The One Star
I looked up into the sky for salvation
But all I could see was the lonely star above
I am not waiting for your confirmation
And yes, I know this is the only star
– SAWA, The One Star
Mabel never witnesses the aftermath of their deal in person. Everyone else does it in her stead.
Not far from her glass sphere – just at its edge, in fact – hundreds of eyes are wrenched open in the exact moment she closes her own. It is a primal terror to guide their first movements, attracting them, like a magnet, to the ancestral origin of all danger and fury.
They look above in unison. They feel hopelessly lost.
There is a tear up in the night, and it is her doing. The depth is that of her wounds, the whirlwind of colours is her soul. It is the symbol of worlds come undone – the one that will be echoes the one that was, at the core of her raging heart.
She doesn't know. She doesn't care. Her patience with this life is far gone, buried within the spell of her long sleep.
Meteors of fire shower on Gravity Falls, at the pace of her crushed hopes. There is no turning back from the end of Mabel's strength. She is no more than a fuse – she lights up with all that let her down, to make her blinding abandonment flare within her chest.
She is a supernova. Though she is done for, her exhaust is brilliance. It is her core to break down – the sky above mirrors but her will.
She has no choice. She fulfills her natural function, unable to comprehend. Her old, carefree self is at the finish line; and its consumption, irreversible, tinges the end times in fire.
Mabel sleeps through it. What else is she supposed to do?
She dreams. While her numb mind breaks connections and certainties, superior powers turn all the rest to stone. She expands, enveloping more space, and devours whatever gets in her way.
There is no other option. From death, rebirth. She must build herself anew.
Her dreaming eyes rise to deep space. Her soul recognizes the opening she sees. It is her lifeline, her salvation. She needs nobody else to depend on this time – if the universe of their family is over, hers will rise on its own. And that is good.
She dips her paintbrush in the palette of the gashes. She moves it widely at the edges of her prison. Her painting encompasses it all, and Mabel cannot see – whatever she creates, in joyous denial, is double.
There are two sides to her escapism, for the shine of her every new idea twinkles in black and white. She leaves her rage behind with no regrets, unaware of the bloodshed all around. There are monsters walking in her mind – they twinkle to her face, in ambiguous colours, and silently slaughter whatever she dislikes.
Right now, to be honest, she really hates the truth. Thus the truth they execute, obediently.
That will show them, her bewitched self says. That will teach them what it means, in full, to adapt to reality. She has had enough of it for sure.
So she sleeps, like a dormant creator.
And to her – and to Bill – the world is perfect.
First of two extremely belated birthday presents. This one is for my friend edlynnstheatre. A song-inspired fic, set at the end of 02x17, based on a piece from one of my favourite games ever: The One Star, by SAWA and Cameron Strother. I warmly recommend listening to it and reading the lyrics - it is just about perfect for the occasion.