, stepping forward now. Raising its arms out dramatically.

"A stranger attempts to invade into our personal little land, and for what? Because he cares? Because we can be fixed?" a scoff, continuing. "Pathetic. We do not need another person attempting to waltz in thinking they know us!" Its voice is raised, before devolving into empty laughter once more. A sigh following the tail end of its laughs.

"Ahh… but no matter I suppose; we are performers. We will simply entertain until he leaves on his own." A slow turn to face away from the front of the stage. Away from where the bard stood below, looking up toward the rest.

"We just have to prove we're not worth the effort, yes? Make ourselves look as terrible as possible; make them hate what we are…" it clicks its tongue.

"We have done it before. We can do it again."

The other three have mainly remained silent, or muttering to themselves. Anger, for one, was simply grumbling to zirself. Fear continued to remain ghostly still, unmoving as if an uninstructed construct.

Tragedy was quiet for the duration Comedy spoke. Black tears running down aer silvered mask.

"And what if… it does not work…?" ae asks. Comedy slowly turning to face aer.

"Then we force him out." It answers consciesly. "Him, and anybody else who might want to invade the safety of this domain."

Tragedy nods once, twice. "Entertain… and pretend… and if it doesn't work…"

"We drive them out allllll by force~"

Comedy finishes the sentence, giggling happily as it twirls around. "But… ah… the stage does not need to be crowded, hm? Anger, Fear— you two can linger about in the back~" it chirps. Anger seems to want to retaliate to this idea, but simply huffs in annoyance. Fear stiffly nods. Unspeaking.

The bard watching heaves anothr heavy sigh. Rubbing their temple with a hand.

"Or I could just… y'know… show him around, and if he doesn't see any of you. He'll… probably leave?"

A collective turn to look at them. And they shuffle uncomfortably. These… were echoes of themself still… right?

Comedy seems to ponder that idea, humming idly as it twirls around thinking.

"Oh, you silly thing and your logical reasonings! Yes, yes. Sure~" it eventually settles on answering. "Buuutttt… if! We feel the need to step in, do not intervene, hm? The last thing I'd like is to accidentally ruin that pretty little body of yours when I skewer it full of holes!"

It laughs again now, resounding throughout the darkness. All the bard answers to that is just a single sigh.

It wouldn't be the first time they were harmed. Nor would it be the first time they find themself dealing with odd pains when they awaken.

The bard shakes their head, turning to exit back out into the waking world.

"Really just… don't. Do anything stupid when it might happen. Ok?" they reiterate that one more time, not waiting for an answer before they reawaken again.

23 / 8 / 26
Lowsun 8

CWs: Some description of dissociation, mentions of past self harm. Two people stab each other offscreen for fun?

They've been hiding away here more, lately. Though not for any particular reason now. The storm's passed a while ago. So this one is just another day with the inherent urge to stay out of the public eye. It's been… maybe a little over a week, they think? But no matter.

The quiet of the stage feels nicer. Even if the company of their own echoes was dreadful at times. It was still ultimately their own domain, where they could linger around to recover as they need.

The peace of the silence never lasts long though, before someone eventually shows up.

A peek of silver glimmers from the backstage curtain. The echo's steps audible upon the wood, resounding out into the further void of the domain. And quietly it sits as well. The bard casts a glance over, looking back out with an amused huff.

"You the reason I've wanted to isolate forever again these days?" it was a lighthearted question. From the way the bard manages a small smile still and the joking tone. Tragedy simply sniffles. Aer knees brought up to aer chest.

"I'm sorry…" ae sniffles. "It probably is… my fault…"

The bard frowns softly, sighing. Right… right. These aren't real people. Just… just reflections of their own state.

"Yea," they mutter. "Probably fuckin' is, huh." It's not a bitter tone. Merely flat. Like its a matter of statement in agreement

They both spend longer in that silence, occasionally broken by an idle sniffle or two from Tragedy. Soft rustling of fabric as either of them shift their weights. Tragedy speaks again, after a while.

"Isn't it… nicer… like this, though?" ae mumbles. "Alone… where nobody can hurt… and we can't… hurt anyone…"

Again with the topic of their state of loneliness, huh? It's come up so much. It's been showing through the cracks of their long imperfect mask from the years. Maybe they've stayed too long, here. Gave people too much time to grow attached. To form opinions. To care for a persona that's not even real.

But then, what was real anymore? Did it matter? When everything just blurs together in their mind?

Were they real, even? Or are their echoes more of a person than they were?

They don't quite answer for a long few moments. The familiar oddity of a feeling settling in again slowly. Like a delayed camera. The hands they looked down to almost felt foreign. They close their eyes and breathe.

"It is," they agree after a long few more moments. And yet their heart aches at the thought. To wish to see people, yet never want to be seen. Perhaps their role as a distant observer is forever, at this point. To step out of it would be breaking the script.

Tragedy simply gives a small nod. The odd, ever flowing tears slowing a little.

"Probably will need to drop by the cask and the market sometime, though," a grumble from the bard. A sigh, after. "Losing out on meals these days…"

A blessing maybe, they haven't been as hungry. Nibbling on whatever keepable rations they had around the house. But… whatever. They'll just keep the friendly act up when they need to. Smile, greet, chat for a little, laugh, and wave goodbye. Same routine as they always had.

Then again… not like they had any real connection out there anyway. Everyone had someone better to bother. It's for the better.

Tragedy never replies. Simply nodding along idly, curled up upon aerself. A suggestion, after a while.

"Would you… would you like to play… the knife game… again?" it was a genuine ask. The silver mask tilting to look at them. A brow is raised slightly, a moment in contemplation.

"Like… the finger stabbing one?"

"Yes…"

…

It's been a while since they've played that. Most of the scars of their hands covered by their gloves, or faded enough to blend in with their skin.

They give a soft huff in reply. A smile, as if being asked by a friend to share a meal. 

"Alright… still stabbing each other if the other person loses?"

"Yes…"

Wasn't like the wounds gained from this will carry over at least. The thrill of the game will at least be something in the end. The pain of it might make them feel better, even. They need that right now.

The next while is spent that way. Until eventually they wake up again. Dizzy, their hands aching slightly. And with a few odd woundless, jabbing pains on their body.

Probably time to get that meal…

30 / 8 / 26
Lowsun 15 1642

"Look me in the eye."

They knew this was coming the second they said those words of agreement in the woods. Shaking hands grasp tightly upon their shoulders. Nails piercing into the fabric and lightly into the skin below. The ever familiar gleaming golden mask staring close.

"And tell me, dear bard. What. Were. You. Thinking."

The bard takes a soft breath in, exhaling gently they bring a hand up to touch the one grasping them.

They do not have an answer to this. Why would they have an answer to it?

The rest of their echoes stand by the side. Masks watching, staring. It's rare that Comedy expressed a tone so close to unbridled rage; after all, Anger was the one who contained it. This might be classified more as unhinged bafflement, really.

The hand is slapped away and they flinch lightly, one still grasping their shoulder tight.

"You sold your soul to a fey."

"… Yes. Yes, I did."

"You sold. Your soul. To a fey." The words are hissed out, laced with a venom to its tone.

"Yes, I am aware."

Comedy bursts out laughing in an empty joy. A resounding cackle. Bitter, and almost deliriously confused.

"What is wrong with you?"

Even in the face of it— the swirling of emotions, the failure of finding any logic behind their actions. Their solemn replies twinged with clear guilt. But what can they do, really? The deal has been made; their self traded away for a mimicry of their own.

But what was their true self, in the first place?

Would this not just be another self?

After all, how do you know you're you; when you never once felt real?

The answer is a long silence. A struggle to find any amount of justification for the decision they had made. It was so easy— too easy almost, for how carefully cautious they are known to be. Did the idea of being owned by another appeal to them that much? To not have to think; to have to decide, that they were so willing to give themself entirely to a malevelont being?

…

Perhaps it did, in the end. The inescapable desire to be reduced to nothing. A stupid risk; a foolish wish to feel a weight again in the midst of the boredom. 

They supposed they got their want of it in the end.

Comedy sucks in a harsh breath. Shaking hands balling before it unleashes a strike. They do not fight back as more rain down upon them. The other three watching silently, the grueling sounds of flesh meeting flesh resounding throughout the stage.

This was deserved, really. It was a terrible decision all around.

Tragedy eventually coughs lightly, stepping forward with the start of a sentence. Hesitating, briefly.

"I-is this… productive, though…?" Once again playing the peacekeeper it seems. Fear seems to shift slightly, but otherwise remains ghostly still as ever.

"We… we could… we could get it back… somehow…"

Comedy slowly turns, a bloodied and gloved hand mid raised. It sighs harshly, clicking its tongue disapprovingly.

"Oh, sweet, dear Tragedy. Do you think it would be so simple?" it hums. The bard turns their head to try and listen, though most of it is drowned out by ringing in their ears. They decide for now to simply close their eyes and rest.

"A fey deal is not one simply resolved. Especially not if he's involved."

They knew, somewhere in between the chatting. The notorious fey that had once been banished for his crimes now returned in the midst of the woods. Tragedy shuffles slightly in thought, twindling aer thumbs.

"Petrus… Kyrus…" ae lists off a few names. "Perhaps even Scales…?"

Comedy stares.

"What the fuck are any of them going to do for us?" it tilts its head. "This idiot here sold it willingly. We're not going to get any damn help from the others."

A sigh in reluctant agreement to that.

"But…" ae continues nonetheless. "Perhaps letting… them know of his return?"

Comedy stands now, tossing the bard off and aside as it flicks off the speckles of red on itself.

"Only fools would attempt to speak to that stupid door, or even listen to its words." It approaches, only stopping a few steps away from Tragedy now.

"Do you think that they will care, in the end? For reckless idiots exchanging their souls for a power under a fey?" A gesture behind it. 

"Do you think that those walking the same path as the damned wine stained woman will be given sympathy? We heard of her do this. We have seen the consequences of recklessly throwing our lives away to the fey— and yet."

Another deep breath; another bout of laughs.

"What will the others fucking do for us?"

Tragedy stares back for a long few beats, aer voice quiet as it asks next; "wasn't this what you wanted, though?" To be hated? To be despised?

And that seems to catch it off guard, even just for a moment. Because it was true, in the end. This is what it wanted— this is what they wanted.

"Nobody will help us," ae mutters, shaking aer head. "I— I- I know that. But our bard heeded your request to further strain… whatever connections they… may have left. You can't really blame them now,"

Was it right? Or were they all simply talking in circles? None of them really knew. It was confusing to attempt to co-exist in such a way.

Comedy simply watches as Tragedy slowly approaches the one on the floor of the stage, injured and bleeding and currently flopped onto their side facing away. A gentle hand rests upon their arm, and Comedy simply scoffs before it turns to leave.

"Do whatever you wish then," it grumbles with a spit. "If you think you know so much better,"

"I will," Tragedy sighs with a solemn hum, lifting the body up with a small grunt to set them standing once more.

"Wake up, now… we will find some way to clear it up…"

8 / 9 / 26
Lowsun 24 1642

CWs: Self harm mentions, some kind of derealisation

They've been staring at the letter for a while now. A hastily written note left upon their desk for them to find.

It was from… someone. Barely anyone they would consider an acquaintance, really. But for the sake of politeness they shall consider them so. Gan, as they knew that person. Somehow, was told of their situation with the Salesman.

…

They rather leave the Spire as a whole right now. Too many people have learned, one way or another. Two people is more than enough than what they'd like. Maybe they'll find some way to disappear entirely? Hm... but then they'd have to find some way to erase their presence from other people's minds, likely... no idea how they'd do that.

So for now they've retreated away into their domain once more. A nocturnal replica of the letter currently being crumpled and uncrumpled in their hands. The scrunch of paper folded and unfolded filling the silence. When they look up again they see— oh. That's…

Fear, as they know xir. Xe's here.

The echo is as deathly still as ever. Staring. Observing. Before stiffly xe shuffles over, head turning to look down in an almost uncanny way. The bard blinks, mutually silent for a long few moments.

The echo grips the letter suddenly. Cold hand reaching and yanking it away from the bard. Methodically ripping it in half with stiff fingers.

Soda continues to blink in some amount of confusion, unprocessing of what just happened.

"We should leave," xe whispers. Xe was a sorrowful thing; a gentle shakiness to xir voice. The voice of a child who sounded so battered and barely pieced together.

"It is not safe. Not anymore."

Soda takes a soft breath, rubbing their face with a gloved hand. The harsh sound of the letter continuing to be ripped apart in front of them as Fear continued to talk. Xir mask fixated and staring.

"We were never safe to begin with," the bard mutters back. Gaze focused on the process of the paper being ripped and shreded until the pieces could no longer physically be torn further. "But— eugh… really wish nobody was around to know about it…"

"They will hate you," Fear continues. Hands continuing the action even as the pieces flutter to the floor. "They already hate you. We are fools. Kindness extended to us is not safe."

"What are you on about this time…" Soda shifts in their seat. A hand reaching up to touch the echo softly. Xe flinches harshly, and the hand retracts with a mumbled apology.

"Their help is a trap," its said almost like a concise statement. Hands finally halting to a stop in its movements. Lingering, before settling back down at xir sides. "Nobody is nice when they are mad. So we should leave."

"Leave where?" they inquire.

"We need to leave." A repeat without elaboration.

They suppose that's just the nature of this echo. Illogical, at times. But one of the stronger ones.

"I probably won't go anyway," the bard eventually states softly. A sigh, as they sweep up the shredded bits of paper into a small pile. It's easier for everyone if they simply… didn't, right? They'll be able to figure out how to get their damn soul back on their own. They just need enough time. Enough work. Enough research, asking and…

They bite their lip.

"Gan might have necessary information, still," they're trying to logic out an excuse. An excuse for what, though? They don't know. "But— fuck. Fuck. I really don't want to. For. Some reason."

The normal thing would be to accept it, most likely. Why is this such a debate for them? Maybe they hate that they're in a position of helplessness. Or maybe they just… they just…

It's hard to rationalise. The more they think of it, the more confusing everything gets. Their own actions, their own responses.

Fables, was anything even real anymore to them? None of it made sense to themself. How are they supposed to be acting? Are they even in control of their own actions? Were any of this their actions, in the first place?

…

It's painful to think about.

Fear has not moved from xir position, though has taken to picking at the skin at xir fingertips. Picking and pulling and pinching at flesh. The bard lets out another heavy exhale. Everything was stressful these days. Everything was confusing. They barely know what to think or how to feel or even just exist in the eyes of others.

"And yet Caleb wants me to be part of the people who helps ground him when we enter his shattered domain," they remark out loud to themself. A laugh, following. Gods, it sounds so pathetic.

But maybe that is what they are in the end. Someone who merely plays the role of a helpful support that goes about where they're needed. People relying on them to fill the gaps of the missing roles. That would be something at least, they think. A groan escapes them now, flopping backward to the floor as Fear doesn't even shift to look at them.

"Can you see if Tragedy wants to come play knife games again…" they request tiredly. "Otherwise I'll just do it myself probably… been a while since I bothered…"

It helps, sometimes. To just take metal to flesh. To let and watch the crimson flow and stain the ground. There are times they hold it elsewhere than their arms, but not often.

Fear simply nods once to the request, turning robotically before xe shuffles away. And so they take that short while to rest a little while. No use musing over anything for now. They'll deal with it if it comes for them again.