ID 13.190

~°°~

Eris Heindell gritted their teeth, finger guiding a needle with a thread as blood poured from the large gash running to the side of their chest. Teeth caught the wet, bloodied collar as they inhaled heavily, shaky fingers driving the needle to bronze-like skin. A count to seven chanting endlessly in their brain.

You might have been wondering, what on earth happened and how did they end up in this situation in the first place? Let me begin from the very night Eris disappeared. The moment Rycella had gone, Eris sprinted like a mad man, carrying atleast four of the polar fruits.

Eris Heindell never liked running, more inclined on facing things head on, whether it would be a training dummy that they couldn't see, fighting artificial demons inside a helmet or jumbled mess of dreams and memories. They faced it all. Eris still remembered the auburn haired Professor and the way his body crumpled and exploded. Or the crumbling tawny hair and monolid eyes and the gleam of gold taken by a carriage somewhere. Forced themselves to.

But even that wasn't enough. What was the exact shape of his eyes? The sound of her laughter and the angle of her jaw? How tall were they? What did they look like? Are you sure that's what they look like? What were they names? Eris had no answer to that. Maybe, later once they had slept.

Today, as they ran with hands swinging and legs burning, they thought of the feel of a pen held by careful fingers and the smell of ink and parchment. They missed drawing. Perhaps, if they started sketching their faces they'd remember and everything would be okay.

Eris stumbled over a protruding stone on the cobbled floor, plummeting to the ground and striking their forehead. They stood up immediately, almost as if it didn't happen and continued their hasty run, not even feeling the forming bruises in their knees and their elbows.

Eris clambered to a random mirror, panting, now too fatigued to run. They sat in an empty room trying to catch their breath.

Seven days formed a week. Few weeks. Few weeks, she said. Their thoughts were racing now. Eris Heindell only had a few weeks to figure something out and right now, they couldn't breathe. Shaky hands gripped on the damp fabric of their pants as their chest heaved, up and down to the point of a pin-pricking pain.

Wide black eyes flickered to the back of their hands and frenzy panic overtook. Nails dug to the skin, blue blood dripping as Eris bit their lips to muffle a scream. Fingers felt something round and small in the depths of their flesh. Grabbing it was harder than expected and Eris ignored the stinging ache, tears springing in their eyes as grunts of pain managed to escape chapped lips. It was a blur of blue and warmth and damp, then there's a small, round thing in their blood-soaked hands. They grinned for a second or two, before their eyes focused to the hands, the dripping mess and the gaping wound. Panic settled back in, almost as if it hadn't left in the first place, heart thundering in their ribcage and they flicked the GPS away.

What were they thinking? Eris had no idea how to close wounds like these. Why did they even run in the first place with no plan? Boreas always said wounds like these might get infected. Eris buried their face to their hands, forgetting the current state of their palms until there's a cold, liquid sticking to the sides of their face and copper filled their nostrils. They shrank, disgusted and wiped them off with their sleeves before planting their hands to the ground, breathing, in and out, in and out.

Eris stayed like that for minutes, staring at nothing until the world was no longer as crushing, floor stable and grounding, and deep breathing now easier in loosened chest.

In and out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Eris fluttered their eyes shut before heaving one final, calming exhale, a sense of clarity soothing their mind.

Their elbow bumped the star-shaped fruits resting near their ankle. Eris laughed at their own stupidity for a little while as they grabbed one and began to peel. They picked the seeds out of the juicy fruit and shoved them all in their pant pockets.

Eris pressed the meat against the still gaping wound as it slowly turned to water, rinsing all the blood away. The water stung a little. Fingers tore the hem of their uniform, carefully picking a part that was not dirty nor damped by sweat and pressed it over the injury. By the way blue seeped so quickly, it might need stitches. Eris' teeth grind against each other and they pulled more of the fabric and wrapped it firmly all over the gashed skin, hoping that might help at least.

Goosebumps raced over their skin as the coldness from the floor and the wall seemed to permeate the air as well. Fatigue began to set in and Eris curled over the corner, clutching their knees as sleep seeped in.

~°°~

Eris woke up, head lolling uncomfortably in one side, neck and back heavy and strained. Their glasses stuck to their nose and they felt burning lines running across their nose bridge and to the cheekbones that led to hair-covered ears. There's dried, flaky blood in their forehead. The back of their hand still stung but in better shape, at least. Stifling a yawn as they sat up and stretched their arms, muscles pained by fatigue. Fingers undid the messy braids that tied their coiled hair and let them lay in hunched shoulders. Eris' stomach lurched in a loud protest.

Blearily, they reached for the star-shaped fruits, wiping sleepy dust resting in the narrow front of their eyes and began to strip the rind of deep blue hue akin to the color of a ripe, plump blueberry. They wondered the taste of the fruit itself and brought it to their mouth with a suspicious sniff. It tasted bland, like licking stone with a rather chewy texture.

The fruit soon turned into soft, fluffy bread, with steaming smoke rising from its baked crust as if fresh from the oven. Happily, they blew it, smoke wafting to eager face, before munching a huge bite as they jumped out of the mirror.

Running again. Still with no plan. But that's okay, that's okay, they thought with a forced smile. But for now, they decided to go back to where Rycella had brought them earlier (or was it yesterday? Eris had no idea how long they slept.) Considering the Shroud, Eris figured to steal and save up the fruits as rations so that once they finally figured out how to escape then...

It was a good thing that their panic induced brain decided to just run straight ahead. Eris hadn't exactly remembered how the mirror that led to the fruits looked like and ended up traversing the endless arrays of mirrors. And got flirted by death again because one got a huge ass fucking monster inside it that almost clawed their head out, gleaming eyes flashing in mad hunger.

Eris jumped out hastily, world whirling but it followed, talons still reaching out with a growl. Black eyes widened when the imposing furred frame lunged out, free. Eris clung to the cobbled walls and inhaled as deep as they could before they turned themselves into a random mirror in panic. Caged muzzle sniffed on empty space, drool dripping. It snarled, tearing the walls and mirrors around it, lunging wildly on air.

But, Eris did not know that. For now, their blood had solidized and eyes reconstructed into a wooden frame. There's nothing to see nor to feel and Eris hoped it'd galloped away somehow.

Lungs almost bursting, it took at least a minute before Eris appeared back into view, panting heavily. The monster's ears perked up the slimmest sound of movement, looming shadow approaching.

Eris, arms still clutching on to a protruding brick, swung to the side to intrude to another mirror, muttering a prayer under their breath that for once, it wouldn't be something that would take off their head.

Gravity shifted and when they blinked, the side of their forehead already collided against a set of metallic bars. Eris clenched their jaw as they clutched their head when an answering bang struck back on the opposing side of the bars. Eris jumped back in instinct and that was a good choice because by mere milliseconds a sharp edged steel had passed through the inbetween of the prison cell, striking where the back of their head had just been.

It was able to puncture the sole of their feet however, blood splattering as it drew back their blade. An amalgamation of blades towered on the other side. It's ribcage was made of steel, curved, sharp; the back made of long razors that spread out like a fan, talon-like hands welded on its spine.

Eris took off their boot and caressed their bleeding foot, wincing. The injury looked deep, definitely needing stitches. Eris was stuck here. They were not that foolish to limp and make it worse, and they can hear Boreas ranting about tetanus or infections and bandage it and rest.

Something rustled, swish of blades hissing in the air as this weird, abhorrent culmination of steel tried to pierce through them. The rusty bars stood as a protection and for now, Eris was safe.

It was glaring. It was mad. The rattle in their bones and the lump in their throat should be somewhat familiar now, ingrained in their flesh to be fear. Eris glared back, that helpless frustration that piled up to bite.

"Fuck you. Stupid Metal Dude," they snarled, before haplessly looking back at their feet. "This wouldn't do," they said to themselves outloud, hands clenched with an odd, dawning determination sketched in their face. They bandaged the wound using torn garments, edging away from the reach of the Metal Dude.

Eris would not be stuck here.

~°°~

They were stuck here.

An hour and a half passed. Or at the very least, it felt like so.

It was just now did Eris realize that there would be no one coming. There's a hundred millions of mirrors on these corridors, probably. They had clawed off their GPS.

You slept for a whole day, mumbled a voice in their head and Eris felt the weight of that sinking in, the passage of time awaiting for no one and—it's okay, it's okay, Eris thought to themselves. We still have weeks. Rycella said weeks. The stupid metal didn't even give them the reprieve of sleep, clattering loudly against their prison cell.

There is no one coming.

Eris was alone. With a manic metal guy and a talking power book inside of them.

Eris slapped the sides of their face. They took a weighty inhale, puffing their cheeks with their eyes shut before exhaling the air through their mouth. "There's always, always a way..." they muttered to themselves, eyes glazed. I will have my freedom.

Because unlike some others, Eris Heindell wouldn't run away. Even if it pertained about stupidly complicated powers and talking books that would come out of your chest when called. "There's no shortcuts to learning, y'know," said the book sleazily, barely making itself afloat. "You always depend on others. Ugh."

And yeah, perhaps Eris shouldn't have expected a helpful response from the Peculiar. They closed the book shut and pushed it back down to their chest.

Eris sighed.

There was only one way to do this.

And, that's how Eris almost suffocated to death thirty times while a coalescence of metal slashed inside a prison cell. So, any normal person might be wondering, why the actual fuck? Now, there's a very simple explanation for that. What Eris wanted to do was this (and this was stated in note seven); manage to escape the Mirror Room and gather information by disguising as a random furniture. But here was a setback (also written in note seven), Eris couldn't breath nor see when reverted into a furniture, hence why they wanted to learn how transform different parts of their body instead of as a whole.

That, however, was easier said than done. So now, Eris decided to face this head on.

Peculiars worked by psychology and the will of the mind. Eris, like a dumbass, figured that it meant that if they just transformed and forced it enough then it would have a chance of working out. Now, a rational person would say, hey if you do that you'd die in suffocation. But, Eris also had that figured out. Apparently.

Transforming and maintaining required constant and full focus. You know what you couldn't do when your lungs were about to burst? Focusing! This was Eris's way of logic in a nutshell.

And so, a small little pebble sat on a ground, seconds passing by. This was the thirty second try.

The pebble buckled, as time waited the form enlarging, black hair sprawling into existence. A loud groan reverberated in the air. Nose bled blue and nausea struck their head in vengeance. Well, Eris thought with a forced smile, it wasn't completely useless. For one, they finally noticed that their clothes transformed along with them. That's useful, right?

Rough hands wiped the blood dripping from their nose, tired eyes furrowing back to concentration. One more. Just one more.

A book emerged from their hand, slapping them in the face, pages wildly flipping in great speed. "You're actually crazy," it said, displeased. "I've never met someone so eager to die."

"Will you help me then?" Eris asked stubbornly.

"Fine. What is it that you want?" it snipped. "I'll give it to you. With a price though."

Eris grinned, mouth opening before their mind flashed unbidden memories of a man, hunching over a mahogany desk, tapping his foot as he speaks of promises to give everything they had dreamed of. Their lips pursed into a line.

"Never mind. I'll do this myself." Eris pushed down the book again. Eris felt a weird sense of begrudging respect coming from the Peculiar despite the fact it had no face. Blood dripped from their nostrils once more, falling to the slope of their chin, and okay, perhaps Eris should rest for a little bit. As if agreeing, their stomach lurched, loudly groaning.

Eris shoved their hands into their pockets, taking out the remaining polar fruits. Their eyes widened in realization, it transformed along with them. So, it's not just their clothes. Eris didn't feel their weight when transformed too. Mental note number eight; as long as an item is in a physical contact with Eris, it'll morph with them. This meant that they could technically take all the chests of the fruits as long as they were transformed. Eris beamed, eating boneless chicken wings with renewed vigor. "See, it wasn't useless at all!"

They were brimming with good mood and positivity to the point that they even gave Metal Dude one chicken. The smallest one, of course. Metal Dude responded by hacking it and obliterating it to pieces. Eris smiled at it, cheerily. It's quite cool looking, now that Eris took a second overall look of it.

Bonkers. Gone actual bonkers, said a voice from themselves. I thought you reached your peak craziness when you started talking to yourself. I was wrong.

Eris rolled their eyes. Trust the stupid book to try and ruin their good mood. "Oh, shut up. Why are you so vocal these days?"

Because you want me to.

Eris bit on the chicken wing instead of answering and the book didn't speak again. They dove back to Peculiar training after eating and a few minutes of resting, the timid silence more suffocating than any prison of a magical book.

They stopped when the stinging in their feet had become too much, along with weariness that they no longer could ignore. The tear in their feet started to swell, the skin around it taking a hue of blue and green. The wound in their hand fared better. Eris unwrapped the garments that were now cloaked with dried blood and replaced them. Their sticky skin and the growing stench of sweat mixed with copper made them long for warm water and—glancing at the ripped clothes and a slashed boot—new clothes would be nice too.

Lips chapped, throat dry, it was just then that Eris realized that they hadn't drunk water for ages now. They should have run after Rycella gave them that cup of water. They shut their eyes instead.

Sleep came unbidden.

~°°~

They have been here for two days and Eris was just now feeling the weariness of that in their bones. Eris felt their pockets, noting that they had only two fruits left. They propped one fruit in their mouth, coughing out when the rush of water plunged down to their throat. Miserably, they sagged against the wall as they wrung out the water that had fallen into their tunic, pondering about their chances if they'd try to limp their way out. They concluded—through deliberate thinking—that yeah, fuck no, unless they're begging to be caught or have the wound reopened and get an infection that'd have their entire foot sawed off or something, according to the Boreas in their brain.

Eris tried once again, pouring the entirety of their soul energies for hours on end. There's desperation again, clawing down to their throat and a flash of a crumbling body flickered in their mind, awaiting and watching in disappointment. Every second stuck in this place was every second wasted. Metal Dude rattled in their cell, seemingly reading their mind and got offended.

"You're very cool, Metal Dude," they mumbled as they pulled their bandaged feet and rested it on their knee. The swelling had worsened. Eris ignored the growling hunger of their stomach and patted it absentmindedly.

~°°~

Play tic-tac-toe with me. A hundred and four morphs later, the book intervened, jumping out of Eris' body and planted the edge of their cover to the ground to scrawl lines. Eris huffed, face twisted into a scowl.

"Why should I?"

"Keep this up and you'll die in dehydration," the Peculiar said outloud. Their tone now sounded more determined. "You're a fucking idiot so, play tic-tac-toe with me."

The scowl ran deeper. "I am not."

"Mortals." The book grumbled, looking as if they might smack Eris in the head again. "Sit properly. Calm down." The stupid book retreated and scribbled a perfect 'X' in the upper corner.

"I don't want to," they answered, a vein bulging in their forehead, fingers pinching the sides of their forehead. "I want to do this and if you would just let me—"

"I know," the book interrupted. A chuckle colored their words. "I doubted because the bond felt rather off and stilted, but I guess you do have what it takes to get a subset to the original Peculiar of Greed."

Eris' arched an eyebrow. "Original Peculiar of Greed?"

"Everything has a source, of course. Peculiars didn't just popped out of nowhere, you know.." the Peculiar said in a tone that implied they think that Eris is dumb. "In a way, we are the manifestation of desires and the mirror of your fears. Well, it's a cycle thing. Simply put, the more the fear is fed, the more the desire is needed."

But Eris looked even more confused, eyes furrowing. "What if your fear changes? What if your desire is fulfilled?"

"Then, the bond weakens. Worst case, although rarely, it breaks. It's no longer needed."

There's a significant silence as Eris pondered, slant of their eyebrows deepening while they thoughtfully tapped their temple. "So, in order to be super good at your Peculiar, you have to be your worst, fearful self? That sounds... Counterproductive," they mumbled after a while. "What other 'Original Peculiars' are out there?" they asked curiously.

"I'm not sure," the Peculiar admitted, the glow surrounding it dimming. The tic-tac-toe laid forgotten in the ground. "Peculiar of Greed was made last out of everything. Plus, I'm not an Orignal."

"Then, why are they called an Original if they're made last?"

The book paused, thinking how to explain it in the simplest way possible. Even its pages began to crunch. "It's a general knowledge that not everyone can get a Peculiar. But greed is different and knows no bounds. Everyone has the Original Peculiar of Greed, even people who already have a Peculiar, just as long as they are willing, everyone can get what they want and more."

Eris listened with rapt attention. It continued, "Only few people were blessed by the gods. Originally, as soon as our host die, we die along with it then, made anew when given to another random host," the book explained. "But, people wanted more. People blessed with Peculiars wanted to pass it on to their children and people who didn't have it wanted it to themselves. This was when the Peculiar of Greed was made—well, to be more exact, this was when it's existence was known. Someone learned how to steal a Peculiar." The tone in their voice changed to something lower as if saying something taboo. "By eating the flesh of a Peculiar Owner."

Eris looked stunned, disgusted and horrified at the same time, nose scrunched in disgust. "Please tell me they atleast cook it."

The book shrugged. "The tradition varies but I'm not that sure either. I'm a pretty young book, freshly made and stuff, y'know." It tried to do a wink through its pages. It failed.

Eris glanced at the floating book, almost hesitantly. "You know, I've never seen a Peculiar like you. Like vocally. Well, you did say it's because I feel lonely right now but still. It's.. Odd."

"I agree," it hummed in response, with an assessing tone in its voice. "I'm supposed to be fully incorporated in your mind. I'm just your deep-seated insecurities screaming at you but now I'm myself. That's cool. I don't like being forcibly reduced to an unstable teenager's tantrum." Pages shook. "We should focus on getting you out here."

"You're right." Eris nodded, a smile of appreciation gracing their tired face as they hugged their knees. "Thank you. You have no idea how nice it is to not feel so alone."

The book chuckled, not unkindly. "It's you I have to thank. It's great to feel free."

Eris read between the lines, careful prodding as they leaned forward. "What's the usual experience?"

For the first time, the Peculiar looked hesitant. "I'm not comfortable at telling that."

"Okay." They bobbed their head, fervent and understanding. "But, you want to be freed right?"

"Yes."

Eris smiled inconspicuously, innocent-like eyes looking to the book once again. "Give me the one-hundred percent potential of this Peculiar and I'll find a way to set you free permanently."

Laughter filled the air. "You are so damn sure too," the book snickered. "Alas, even if I do believe you, I can't do that. Atleast not without payment. Haven't I told you already? The rules of Peculiar. Paid by blood," they echoed, voice loud and deep. "And only by blood. Your lifespan."

Eris didn't even blink.

"How much?"

"Quarter of your lifespan, atleast."

"I see," they said after a while of silence. "Let me think about it. But, I just wanna say," Eris continued, black eyes determined as they pushed their glasses up their nose. "Even if I do accept it and you take some of my lifespan, I'll still set you free. If I don't accept the offer, I will still."

For a moment, the Peculiar looked dumbfounded. Then, it plopped to the ground, mumbling under its breath. "See, this is what I mean. So, not greedy."

Eris rolled their eyes. "I think it's just basic human decency to not like forced labor. Everyone is free. Even books who are more human than they're supposed to be."

The book shifted, in a way that seemed to be of guilt, succumbing to silence.

When Eris ate their last fruit, a necklace made of nails tumbled out with it.

They cried before they could even make it to one.

~°°~

Everyone was a pawn for something; the seas to the rise of the moon, the trees to the light of the sun, Rhea to the gravitational pull of Saturn. In a way, so am I even though I had forgotten it. What else could make a man write for decades?

To readers, travelers from different times, it's easy to know which makes little Eris Heindell tick. It's easy to understand as well how it'll contribute to the end of the world. I am unable to interfere. I am eternal. But, I'm also non-existent, bound to limitless space, a golden chain and a book. All I could do was stare, write and hope that somehow something would change.

Eris Heindell was given the same choices for millions of times now. Somehow, they also always pick the same.

~°°~

Something small fell out of the mirror.

A dark, curly hair strand swayed in the air despite the fact that there was not even the sliver hint of a breeze. It drifted farther and farther away, fast, caught in a nonexistent blow, past through the hallways cloaked in dark, pristine statues and the grass that inched taller and taller.

It wisped even farther—past a girl digging a grave and to the only standing tree in the Dome, sucked in its giant burrow.

It dropped to the ground, mass spewing out of the small strand. Flesh constructed itself, remaking finer details; dark complexion, short stature and messy, curled hair framing soft yet determined face. Two heavy chests fell to the dirt with a thud.

A grin slitted across their face, an excited light flickering their beady eyes. "That was awesome!" They zapped to and fro, turning into a table with googly eyes. A mouth sprouted into one of its legs, enlarging then diminishing itself to a point of a dot. "This is awesome."

Eris reverted back to themselves, looking at their right hand as it turned into an amalgamation of blades and cutlery, awed. Their left hand meanwhile, was a fiery torch, lighting the shadowed burrow with warm orange tones. "Can I be a gun?" A lit light bulb formed itself in the back of their head. "Wait. Technically, I can make bandages right?"

Technically, yes of course. On both things, murmured the book hesitantly.

Eris ripped the dirty, bloodied pieces of clothes as clean bandages shot out of their skin and began to wrap themselves into the bluish wound. Another light bulb grew out of the other light bulb. "Can't I just make a potion or a glyph?"

The writings in the glyph are the essence of magic and can't exactly be replicated. It'll just be a paper and you have to write the glyph itself. You can make the potions, yes, but you'll have to know the ingredients and how it's made, it explained .

They made a face. Eris stood up straighter, patting off non-existent dust in their pants. "Fine. Okay."

What are you doing? The Peculiar's tone sounded suspicious.

"Getting the potions book recipe in the Healing Lodge and snatch a healing glyph too," Eris replied. "Plus, I have to check out what Rycella was up to anyways. Didn't you see the weird thing she was burying?"

You need to rest, actually, the book interjected, exasperated. Look, even if you do get to make a healing glyph or a potion, it's not exactly ideal as you think it is.

Another raised eyebrow. Look, the voice began, sounding more and more agitated as the seconds ticked by. Do still not understand how we work? it said hotly, When you turn into something, it's still you so, if you make something that has to be consumed or used, a part of your body will be chipped away for it to work. You can make a gun with an always filled magazine but don't forget that the bullets are you and if you do shoot, it's a part of you that will be taken away.

"One missing toe couldn't that be important," Eris said dismissively.

The book snapped, jumping out of Eris skin. "I just want you to remember one little thing. Listen to me closely," it beckoned as Eris inched nearer. "Closer, closer." It's tone was overly pleasant as Eris followed and lent their ear. "Now. YOU DON'T HAVE INFINITE TOES!? It doesn't bleed or anything painful, but it's something you could never get back. It takes part of you until you have nothing—body, lifespan, blood—EVERYTHING! Everything has a payment and you seem to do anything but remember that! DO YOU GET IT NOW?!" The Peculiar screeched, voice amplified, trapped in this small, rather damp place. It's pages folded themselves to form a scowl. "You're a Peculiar Owner now, act like it and don't die without my consent. You can do your suicidal tendencies when you've freed me."

Eris raised their arms in surrender. "I get it," they said through gritted teeth. "But I do still have go, my foot's infected. And Rycella."

"What? Is her foot also fucking infected? Did her hair fall off in the wrong way?" mocked the book.

"No?"

"I know," it deadpanned. "I was mocking you. Everything about fucking Rycella." If talking, magical books have eyes it would have rolled to oblivion by now. "Whatever, obsessed freak. Why'd I even bother—go lose all your toes. Your brain too if you even have that. I don't even care if you die," it said scornfully, slinking back again to flesh.

Eris, for once, looked sheepish. "I'm just gonna get a glyph for my foot. I'm not gonna.. I swear, I'm not gonna sacrifice any part of my body."

There was no reply.

Sighing, Eris smoothed out messy hair, pushing dark curl out of their furrowed eyes. "I need to do this," they pleaded, swallowing the lump in their throat.

Then, they jumped out of the wood to be a single piece of hair with the tiniest eyes, hands and nose, swimming in the air.

Having such minuscule eyes were an experience. An incredibly nauseating and terrible experience. It was impossible to see clearly; almost like a blurry pixels of colors. The world towered, larger in its seams. Particles of dust looking like floating colossal isles. Sight was out of focus, a blurry mess and a relief it was then, when they barely saw the outline of herbs in their sight and picked the scent of sharp mint and spices.

Eris drank the potion left in the table and felt the pain numb into nothingness. Cabinets and the cupboards clinked as they were stretched open, potion recipe books and a Basic Glyphs laid in the table until darkly tanned hands felt a crinkle of paper underneath a plastic cover. Eris clambered it out immediately. A neat scrawl of 'Cooling' written in its midst. Eris stuck their hand back in to the cabinet, scrounging for more until they got the Healing on their hands.

They pressed it against their wound, while the other hand shoved the rest of the Healing glyphs into their pockets. Lone footsteps echoed through the pavement and Eris stood, hesitantly grabbing the potion and the glyph books and shoved it under their tightened pants as they disappeared once again. It's Rycella because, really, since when would it not be?

Rycella's hair messily tussled, eyes tired and her glasses missing. There's hints of red blood over her clothes, fur sticking to skin and fabric. Eris followed the trail of blood. These days those were the only thing that connected them to her.

Eris followed the hints of auburn hair and it led to a dusty tower and a dimly lit room, barely escaping the entangled webs of the spiders atop the ceiling. They heard voices by a hair's breadth, sounding so far away and rather faint.

This wouldn't do. Eris, the hair dropped to the floor, turning themselves into one of the thrown clothes in the floor. They dared not to make eyes peering throughout the fabric and instead, poked out their nose and a medium sized ear underneath. Nostrils picked up the scent of cobblestone and unwashed clothes, their nose bridge squished but it was enough to breath and so it was enough to Eris Heindell.

"—lonely?" asked a familiar voice, one they're used to listening on a loud, booming microphone. This must be the Principal, Eris thought with trepidation.

"I told you I don't want to be monitored in my dorm. I thought you agreed but why on earth are the eyeball fucks there now?" Rycella's voice was hard and carried a hint of frustration. There's a shuffle, a footstep. "You wouldn't sleep today, anyways. I'll be taking the bed."

Eris then heard a shatter to the ground and dripping of liquid. There was a grumble, pieces clinking as they were picked up by hands. What followed was an odd conversation about blood. There's that regret then that sounded like Boreas' rebuke, for not learning glyphs because right now, a Recording Glyph would be really helpful.

But for now, what they gathered was this; the Professors lied about their blood turning back to normal soon. And just from the very vague context clues, the color has a connection to the lifespan. This whole thing will be analyzed in note nine.

Secondly, there's also this request that Rycella had not agreed. Which Eris hadn't given much thought to because apparently there was also a dead dude who wasn't buried yet? The fuck?

Eris winced, feeling blood drip down from their nose. Their nose shrank to the cloth, not a drop falling to the floor as Eris replaced and used their mouth to breathe instead, careful not to leave a trace.

"His body isn't some tool," they heard Rycella scathingly say.

He must be somebody important to her, Eris thought, almost dizzy in the realization. Maybe a friend. Whoever he was, dead he may be, Rycella deemed him worthy of her protection and attention, undeserving of her absence and abandonment. He must be something else. Eris swallowed the bitter lump in their throat and ignored the odd sinking cold in the pit of their stomach.

Rycella slept soon right after and for a moment, there was silence with only the tip-tap of pressed keyboards to fill it.

Then, there was a ruffle, the Principal stood and steady footsteps sounded farther and farther away. A faint shing cut through the air. Again and again, rhythmic. It took Eris a moment. A knife honed. There's a clang of metal and click of an opened stove, the crackling of fire underneath a pot.

Eris sighed internally and thought this as a sign to clamber away for some peace and sleep. There's a grumble coming from behind them, something about cooking and onions and eyes.

In the mess of the floor, a formal coat slowly crawled for the hanging mirror in the wall. The hem of its sleeves had a pair of eyes, blinking.

A sudden, "Hello?" popped those eyes back to fabric. Eris stayed still, frozen as the Principal continued, thinking did she saw me? How?— "Oh, no, of course not. I didn't forget. I was just about to be in my way for the meeting." She chuckled too harshly, and Eris breathed in relief. "Good evening too, Madam." The Principal halted. The silent communicator seemed to have gone and she said, "Fuck."

Eris heard the flicker of water as the Principal splashed her face. Hasty footsteps came closer as the Principal swooped in to grab the closest coat near the mirror. Which was of course, Eris Heindell. The mouth under the coat disappeared and the smallest poke of a nostrils showing in the back of the collar. And to the mirror they go through.

Eris peaked a wary eye through the lower side of the coat. The room was empty, lest for a dusty, rounded table with a telephone in its midst. The door in the side, locked. There was a jingle of keys and a click and the door opened with a creak. A dusty hallway.

A grating screech followed as chairs were dragged to the room, one in each hand, out and again until no side of the table laid lonely. The Principal heaved a breath, a rag in her hands as she wiped the table clean. There's sweat building in her skin and finally she tossed the coat aside and pushed her sleeves upwards.

She halted out of the sudden, hunching, a hand splayed over the table for support as painful coughs hacked out of her mouth. Blood forced itself out of her lips, pale gold, painting the stone beneath her feet. She sighed, under her breath as she dragged a mop to clean it off.

Undeterred, she opened the windows, coughing and nose wrinkling as the air and dirt flickered to her face. The curtains danced then, flowing free. She wiped the windows thoroughly, dirt building in the clothes. The eye disappeared as she turned.

She was finished, dusting off her hands in flourish. Footsteps. The sound of the chair's legs as it was dragged against cobblestone floor. She lounged in one of the chair with a sigh, resting her foot in the table. There's a bustle, out of the blue, feet planting back to the ground. "Fuck, the soup."

Patter of shoes once again, hurried and drifting as it goes to the hallway where a mirror awaits. Then, it was gone.

Eris turned. They opened the book in their hands, their left hand now a burning torch as they shifted through the pages. A meeting. Eris needed to record this. Maybe, if they could somehow expose everything to every students then—

Eris sucked in a breath as they finally saw what they were looking for. Without even hesitating, the smallest of their fingers flattened and whitened to the liking of a paper, and ripped it. The tip of their left index finger had turned into a pen and quickly they copied the glyph to the paper.

An odd feeling it was, to bleed without a wound and it's ink drying into a paper. In the corner of their eyes, the knuckle for their pinkie had darkened, the finger itself cut off. Eris didn't even notice the loss until blood dripped down from their nose once again and instinctively brought their right hand to wipe it. They stared at the closed off flesh, wrinkled with the slimmest peek of the bone showing.

There's a rattle and footsteps echoed, nearer and nearer. Eris startled awake, grabbing the book and the glyph, swerving their head left and right before jumping to the farther end window and engraved themselves as a curtain.

~°°~

So far, there had been two people in this meeting. Professor Jhlor and that new professor. Barely they saw; shuffles of boots and sometimes rhythmic bouncing of legs. Mostly, they relied in their sense of the ear, eyes hiding in the bottom of the curtains. Behind the curtains was a paper made of flesh, carefully pressed, listening.

~°°~

Betting. This was an auction for their favorite show. Eris had never felt such disgust until now. How fun was it, they thought of asking with knife protruding in each and everyone of their necks in silent fume, to watch them struggle, to watch them dance?

Eris thought of steering their eyes up, enough to see their faces and have it in engorged in memory, so that once they were free, they would know who to scorn—they would know who allowed and laughed at her death. It was tempting. But, Eris knew better now than to rush at things head first. And there was also that part of them too; soft, with pressed flowers in a sketched paper, and the one that idealized heroes from poems that bemoaned. Perhaps, these people misunderstood something. Perhaps, they didn't know it's real. Perhaps, sure, these certain Great Men people were (for the lack of better word) evil, but not all of them. (Boreas often told to not generalize nor put people into groups.) It was a lot of perhaps.

Because this was the first time Eris Heindell entertained the thought of killing. Of bludgeoning a head that belonged not to a dummy nor a demon. It was an idea as frightening as it was comforting. Heroes do not kill.

But sometimes they must, don't they, quipped that sullen, savage part of them. Knights strike down dragons in tales, don't they? A sword to the heart.

And these men were no dragons. They were worse than that.

The demons were oddly less aggravating. Although, that was probably because Eris couldn't understand their language. They leaned away from glamorous theatrics, more eager to be done with it and be away. No puffy dresses, high heels of gold or boots of leather and instead feet of blisters, of warts and pus, a dirtied hem of a veil and—

And Eris felt a heavy set of eyes on to them with an encompassed fire. The eyes sown in the carpet blotted out immediately, Eris sinking into the dark abyss. Yes—they thought, they remembered—hadn't Boreas mentioned about demons' amazing sense of smell, especially for flesh?

So, they sat in this cramp space, unhearing and unseeing with only their nose poking out when the end of their breath neared. It was dark, their body confined in the thinness of a patterned fabric. Eris, unable to feel nor do anything. It was the damning thing about this Peculiar of theirs; this feeling of suffocation. Eris never bade well in small, dark spaces. The isolation rooms made sure of that.

Despite having no skin, Eris felt themselves cold. They wondered then what was happening outside, if time passes quicker in this little space or not. Their only inclination of time was the tightness of their lungs that signaled the need to push out their nose and inhale the most that they could.

Breathe, hold, exhale. Breathe, hold, exhale.

Eris hoped, that at the very least, the Recorder Glyph had gotten everything. They sat, tied to the nothingness and its tight hold, unsure of when it'd be safe to reach and get out. They had been rash—rushing without any plan and with nothing that indicated the passage of time. Unease had thinned their patience and hesitantly, they decided to take a short look.

The meeting was not over yet it seemed. A rustle of movement in the corner of their eyelids, blurry, fast, hungry. A twistedly handsome face leering, teeth as white as snow, its many hands stretching forth to showcase sharp nails begging for blood.

Eris regretted and ran and ran back to the cage, the veins in their eyes burning as they deformed. Quick and decisive, there's a sharp pain that ripped through their body with no idea why or where. Eris had no mouth but they felt themselves scream. A tremor, the smallest of shake that they forced to still. I told you. Eris could imagine the voice sneer. You always bite more than you could chew.

Breathe, hold, exhale. Breathe, hold, exhale. Count. Count the strokes it takes.

Eyes sealed. Bones locked into this cage. That sordid loneliness, rearing its head and everything they feared in the shadows, coming to taunt.

Breathe, hold, exhale. Breathe, hold, exhale.

Breathe, hold, exhale. Breathe, hold—

~°°~

The next time Eris opened their eyes, light flickered through the curtains. It was morning. Eris tumbled to the floor, detransforming the moment consciousness registered. Their glasses poured with wax cracked at the impact of the floor. They heaved coughs, lips dry and throat sore.

You're welcome.

Eris grunted in response, hands running all over the gash in the side of their chest, feeling the cold blood linger. The joints in their knees felt wobbly like the bones would dislocate and fall. Eris heard a sigh reverberate through their head, softly enough that they could think they just imagined it.

Eris felt themselves shrink without their permission, the familiar dim in their vision slowly creeping in. Eris mouthed the word no, too tired to panic. Not a sound came out. Curling over, resigned, Eris hoped that maybe this time, the embrace of sleep would feel longer. Maybe, they'd dream nicely for once. Golden hair flashed, eyes of soft peridot sparkling in laughter and Eris had never felt such longing that it'd hurt.

But, Eris did not sleep this time. Instead, they stumbled to dirt and growing weeds sheltered in the tree burrow.

There's always payment, of course.

They let out a bruised laugh that ended into wrecked coughs. "Surely, there's gotta be something else that you like about me that isn't my lifespan."

Nope. You just looked pathetic, crawling on the floor, the book said bluntly.

Eris rolled hazed eyes as they shakily sat up and leaned against the wooden crates left earlier. They retrieved the pouch of healing glyphs and clumsily placed a dozen over the gash. It was soothing, like cool water to a burn but it's clear it was not enough, the wound too deep to be mended with the simplest of the Healing Glyphs. Black eyes glanced down at the books strapped into their waist. Maybe they could—

Losing more blood and a finger is the last thing you want in this state of yours, the Peculiar intervened quickly.

"I haven't even said anything." Eris bristled, "What do you suggest I do then?"

Stitch it. Then put the glyphs.

They scowled. "I don't have the equipment for that. And you've reminded me so thoroughly about 'not being in the state,'" they quipped with a hand quote.

There's a groan. Look, making glyphs and potions are detrimental because you need to cut and lose a part of you permanently for it to work. You won't have to cut off the thread and the needle, quite frankly you need tied to you—

"I get it, I get it," Eris gritted out. "Excuse me for not being used to this one hundred percent powered Peculiar that I had just gotten recently. It'd be nice too if someone would explain everything."

They ignored the responding scoff and focused in the slashed tunic and the ripped skin underneath. They ripped the fabric even more so for clearer view and pried away the Healing Glyphs carelessly plastered in the wound. "Can you hold this?"

I'm not your servant. But the Peculiar appeared either way, and carried the papers painted in blue and ink.

"Fucking hell," Eris grumbled as they inhaled a breath and plucked a threaded needled out of their flesh, pointing it on the lips of the wound. "I should have brought those pain numbing potions."

"You should have," the book agreed.

They wet their lips, fingers trembling and looked very feverish. "I don't like pain."

"No one does."

"I.." Eris blinked. "I'm not—I haven't even sown clothes. I don't know how to.."

"It's easy," the Peculiar said soothingly, or at the very least, tried to. "By the way, you don't need those glasses anymore. It's obstructing you at this point. You have full control of your turning now, remember?"

Eris blinked again in this realization before nodding hesitantly and took off the glasses. There's a small cry that came out of it as it was dropped to the floor. The world notably cleared.

"Look. You just have to go to one side to another until the wound is closed." They made a zig-zag motion that ventured downwards. Eris winced.

"Easy for you to say," Eris snarked scornfully, face twisted into a weak scowl. "I really, really don't like needles. And what if I make a mistake? What if—"

The book intercepted, impatiently. "What do you want me to do? If you still can't see clearly, I would like to tell you that I don't have fingers." Eris looked feverish, mouth opening again to speak but the Peculiar's patience already dwindled away. "Oh, for the love of— My gods! Just do it."

The needle dug through the skin and Eris managed to weave two with curses murmured under their breath, knuckles bulging at the tightness of their hold. "I need... Can you get the Metal Dude in the chest? I need Mirror Dude for moral support."

The book paused. "Is that why you insisted on bringing it along?"

"They're gonna be lonely if we left them alone," Eris pouted. "Plus, I think we've reached in a sort of understanding."

The Peculiar let out a laugh that it does whenever it thinks Eris had gone mad. Which was very often. "It's an amalgamation of blades. If you wanted a moral support, I can be the moral support."

Eris gave it a skeptical look.

"Fine." It pushed the lid open with its spine. The mirror peeked, half swallowed by the abundance of star-shaped fruits. "The things I do for brats like you," it grumbled.

Eris looked mildly disappointed at the reminder that Metal Dude was in fact in the mirror, but it had helped a little. Biting the collar of their shirt, they continued the stitch, muffling the pained groans. A count trickled into their mind endlessly as Eris' shoulders jump whenever the needle tip pierced through and they had to pull and tighten.

At the final sew, Eris let out a sigh they had been holding for ages, fingers shaking in relieved trepidation. They pushed the needle near to the top of the stitched wound but there was no piercing pain this time for the steel returned back to skin, sealing the tear. The book floated near their face, gesturing at the Healing Glyphs stuck in its pages.

Tinged with dried blue blood, the paper had stuck to the Peculiar's pages much to its chagrin. Eris placed them to sewn wound, eyes furrowed in exhaustion and concentration. Soothing coolness enveloped the prickling pain. Eris sighed again, content. A yawn forced itself out of their mouth.

"You should eat before you sleep. And drink," the Peculiar reminded. It flew to the opened chest, clipping two fruits between its pages. Eris nodded absentmindedly, eating burning hot bread without complaints in two bites then placed the other fruit into their mouth as it burst into water.

Another yawn and they curled up into a corner of the burrow, their hand as a pillow.

"Sleeping will be more comfortable if you turn," the book said.

Eris shook their head, something briefly glinting in their beady eyes. "No." Then their face twisted into disgust. "Just realized I haven't brushed my teeth for ages now. I need to steal my toothbrush," they mumbled with slower and slower blinks until it finally shut down. "Bath too.. need...."

They were asleep before they finished the sentence. The Peculiar grunted a jumble of words, shaking as if it was looking around for something then it relented, shrinking to Eris' body.

Ten seconds and the book flew back into view and grew, its pages twisting themselves to be rough and course, hued rich brown. If anyone were to look, the place was nothing more than an empty tree burrow with weirdly tall grass growing in it.

~°°~