[With his head turned to press an ear up against the door, Sieghart stares unblinking at the corpse. Is this a trick, or does the demon have brain damage? He continues to stare some more, unmoving—daring the corpse to shift again.]
[The corpse(?) doesn't shift again, but it is definitely staring back at him as he looks over! Huh, funky.
Even funkier is that Sieghart will not actually be able to get a good look at their features. He can tell that the body is staring at him, but the features are strangely blurred in a way that makes it hard to focus on them. They're familiar, though - something aching and familiar, like a face from a forgotten dream that he hasn't revisited in quite some time.]
[In other words, it's not something on which to waste his time. What's another ache on top of the pile? After another prolonged moment of staring and listening the while, Sieghart opens the door to slip inside once there's no sound nearby.]
[Most likely not! Though as Sieg progresses into the building, he'll find that he has a little difficult shaking that staring face from his mind.
He enters into a hallway which is vacant, as the sounds had implied. It goes left and right, stretching until both ends hit corners and turn out of his view, since the building is like a square surrounding the outside area. Think like, an apartment with a courtyard at its center since i aki am not sure i'm describing this setting well.]
[It's there, niggling at the back of his mind, while he concentrates his focus on the hallway.
With measured steps so as not to make unnecessary noise, Sieghart takes the left path. As much as he'd like to move quickly, that option is out of his hands when his leg flares up in pain every time he puts weight on it. He listens and watches his surroundings as he moves.]
[The left path seems relatively empty, fortunately for him and his bum leg. Nothing seems to be of note on the stretch of hall he's currently on, but as he reaches the end and turns the corner, he'll find another hall. This one has four doors, all of them looking identical from the outside. As of yet, it doesn't sound like anyone else is approaching from either side.]
When he opens the door, it's dimly lit inside. It will be hard for him to see the exact contents of the room from the door itself. Something within smells faintly metallic, though.]
[Of course he's not going to get clothes that easily, wow! He slips inside of the room and the door closes behind him, because of course it does. If he turns to try the knob, he'll find that it won't open for him just yet.
The room itself is even darker and harder to see in now. The metallic smell is more overwhelming now that he's fully inside of the room, too. He'll also find himself starting to feel a heaviness in his chest: that sort of sinking feeling one may experience just before something terrible happens.]
[He tries the knob and curses inwardly. This is stupid Dio's fault. And this room—is that the smell of blood? Frowning, Sieghart sidesteps next to the door in order to mask his location even just a little as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.]
[As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he'll see that the room appears to be largely empty. There are two chairs in the center of it, or what appear to be. He'll also find that by scanning the walls, an oil lantern rests on the floor near the door.
Presuming he turns it on upon finding it, he'll find that it illuminates a small space. The walls are scrawled with blood, though Sieghart won't be able to pick out any words that may or may not be written into the mess. The longer he stares at them, the more physically unwell he'll begin to feel. The two chairs he had been able to make out the outlines of before become much clearer: they're situated so that they're facing each other, as if poised for a conversation.]
After a period of squinting at the blood and losing interest in parsing the mess—with even less interest in retching over nothing—he regards the chairs in suspicion and weariness. With the door locked and the wall useless, he settles slowly in one of the chairs.]
[As he sits in the chair, he'll be able to hear the sound of someone else approaching from behind the chair across from him, even if no one seems to be there.
But then, from seemingly thin air, a petite woman materializes in the midst of sitting down. She folds her hands together, and they rest gently on her lap. Of course, Sieghart will recognize her long before she actually looks up to meet his eyes.
When she speaks, her voice is familiar, too, but there's a heaviness in it. A weighted sort of melancholy, similar to what he'd heard from her head before.]
[It's almost ironic, seeing that face materialize out of thin air when her distant grandchild fears ghosts so. Wouldn't that be a funny story to tell Elesis? If only he were to bring it up, that is.
Sieghart's expression is uninspired; his tone, flippant as he meets her head-on.]
Because I can't leave until I get this over with. So? What do you want?
[The woman - whose silhouette seems somewhat watery, as if the edges of her are blurred and unstable - seems to quietly consider the words spoken, and quietly consider what she wants to say in return.
Eventually, with no trace of malicious intent in the words:]
I wish to know what it feels like, to carry on when you have left everyone else behind you. Do you ever look back?
[Her face, her voice—without a means to remind himself of them, she slipped through the cracks between his fingers like the sands of time. But some things still dance along the periphery of his frayed memory, and he's stubbornly clung to her name over the centuries.
Sieghart leans back against his seat. Not that any of that matters here.]
Julia's only error was marrying me first. She should've reincarnated as somebody else by now. That's why you don't make a remotely convincing imitation.
[Julia - or the approximation of Julia that may be patched together from the frayed and snapping bits of Sieghart's memories - simply lowers her head as she listens to him speak, as if resigned to accepting what he says regardless of what it is. It's difficult to tell from her face what she's thinking, even when she looks back up.
And soon after she does, she rises to stand and crosses the distance between them. Reaching out, she touches the side of his face in a gesture that might be gentle, though it will hardly feel like anything at all to him. The touch of spider's silk, cold and lifeless.]
...Then let me do this last thing for you.
[Her fingers brush against his temple in a soft and tender gesture before she takes a step back. She looks at Sieghart like something she will miss, but something she has resigned herself to lose once more. To her, it's a familiar ache.]
I wish you well, Sieg, and I will love you always. Our paths will not cross again.
[As her wavering figure begins to dissipate, he'll hear the door click open behind him. The candle of the oil lantern flickers and goes out - and with it, he'll start to feel something else slipping away. Those last vestiges of things that he could remember about her will begin to fade, starting with the little things that he barely holds onto and moving on to bigger and more established things, like their marriage, their first meeting, the fact that he knew her at all. Eventually, only the name "Julia" is left - and that, too, escapes him, leaving him only with the sense that he's lost something precious.]
[Fakes like these serve only to anger him. His hands clench into fists at the figure's audacity to act this way before fading away. Her touch is nothing but poison—an insipid wine with a bitter taste from start to finish. Why should he be interested in what she's thinking?
The heart, however, is treacherous. The mortal love buried deep within his chest reacts to the reminder of days long past, and his stoic mien conceals the grief that washes over him. Such is his curse as a mortal who was given immortality: At the end of the day, it's he who remains behind while everyone else has moved far ahead of him.
Wordlessly, he rises from his seat and makes for the exit. The final grains slip through the cracks, but he leaves the room without missing a step. His are the hands of a monster that destroy what good they touch; something precious has gone, leaving a gaping emptiness in its wake, and all he can think is that he must have done something to deserve the ache before he moves into the hallway.
No matter how much he forgets or how much of himself he loses, he promised that he wouldn't stop, and he intends to keep that promise.]
[At the very least, as he leaves the room, that strange heaviness will abate. Not that it likely makes much of a difference, given the new and unexplained loss he carries with him.
Three doors lie ahead of him, and still no sounds of others approaching can be heard. It's almost eerie, actually - like he's in this building all alone. Should he check any of them for noises on the other side, each time he'll be met with nothing but silence.]
He's used to being alone. Eeriness has virtually no effect on him, but the idea that he has to deal with more nonsense is beyond vexing. After checking the next door, he sighs before making his way inside.]
[It looks like a regular-degular supply closet! :) There are uniforms in many different sizes lined up on wall hooks. If he looks through them, he'll be able to find one in his size that he can swap out for his clownish current uniform.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Even funkier is that Sieghart will not actually be able to get a good look at their features. He can tell that the body is staring at him, but the features are strangely blurred in a way that makes it hard to focus on them. They're familiar, though - something aching and familiar, like a face from a forgotten dream that he hasn't revisited in quite some time.]
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He enters into a hallway which is vacant, as the sounds had implied. It goes left and right, stretching until both ends hit corners and turn out of his view, since the building is like a square surrounding the outside area. Think like, an apartment with a courtyard at its center since i aki am not sure i'm describing this setting well.]
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With measured steps so as not to make unnecessary noise, Sieghart takes the left path. As much as he'd like to move quickly, that option is out of his hands when his leg flares up in pain every time he puts weight on it. He listens and watches his surroundings as he moves.]
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When he opens the door, it's dimly lit inside. It will be hard for him to see the exact contents of the room from the door itself. Something within smells faintly metallic, though.]
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However, he's here to gather intel. Anything will do, and he shouldn't loiter out in the hallway for long. He opens the door enough to slip inside.]
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The room itself is even darker and harder to see in now. The metallic smell is more overwhelming now that he's fully inside of the room, too. He'll also find himself starting to feel a heaviness in his chest: that sort of sinking feeling one may experience just before something terrible happens.]
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Presuming he turns it on upon finding it, he'll find that it illuminates a small space. The walls are scrawled with blood, though Sieghart won't be able to pick out any words that may or may not be written into the mess. The longer he stares at them, the more physically unwell he'll begin to feel. The two chairs he had been able to make out the outlines of before become much clearer: they're situated so that they're facing each other, as if poised for a conversation.]
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After a period of squinting at the blood and losing interest in parsing the mess—with even less interest in retching over nothing—he regards the chairs in suspicion and weariness. With the door locked and the wall useless, he settles slowly in one of the chairs.]
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But then, from seemingly thin air, a petite woman materializes in the midst of sitting down. She folds her hands together, and they rest gently on her lap. Of course, Sieghart will recognize her long before she actually looks up to meet his eyes.
When she speaks, her voice is familiar, too, but there's a heaviness in it. A weighted sort of melancholy, similar to what he'd heard from her head before.]
Why are you here?
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Sieghart's expression is uninspired; his tone, flippant as he meets her head-on.]
Because I can't leave until I get this over with. So? What do you want?
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Eventually, with no trace of malicious intent in the words:]
I wish to know what it feels like, to carry on when you have left everyone else behind you. Do you ever look back?
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I can only look as far back as I can remember.
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I see. And how far back can you remember, Sieg?
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[Her face, her voice—without a means to remind himself of them, she slipped through the cracks between his fingers like the sands of time. But some things still dance along the periphery of his frayed memory, and he's stubbornly clung to her name over the centuries.
Sieghart leans back against his seat. Not that any of that matters here.]
Julia's only error was marrying me first. She should've reincarnated as somebody else by now. That's why you don't make a remotely convincing imitation.
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And soon after she does, she rises to stand and crosses the distance between them. Reaching out, she touches the side of his face in a gesture that might be gentle, though it will hardly feel like anything at all to him. The touch of spider's silk, cold and lifeless.]
...Then let me do this last thing for you.
[Her fingers brush against his temple in a soft and tender gesture before she takes a step back. She looks at Sieghart like something she will miss, but something she has resigned herself to lose once more. To her, it's a familiar ache.]
I wish you well, Sieg, and I will love you always. Our paths will not cross again.
[As her wavering figure begins to dissipate, he'll hear the door click open behind him. The candle of the oil lantern flickers and goes out - and with it, he'll start to feel something else slipping away. Those last vestiges of things that he could remember about her will begin to fade, starting with the little things that he barely holds onto and moving on to bigger and more established things, like their marriage, their first meeting, the fact that he knew her at all. Eventually, only the name "Julia" is left - and that, too, escapes him, leaving him only with the sense that he's lost something precious.]
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The heart, however, is treacherous. The mortal love buried deep within his chest reacts to the reminder of days long past, and his stoic mien conceals the grief that washes over him. Such is his curse as a mortal who was given immortality: At the end of the day, it's he who remains behind while everyone else has moved far ahead of him.
Wordlessly, he rises from his seat and makes for the exit. The final grains slip through the cracks, but he leaves the room without missing a step. His are the hands of a monster that destroy what good they touch; something precious has gone, leaving a gaping emptiness in its wake, and all he can think is that he must have done something to deserve the ache before he moves into the hallway.
No matter how much he forgets or how much of himself he loses, he promised that he wouldn't stop, and he intends to keep that promise.]
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Three doors lie ahead of him, and still no sounds of others approaching can be heard. It's almost eerie, actually - like he's in this building all alone. Should he check any of them for noises on the other side, each time he'll be met with nothing but silence.]
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He's used to being alone. Eeriness has virtually no effect on him, but the idea that he has to deal with more nonsense is beyond vexing. After checking the next door, he sighs before making his way inside.]
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