[There's something like this in every room, huh? Once the headache begins to set in, he tears his gaze away and exits the room. Onward to the fourth and final door along this wall.]
As he opens the door to the next room, he'll find himself... walking back through the door and into the mansion! Hm. Looks like his adventure is finally over...? He's still wearing his stolen uniform, but it isn't the first time someone has come back from an excursion wearing a new outfit.]
[What a way to cut an excursion short. He looks around with a furrowed brow, uncertain of this development. What happened to Tama? Sieghart takes a step farther inside and calls out with no small amount of wariness:]
[Well, the first thing Sieghart will notice is how deathly still and silent everything seems to be. There's no hustle and bustle, no sounds of people chattering, nobody on the lookout for returning CYOA adventurers or rushing around to greet the newcomers. No one rushes to greet him, to check over his injuries or call Virgo over.
There is, however, a small sound from the dining room as Sieghart calls out. A wet-sounding cough, and a small, strained:]
[The combination of everything has Sieghart on high alert as he turns toward the dining room. His lips curl into their default smile, though the mirth doesn't reach his eyes. Of course he wouldn't be that lucky. Nothing to it, but to do it.
[To the dining room he goes! Given how used to these things he is, it probably isn't going to be shocking to walk into the scene of carnage that awaits. Blood paints the walls and slicks the floor dark red, and through what little slivers of the portraits he can see, it doesn't look like the living are faring much better.
There's very little movement in the room, save for the death throes and dying twitches of those on their way out. Bodies - parts of bodies, too - are strewn about the place like a tornado came through and simply ripped everyone to shreds. Even Virgo lies against the wall on the other side of the room, their veil serving as a shroud as blood pools out from below it.
One body in particular may catch his notice: Flayn, whose neck is bent at an unnatural angle, stares at him sightlessly from a position of repose on the dining room table. Her hands are neatly folded over her chest, almost like she's been set up for viewing at a funeral.
Below her on the floor lies Souji, choking around a mouthful of blood, unable to even reach Sieghart's way.]
That doesn't make the sight any less horrifying. Sieghart's treacherous heart twists as he gazes into Flayn's lifeless eyes from a distance. Suddenly he's thrust back into the flaming ruins of his last home, surrounded by the bodies of his Highlander brethren, when the fire goes up into smoke and the vision of Kyle fallen over in agony fills his gaze. Then he's back in the mansion before he can even blink, his breath caught, and there's Flayn again.
None of this is real; he knows that much. But the guilt that stirs inside him is very real and familiar, and his expression crumbles in on itself as a weight settles in his chest. It's the weight of his fear that's kept him up every night since the moment he snapped that delicate neck, choking him from the inside: that he'll fail to see life in those gentle green eyes again, that she and her hostage will languish in senseless cruelty forevermore for it, that he won't be able to tell her how sorry he is for the fright and anguish he must've caused—another failure, piled on top of every other mistake he's ever made, forcing others to face the consequences of his monstrous actions.
It's as he said to Dimitri, whose face he's deeply ashamed to see soon. He can always take, but never seem to save, a life.
He hasn't managed to apologize to Virgo yet, either.
The choking snaps Sieghart out of his stupor. He hesitates for what feels like an eternity before he takes those burdensome strides toward Souji, near Flayn's body.]
[As used to these things as he is, such feelings surely fit him familiarly - like just the right size of glove, or the gentle arms of someone well-loved.
Flayn doesn't stare with accusation or with fury or with fear. After all, he stripped her of the chance to feel such things when he stripped her of her life. She simply exists in death; a testament to Sieghart's inability to change in the ways that truly matter.
Souji, on the other hand, has a few threads of life to spare, and all the accusation that Flayn can't give.]
His own words echo in his mind as he looks down at Souji, who's suddenly Kyle, then Graham, then Luke, then Souji again. The same can't be said for Flayn, of course; his being there is the reason she's dead. His lips remain parted, but no sound escapes between them.]
[Souji can't reach, but he tries anyway - makes a fumbling attempt with his failing body. He doesn't allow himself to cry in front of others, but tears well in his eyes now, spilling down his cheeks and streaking through the blood on his face.]
Please... don't leave us-- behind...
[As if Sieghart is the one who's going far away. As if Sieghart isn't the only thing left of the many years he's passed through, the many people whose lives his has intersected with.
As if Sieghart doesn't leave everyone first, already, when they need him the most.]
[His bandaged hand twitches at his side. As Souji cries and struggles to speak, Sieghart wonders in his mind if he should just kill him. Is that what it'll take to advance this scenario—the death of all present in the dining room?
He promised himself to look after this lonely child while they're together. This illusion below him isn't really Souji, but an instrument designed by this place to strike where it hurts.
It does hurt, in a way. In his heart, Sieghart wishes to be blamed for his failings. No matter how painful, being shunned for his mistakes would simply be what he deserves. That's because, when drowning in guilt, nothing is more excruciating than the tenderness of a kind soul, which then breeds overwhelming shame. It's easier to be despised than to be reminded of what good was ruined by one's hands.
But that's just what the selfish part of him wants.
Now that the initial wave of old feelings has passed, Sieghart is left with rising anger. His fingers curl into his palm, forming a tight fist in spite of the pain it sends shooting up his arm. As if Souji would ever blame anyone but himself in a situation like this. How can an excursion formed from that child's own memories portray him so wrongly?]
[It's the only sound in this quiet mansion now - that gross, wet crying. But as Sieghart remains there, he'll realize that it isn't just Flayn's sightless eyes that have fallen upon him. Rather, every single person felled in this room now looks his way, even if that means their heads have bent and snapped at unnatural angles. He's the sole performer on a stage without a spotlight, the audience rapt in their attention.
Souji himself seems to be degenerating in a strange way, too. He cries and grows thin, emaciated, sickly and unwell, near-blue skin and deep circles, and he begs and begs for Sieghart to stay.
Sieghart could kill him, if he wanted to. He could perhaps simply leave back through the door he'd come from, just the same. It's not like anyone is here to stop him.]
[Crying is such a gutting sound . . . when it's real.
Ignoring the dead gazes on him, Sieghart watches Souji with a cold mien. The transformation of his appearance couldn't have come out of nowhere, so it must be the extent of the toll his illness took on him over time. It's a heart-wrenching look. But the disingenuous nature of the scene annoys him more than anything.
Another moment passes. Souji's pleas ultimately fall on deaf ears when Sieghart turns around and goes back the way he came.]
[Souji only cries harder as he turns to leave; great, heaving sobs that seem much bigger than his body should allow.]
You said you wouldn't look away—!
[One last thing, clear as a bell in spite of his ragged breaths. He's the only one not watching, though. The other corpses do. The gallery of the dead see him off, silent and still, their eyes fixed on Sieghart's retreating back until he's left the dining room and tracked their blood back out through the parlor, back through the front door--
And back to the door that he'd first entered through. He's outside again, right by the medic tent. The eyes of the corpse on the cot still look his way, and Dio is still working at the table. The sun seems much brighter for some reason, though - midday levels of brightness. It will burn Sieghart's eyes for a brief moment and leave his ears ringing.]
[As much as he loves creation and the life in it, Sieghart has no love for deceptions. He leaves the false mansion behind, and from there limps past the staring corpse, eyes narrowed against the sudden brightness, to head for the cart—though not before he utters some parting words for Dio where he stands.]
I'm back. Before I head out, I'll tell you that they know about you.
[Dio's posture tenses at that, and Sieghart will hear a little, muttered curse - though he'll get the sense that there's some gratitude beneath the nerves.
Before he gets too far, though, it seems like there's a commotion happening in the middle of the enclosure...]
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As he opens the door to the next room, he'll find himself... walking back through the door and into the mansion! Hm. Looks like his adventure is finally over...? He's still wearing his stolen uniform, but it isn't the first time someone has come back from an excursion wearing a new outfit.]
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Souji, are you here?
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There is, however, a small sound from the dining room as Sieghart calls out. A wet-sounding cough, and a small, strained:]
--Si-san...?
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To the dining room, he goes.]
That's me.
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There's very little movement in the room, save for the death throes and dying twitches of those on their way out. Bodies - parts of bodies, too - are strewn about the place like a tornado came through and simply ripped everyone to shreds. Even Virgo lies against the wall on the other side of the room, their veil serving as a shroud as blood pools out from below it.
One body in particular may catch his notice: Flayn, whose neck is bent at an unnatural angle, stares at him sightlessly from a position of repose on the dining room table. Her hands are neatly folded over her chest, almost like she's been set up for viewing at a funeral.
Below her on the floor lies Souji, choking around a mouthful of blood, unable to even reach Sieghart's way.]
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That doesn't make the sight any less horrifying. Sieghart's treacherous heart twists as he gazes into Flayn's lifeless eyes from a distance. Suddenly he's thrust back into the flaming ruins of his last home, surrounded by the bodies of his Highlander brethren, when the fire goes up into smoke and the vision of Kyle fallen over in agony fills his gaze. Then he's back in the mansion before he can even blink, his breath caught, and there's Flayn again.
None of this is real; he knows that much. But the guilt that stirs inside him is very real and familiar, and his expression crumbles in on itself as a weight settles in his chest. It's the weight of his fear that's kept him up every night since the moment he snapped that delicate neck, choking him from the inside: that he'll fail to see life in those gentle green eyes again, that she and her hostage will languish in senseless cruelty forevermore for it, that he won't be able to tell her how sorry he is for the fright and anguish he must've caused—another failure, piled on top of every other mistake he's ever made, forcing others to face the consequences of his monstrous actions.
It's as he said to Dimitri, whose face he's deeply ashamed to see soon. He can always take, but never seem to save, a life.
He hasn't managed to apologize to Virgo yet, either.
The choking snaps Sieghart out of his stupor. He hesitates for what feels like an eternity before he takes those burdensome strides toward Souji, near Flayn's body.]
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Flayn doesn't stare with accusation or with fury or with fear. After all, he stripped her of the chance to feel such things when he stripped her of her life. She simply exists in death; a testament to Sieghart's inability to change in the ways that truly matter.
Souji, on the other hand, has a few threads of life to spare, and all the accusation that Flayn can't give.]
Why--... weren't you here...?
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["No . . . Was I too late again . . . ?"
His own words echo in his mind as he looks down at Souji, who's suddenly Kyle, then Graham, then Luke, then Souji again. The same can't be said for Flayn, of course; his being there is the reason she's dead. His lips remain parted, but no sound escapes between them.]
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Please... don't leave us-- behind...
[As if Sieghart is the one who's going far away. As if Sieghart isn't the only thing left of the many years he's passed through, the many people whose lives his has intersected with.
As if Sieghart doesn't leave everyone first, already, when they need him the most.]
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He promised himself to look after this lonely child while they're together. This illusion below him isn't really Souji, but an instrument designed by this place to strike where it hurts.
It does hurt, in a way. In his heart, Sieghart wishes to be blamed for his failings. No matter how painful, being shunned for his mistakes would simply be what he deserves. That's because, when drowning in guilt, nothing is more excruciating than the tenderness of a kind soul, which then breeds overwhelming shame. It's easier to be despised than to be reminded of what good was ruined by one's hands.
But that's just what the selfish part of him wants.
Now that the initial wave of old feelings has passed, Sieghart is left with rising anger. His fingers curl into his palm, forming a tight fist in spite of the pain it sends shooting up his arm. As if Souji would ever blame anyone but himself in a situation like this. How can an excursion formed from that child's own memories portray him so wrongly?]
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Souji himself seems to be degenerating in a strange way, too. He cries and grows thin, emaciated, sickly and unwell, near-blue skin and deep circles, and he begs and begs for Sieghart to stay.
Sieghart could kill him, if he wanted to. He could perhaps simply leave back through the door he'd come from, just the same. It's not like anyone is here to stop him.]
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Ignoring the dead gazes on him, Sieghart watches Souji with a cold mien. The transformation of his appearance couldn't have come out of nowhere, so it must be the extent of the toll his illness took on him over time. It's a heart-wrenching look. But the disingenuous nature of the scene annoys him more than anything.
Another moment passes. Souji's pleas ultimately fall on deaf ears when Sieghart turns around and goes back the way he came.]
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You said you wouldn't look away—!
[One last thing, clear as a bell in spite of his ragged breaths. He's the only one not watching, though. The other corpses do. The gallery of the dead see him off, silent and still, their eyes fixed on Sieghart's retreating back until he's left the dining room and tracked their blood back out through the parlor, back through the front door--
And back to the door that he'd first entered through. He's outside again, right by the medic tent. The eyes of the corpse on the cot still look his way, and Dio is still working at the table. The sun seems much brighter for some reason, though - midday levels of brightness. It will burn Sieghart's eyes for a brief moment and leave his ears ringing.]
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I'm back. Before I head out, I'll tell you that they know about you.
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Before he gets too far, though, it seems like there's a commotion happening in the middle of the enclosure...]