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The night repeated its empty chord. Was it night? It was always night on this rock, a night swirling into the piceous mouth of eternity. Three years haunted by the fading vespers of the green sun, three years of gazing at yourself with ophidian eyes filled with both temptation and longing. That wrapped their cold tongue around you and played a song that instilled in you a metallic lust to hollow yourself out and become one with the dissonance. A mute scream seeped out of the unspoken doubt burrowed in every thought, every utterance. Its silence was as infinite as it was maddening and it was all you could do to give it life and to give it voice. Otherwise it threatened to break you, stretch you, consume you. So you had to give yourself up to something else, place yourself as a sacrifice at another altar, one at least of your own choosing, one of presence and vitality instead of the omnipresent and omniscient abyss. And so you watched and you burned while everyone around you froze.
It was spite that drove you to frivolity and melancholy that drove you to ecstasy. You had been withering away by its intent and searching desperately for a beacon to throw yourself into. At first you thought that beacon was companionship, but that proved to not be enough. You loved her and she was strong, but not strong enough to keep you both afloat. You could see the monochrome sinking into her eyes; they focused on you so often your reflection could not help but permeate them. And when you noticed that you knew you had to do something. You would gladly give yourself up to any fate if only she would be spared. But you were also lost. Even if there was no way to save you both you could think of no condemnation to embrace that would spare her. Alone and beset by a baleful ubiquity you turned to the only other source of comfort you knew.
You remembered how well that friendship had gone for your mother. The late nights and nonexistent mornings. The drink had sapped all the vibrancy from her and replaced her easy smile with a tight-lipped complacency. But you weren't looking for a friend; you had no lack of those in genuine. You weren't looking for a savior either; you were looking for an escape.
And so you gave yourself over to it fully, crafting any number of insincere reasons and excuses that you told so often you no longer questioned their validity in private moments. The truth was still there and had planted itself beneath the snows of your heart. The same truth was in every errant glance upon you, but you shrugged it off as the innate human discomfort when presented with true devotion. However you were sure that what you had grasped was nothing like devotion.
Before long you felt the tingle of craving through every morning haze, and as the days passed it became harder and harder to ignore. As you drank more and more each night, you felt worse upon waking. The acrid taste of hate in your mouth, the sick smell of it in your sweat, your movements redolent of lethargy. Your body became reluctant to move, as if it had lost faith in you. And why shouldn't it? You had never had such faith to begin with. These things became harder and harder to ignore, more difficult to cope with, and the only solution that seemed to present itself was to start drinking earlier and earlier. Soon you had forgotten entirely the taste of sobriety.
Before you started drinking you were afraid. Beneath your ever-cool demeanor was a seed of vibrating terror. Your time upon the meteor had only made it grow. The bleak silence sparked it, fed it, gave it purpose. So much was up in the air. You had never felt so lost. Now all that was gone, drowned in alcohol, buried under a mound of denial. Your circumstances hardly seemed to exist anymore and it was trivial to forget about them. To forget about anything. It seemed forgetting was all you could truly do anymore, and it was all you wanted.
You awake to find your matesprit gone.
You've gotten so used to having her warm body next to your that her absence causes you great concern. It's true sleeping next to her has been more comfort than any recupercoon could ever be, but it's more than that. Lately she has changed; her dependence on her human soporific has eroded her into a fragment of the fearsome beauty you once knew, and her disappearance in the middle of the night worries you. Perhaps more than it otherwise would because of that. So you rise from bed, get dressed, and head out into the hallways in search of her.
Your first thought is to check the main library, but when you get there it is just Dave and Karkat engrossed in some kind of friendly argument or another. Some people had trouble telling the difference between Karkat's shades of belligerence, but you knew him well enough to know whether or not he was enjoying it.
“Sup, Kan,” Dave says, turning to you and completely ignoring whatever rant Karkat was in the middle of unleashing.
You are about to speak when Karkat interjects. “I get that you're incapable of genuine fucking courtesy like actually paying attention to what the other person is saying, but could you at least make a show of it and maybe wait until I'm finished to greet someone? Or would that not be cool enough for you?”
“Dude, don't be a dick. If you stepped out the theater on your little one man show of 'I suffer insane and debilitating rage about literally everything' and turned those twitchy and bloodshot eyes over to your friend here you’d realize shes obvious got some shit on her mind that’s more important than your inability to find a comfy pair of socks.”
“See that isn't what I was saying at all. This is exactly what I'm talking about.”
“I think it is seriously amazing you are complaining about someone being inconsiderate right now. No please, keep going. I gotta know, just how far does your lack of self-awareness go?”
Karkat scowls at Dave (when doesn't he scowl) then turns to you and you realize you must look trouble because he immediately says “Shit Kanaya, I'm sorry. What'd you need?”
“Uhm no,” you say, “It's not that important. I was just wondering whether either of you had seen Rose. I awoke and she was not in bed; it made me a bit concerned.”
“Sorry, Kan. Haven't seen drunky the clown. If I did I don't think she'd be in any condition to stumble her ass into some books.”
“I see. Well then thank you. I shall go search elsewhere.” You turn to leave but something you can't define stops you. “Dave,” you say, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah what's up?”
“This soporific Rose has been consuming, what is your opinion on it?”
Dave scratches the back of his head but his expression otherwise doesn't change. “Well damn. I'm not sure if I'm the person to ask about that.”
“Well who the fuck else is she gonna ask, jackass? If you hadn't noticed we aren't exactly swimming in humans on this meteor.”
“Yeah, I guess you're right. Not like you could draw any parallels with your clown friend who was totally wasted out of his mind on slime pies or anything.”
“In truth I never interacted with Gamzee much. I found his antics distasteful,” you say, “but even if I had I do not believe he was ever any other way. Whereas your sister has changed significantly. You must have noticed.”
“Well yeah I've noticed. It's impossible not to notice her stumbling drunk through the hallways in the middle of the night like the ghost of some hobo traffic cone. But I don't know what to tell you, Kan. Certainly ain't a fucking improvement but it's not like you don't know that.”
He's right. You aren't sure what you were expecting from him. Maybe camaraderie, but of course such a thing is impossible to get from Strider. He just slides through everything as if it doesn't affect him, even when his sister is clearly destroying herself. He's too nonchalant: even if it bothered him he wouldn't show it.
“I suppose you're right,” you say. “Thank you, I will continue looking for her then.” And then you leave to go wander through the corridors some more.
You don't know how long you spend searching. For all you know it could be hours, for all you know you could have checked these same rooms and hallways over and over. You are enveloped in your thoughts and your past. Your memories swirl in a chimeric blend reminiscent of the dream bubbles you all occasionally pass through. There is Vriska who you begin to doubt you could have ever really saved, even if you had been honest with your feelings, and then there's Rose, who has always been shrouded in a foreboding whose now-growing strength you have been denying for some time. Instantly it seems like your whole past has been nothing but a series of denials. Denial of your feelings, denial of your fears, denial of your lack of ability. You denied yourself so much that you seemed to slip into everyone's backgrounds. You used to pride yourself on helpfulness but now you can't see how you could possibly help Rose when you could never manage to properly help anyone else.
You are in a trance, perhaps not unlike the one Rose is in. If nothing else this fit of self-loathing is not an indulgence you would usually allow yourself. Even know you know that if you have no aptitude for helping people then being so wrapped up in problems as you are you could do nothing but harm. That doesn't stop you from searching or dwelling though. You're not sure if you could even make yourself stop.
That's when you find her. You don't know why you came to can town which now sprawls through several rooms, but there is Rose, laying down in the midst of it all in the dark. Even the mayor has ceased his seemingly tireless work for the night. You pause for a moment before approaching. Now that you've found her you're not sure that you even wanted to. Maybe you were just duty-bound before, shackled by an overwhelming sense of pity. But are you any less so now? She looks so lost and if you can't help her who could? Who would even try? “Rose,” you say as you walk up to her, strangely careful not to knock over any of the buildings. She does not respond.
You crouch down beside her. “Rose,” her eyes are closed and she just lies there, still except for her breathing. Maybe it's come to this. Maybe she is ignoring you.
Finally she opens her empty lavender eyes and looks at you. “Kanaya.” It is hard to read her voice. It's always hard to read but you like to think you've developed a talent for it. But here there's nothing to grasp onto. She speaks as if she doesn't know you.
“Rose, why aren't you in bed?”
She smiles but there is no mirth in it. It is a sharp and disquieting smile. “Oh I don't know. It just seemed like a beautiful night for a walk. It occurred to me that I wanted to visit the park. Can town has a wonderful park, you know.”
“Rose...”
“And how about you? Why aren't you you in bed?” She tosses your question back at you, her eyes fixed on you accusing, returning the favor she must have felt you thrust upon her.
“I woke up and you weren't there. I was worried.”
She sits up. “Ah here to join in the worry about Rose party. It seems to be a game that everyone's enjoying at my expense as of late. I can assure you, Kanaya, I am capable of making my own decisions. I don't need you hovering about or Dave pointing out their every flaw. I'm well aware of what I'm doing.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” you blurt out without thinking. You immediately wish you hadn't said it, but it's true, it's true and you can't take it back. Suddenly this knowledge unlocks something in you. “If you truly know what you are doing then why? Why do this to yourself? Why make the people who love you watch?”
“If I had to explain myself to you I would have a long time ago,” she says flatly and turns away. But it's too late now, your self-doubt is drowned in a torrent of all the things you need to say. Your regret is silenced by its unbounded voice.
“You do have to tell me,” you say, “if you want this matespritship to work you have to tell me, Rose. Every day you harm yourself and watching you do it harms me as well and I do not even know why you are doing it. You have given me nothing but doubt and pain and then say to me that I am to accept it happily and without question. That is not how a matespritship works, that is not how love works.” Your heart is pouding in your throat now, you can feel the heat on your cheeks and know they have flushed jade. Your whole body trembles with a fear greater than you have ever known but if you were asked to name that fear you would be unable to. But you can't stop now. There has been no visible change in rose but you can't stop now, not if there's any chance of saving her, any chance of saving yourself.
“Is it that you do not understand? How could you not? I have spent every day doing my best to show you how much you mean to me. And yet that's only seemed to drive you further away. Is it that you are afraid? I am afraid too, more afraid than I've ever been. Watching you destroy yourself so slowly and deliberately and feeling as if there were nothing I could do. Do you know how that feels? I would give anything to have you back because you are no longer truly Rose. I would because we need you, if we are going to have any chance of survival we need you. We're facing so much and you've given up. What strength am I supposed to have then? We need you, Rose, and I need you. Already I cannot imagine life without you and yet I am forced to, And then you tell me I am not even allowed to understand it.”
She makes no response, still sits there turned away from you, staring off into the darkness. You wait, and in your silence your anxiety has a chance to build. What if that wasn't enough? Do you have any more to give? It grows like a tightening of your core, a locking of every opening you ever had. A tremulous wingflap stirs in your chest, your teeth have drawn blood from your lips.
“Rose. Please say something,” you say, though something in you screams that she won't. But how could you just give up? You want more than anything to just cling to this moment, repeat it over and over if you have to until you get it right.
“So that's it? You have nothing to say?” Can she even hear you? Or has she ensconced herself so tightly in silence that she doesn't care to hear anything anymore? You don't know, but the idea of it makes you sick. “I'm so sorry, Rose. It seems I couldn't help you either.” And then you turn and walk away. But you've left a piece of yourself there and you know it is something you will never retrieve.
Words brush against you like wisps of ice but you can't make them out. They shatter against your skin and then disperse, cascading down into the unnavigable depths. But soon enough they cease and you are left with a toxic kind of peace. You are Rose Lalonde and you always knew you would embrace oblivion.