Um, okay, so this is one of those out-of-the-blue-messed-up things that I wrote. The inspiration's kind of silly; I was just playing Smash with my brother and somehow our conversation over Marth's "everybody-look-at-me" taunt led to me yelling at him, "DON'T LOOK AT ME OR I'LL KILL YOU!" Joking, of course, but then this idea came from it? I dunno, I haven't really written horror before, so advice is good. Admittedly, I'm not great with criticism, so that should probably come in gentle tips and taps. This was supernatural and turned psychological and I just?
Well, you'll see. I like the end the best. P.S. There are mentions of Link x Zelda, and maybe if you squint, turn it upside down, light it on fire, and look at it through a microscope in a telescope, Marth x Zelda. If you wanna. Enjoy?
Marth woke up that day feeling sick. Nausea and a splitting headache greeted him as he rolled out of bed. He groaned. It was almost as though the wild nightmare he had experienced that night had imparted him with a feeling of illness. The dream wasn't so much of a structured, cohesive nightmare as a chaotic swirl of light and darkness, sharp fangs of fear and screaming voices that he recognized in the dream but the memory of which was slipping away from him upon his awakening.
He managed to stagger down to breakfast, but didn't much feel like eating. People's voices made him jump when they attempted to speak to him. He initially refused to forgo his match scheduled at noon, but had to halt and depart midway anyhow due to his feeling of unwellness.
"You should pay a visit to the infirmary," Meta Knight instructed him afterward. Marth had figured this out himself already, but he knew Meta Knight only stated it because he cared. As far as he could tell.
"Shame you had to drop out of your battle before you threw up," Roy said with a smirk before flouncing around in a dignified manner. "Everybody look at me! I'm about to be sick!"
"Thanks a bunch," muttered Marth, not mustering the energy to make a retort in his defense. He trudged off to the infirmary. There he was told there wasn't really much to be done except take some medicine and get some rest, which he was only glad to do. He had to actually enlist Link's help to get him up the stairs and to his room ("I blame you if you infect me, Marth"), and when he got there his attempt at resting was filled with more disturbing, shapeless nightmares. Despite all that, he continued to sleep and sleep, even though he'd gone to bed at around two thirty in the afternoon.
He slept until the sun went down, and at a point late at night, his eyes snapped right open.
He looked at his clock, puzzled at his sudden awakening. It was eleven fifty-nine, a minute until midnight. He still felt the throb of pain and nausea in his head, and was confused as to why he had woken up so suddenly. He was rather glad of it, actually, for it pulled him into the real world and out of his horrid dreams for a while. The familiar screaming voices were already fading from his memory.
That is, until the clock clicked to midnight, and one of them shattered the air of the silent halls.
Marth leapt out of bed. In an instant, he grabbed his sword and burst into the hallway. His spinning head took a moment to recognize the voice behind the scream, feeling a shock of electric fear. It was as though his dream had been yanked back into reality with him. He shot down the hall, hardly able to breathe and unsure how in the world no one else had woken up to investigate. No one could sleep that deeply, had they all gone mad? He gave a yell of his own as he grabbed the doorknob and smashed through the door, sword ready to meet whatever was in there.
The room inside was peaceful. Moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating the neatly arranged bedroom. Nothing inside was amiss, nothing at all.
The only thing missing was Link himself.
Marth stood for a moment, incredibly frightened and confused. "Wha- I- Link?"
In that instant, another shriek of mortal agony howled, not from any place but from in his mind, ripping inside of him and rebounding off the inner walls of his skull. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain, before the world went black.
"…Hey, I think he's awake now."
"Thank the gods. Marth, wake up. Can you talk?"
Marth's eyes cracked open, and he winced at the bright light in his face. He was probably in the infirmary again.
"Ughuhh," he groaned by way of response. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him a little, and he forced his eyes open to see what was going on.
Ike andRoy were standing above him, along with Mario, who was dressed in his doctor's attire. He was indeed laying in the infirmary. Soft sunlight drifted through the window on the far wall, indicating that it was at least the next day, if not later.
"Marth?" Roy peered at him nervously. He still hadn't given them real indication that he could function properly.
Marth sat up, rubbing his face. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked, trying to act operational even though his words were slightly slurred.
"Just since last night," Mario informed him, with a reassuring smile. "There's no real harm done, but you did scare a lot of people. We heard you yell and found you passed out in one of the guest bedrooms."
"You were probably still asleep, just sleepwalking or something," Ike theorized. But Marth was still staring at Mario, feeling something distinctly off. Did…did they have guest rooms?
As he thought this, a whisper drifted through his mind, too quiet to quite identify. Why? it whimpered. How could you? It hurts…
Marth leapt straight out of the bed, sending a wave of nausea through him. The three others cried out.
"Not too fast, Marth!" cried Mario. "You could hurt yourself!"
"Link! What happened to Link?" Marth demanded.
They all looked at him, faces as blank as the white sheets of the infirmary beds.
"What happened to the what?" asked Ike, eyebrows drawing together.
"Link," stated Marth slowly. "The Hylian." Nothing. "Blond fellow, same world as Zelda?" Nope. "…the man who destroyed Ike in a stock match last week?" he added desperately.
"Marth…I don't know who you're talking about," said Ike worriedly. Roy was looking increasingly upset, and he glanced at Mario as though saying, I thought you'd said there was no permanent damage.
"How?" asked Marth, voice tight with anger. "Is this an elaborate joke? I advise you stop immediately."
"Are you making an elaborate joke?" countered Ike. He put a hand on Marth's shoulder. His grip was firm, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Listen. It was probably something you dreamed up last night. Maybe something else is going on…health-wise. But there isn't a Link here. Zelda's never come here with anyone, or mentioned anyone named Link. Are you sure it's not something from your, uh, episode last night?"
Marth stared up at Ike. "But he's your friend," he argued stupidly. The misplaced sorrow in Ike's eyes was too much to bear, fueling Marth's anxiety and fury.
You're not my friend. The whisper was back, a little louder this time, causing a spike of pain in Marth's head. You hurt me. Let me go, save me…
Marth jerked out of Ike's grip, clutching his head. "I…I must go. Leave me alone." He whirled around and swept out of the room, leaving his friends behind him in a state of extreme concern.
He stormed through the building, glaring around at everything surrounding him as though the tables or the trees outside would provide some evidence of Link's existence, or lack thereof. People waved, some came up to him and asked how he was feeling. He really didn't have time for their questions. He nearly sent Pit rolling when he spotted Zelda, pushing him out of the way in his haste. He felt a bit bad, but he needed to get to the bottom this thing.
He staggered over to Zelda, trying to contain his dizziness.
"Marth!" she cried, surprised at his presence. "Are you feeling any better?"
"No," answered Marth bluntly, ready to move on to his business. "Zelda, I'd like to know some of your friends from your homeland. You know, people you spend a lot of time with."
Zelda's intelligent eyes narrowed, confusion written on her face. As Marth met her eyes, the voice returned.
Why do you want to talk to her? Get away, please…it hurts.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Just curiosity, no big reason," Marth said. Zelda seemed unconvinced. "Please," begged Marth.
"Alright then," she said, baffled. "Well, there's Impa, I've known her for a very long time…"
She went on about several people, but Marth wasn't paying much attention. She would not go this long without saying anything about Link. Just for good measure, he asked, "Have you ever met anyone named Link? Blond hair, blue eyes, green clothes?"
Zelda frowned. "No…why? Do you know him?" She searched his eyes, concerned.
Marth's heart sank, and his hands jumped to his head as the whisper returned. But this time, it was not a whisper, but a pain-inducing snarl.
I loved her, you know. I loved her, and now she doesn't know I exist. Why did you do this? It hurts! Save me!
Marth stumbled away, gasping with pain. Zelda started forward, extending her arm to try and support him. "Marth!"
"I…I have a headache." It was not a lie. He turned and booked it as fast as he could away from Zelda, inciting more pained screams from the voice in his mind.
He slammed his bedroom door, panting. Outside the window, he saw a bunch of the younger fighters playing a game of Frisbee. He couldn't help but notice that quite unusually, Toon Link was not among them.
Marth remained lying facedown on his bed for the remainder of the day, trying to keep at bay the increasingly violent voice whirling in his mind and figure out what was happening to him. Around eight that night, a knock came on the door. After a few seconds of contemplating, he accepted miserably. "Come in."
Ike entered his room. Marth sat up on the bed, wanting to keep at least some level of dignity.
Why, why…?
"Have you left your room all day?" Ike asked.
Make it stop.
"Not really," responded Marth softly. Ike sat down on his bed next to him.
"Sorry we don't know Link," he said awkwardly, by way of comforting. Marth sent him a sidelong glance. "I'm not you, but I guess this has to be hard. Go to Mario tomorrow, and maybe he'll give you another check up to see if something went wrong last night, and maybe get you some treatment for your head."
Marth nodded. The idea of getting over this was tempting, but that also meant admitting that Link didn't exist.
Ow…it hurts…this is painful, Marth, make it stop, why did you do it…
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," the prince replied, staring at the floor. Ike nodded sadly, gazing at him one more time before he left.
Marth turned out the light and lay in the dark, pulling at his hair, trying to get the tortured voice of Link to leave him alone.
His dreams were filled with him, speaking over top of the screams of countless others.
"This is all your fault," Link's ghostly voice accused, filled with pain. "Save me…"
Light flashed, filling Marth with venomous fear and anxiety.
"I'm- I'm sorry…"
Marth's eyes snapped open suddenly, causing him to gasp with the tiniest bit of relief. He was just in his bed. Still feeling sick, but still safe.
However, fear trickled down his spine as the abrupt awakening gave him an overwhelming sensation of Deja-vu. He glanced at the clock, horror making his heart crawl into his throat. It was eleven fifty-nine. One minute until midnight.
He wanted to run away right now, but he could not tear his eyes away from the clock as it switched to twelve midnight.
The scream sounded from the hallway, the opposite direction this time. Marth did not want to do it, but he was up, out the door, down the hall. He didn't bother to bring his sword this time, for he knew he would need something else to fight what he was bound to find.
The room, of course, was peaceful. No danger, no signs of violence. Not as neat as Link's, but still undisturbed.
Marth staggered through the doorway as a deep, skull-splitting howl sounded in his head, joined by the first voice in a horrible two-toned torture. He passed the empty bed and sank down at the window, moonlight washing his deathly pale face as he struggled to contain his nausea.
Oh, Gods, no, moaned the new voice. Oh, Marth, Gods, it hurts…
Why did you do this?
Stop…
Marth just sank onto the windowsill, and the tears began to fall as Link and Ike tore him apart.
It didn't help the general atmosphere of smothering concern surrounding Marth when he was found at the window of another guest room, face covered in dried tears and a haunted expression on his face. For Marth, the day was very much like the previous one. Ike? Who is that? Are you alright? There is no Ike. There is no Link.
But their pain would not let him forget them.
It was his fault. What had he done?
He was scaring everyone. They thought he was losing it. Strange, they'd said, Marth's always had such a level head. There was a constant nauseous feeling over him, and a perpetual splitting migraine. He overheard a conversation between Roy and Pit that evening. The two boys were, at present, in varying levels of deciding whether they liked or despised each other. When Roy was scared, he got fiery, but Pit's fear presented itself in perhaps ill-advised attempts to make the situation less heavy. This disparity caused an argument between them, which Marth caught from the hall outside the room they occupied.
"I want Marth back!" Roy had cried vehemently. "He's going nuts, and Mario had said there was nothing wrong with him!"
Pit half-heartedly suggested that maybe Marth was into imaginary friends, which resulted in Roy throwing a book at his head. The angel dodged it with a yelp.
"Sorry," whimpered Pit. "He's scaring me too."
"I'm going to go see him," said Roy with stubborn resolve. "I'll burn down his door if he locks me out."
Upon hearing this, Marth fled. As he ran, the voices yelled at him.
They don't know us! You're hurting them!
Save us!
It hurts…
Soon, he had his back against the door of a closet he'd dove into, fighting the vigorous banging of Roy on the other side.
"Marth!" he yelled, the voices of Link and Ike joining him. "Let me in right now!"
Let me out…
Please…
"I- can't-" gasped Marth. But his foot slipped, sending him flying as Roy smashed the door open. The redhead darted inside, hauling Marth off the floor and hugging him with as much viciousness as a hug would allow.
"Marth, stop hiding!" he cried. "I don't care if there is or isn't an Ike, or a Link, but you can't hide. It'll make you crazy."
Everyone already thought he was crazy. Roy did not understand. Every pair of eyes he met the gaze of, every soul looking upon him, sent voices screaming in agony, uncontrollable pain shuddering through his body.
"I don't…" Marth didn't know what to say. Pit had peeked in from the doorway, his usual remarks quieted by the prospect of being told to piss off by Roy. However, the duke seemed to have no objections, so Pit crept into the closet.
Look at what you're doing. It will be a regret.
Gods, it hurts.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"You're not crazy," Pit assured him. "Don't think about it."
Let me out…
"Everyone thinks I'm crazy," murmured Marth. He'd never talked or felt so weak in his life. He couldn't keep it together with the agonized souls in his head.
"No," was the only thing Roy seemed to be able to say to that. Marth pushed him off as gently as he could and left the closet, eyes down. As he made his way down the hall, he heard Roy call out to him. He turned around to see him standing outside the little room. "Please come down to breakfast tomorrow," the redhead beseeched him.
"There'll be pancakes!" yelled Pit from the closet.
Marth stood for a brief moment, shrugged, and continued on toward his room.
Roy watched him leave sight, downcast. Mario walked up behind him.
"Isn't there anything you can do?" pleaded Roy.
Mario shook his head, eyes sad. "There's only so much medicine can do. I don't think this is a problem with his physical health."
"We've got to find him a good councilor," proclaimed Roy. "I'll do that tomorrow."
Mario gave a small smile. "Good idea. Goodnight, Roy."
"Goodnight."
Ike and Link were in his dreams. They screamed, and all Marth could do was say sorry, sorry, sorry. What had he done?
He left the dreams again, that night. Greeted again by the minute before midnight.
He knew what he'd done.
Whoever looked at him last, the last person to witness him before midnight. How could he be so stupid? Gone, they were gone, wiped away from all existence everywhere. Everywhere but Marth's head.
Why? Why?
Roy's sobs joined the mantra in Marth's mind, which was nearing constant. He was haunted by the voices of his damned friends at nearly every waking moment, and all sleeping ones.
Did they hate him? Were the words theirs? Or was it whatever force that destroyed their existences, disguised in the skin of their voices? Screaming, always, never giving him room to think, to breathe.
How could you? Why?
Oh, the pain…
I'm gone…
The prince could only apologize again and again, beg to tell him how to bring them back. They never answered him. They could only sink farther in the unbearable pain of nonexistence. Marth cried, wanting badly just to lose consciousness, wake back up when everything was normal, where they all exist, and everyone stopped thinking he was insane.
Marth hated himself. Foolish, his mind clouded by the torment in his head, he allowed Luigi to behold him that morning before he could effectively shut himself away. When he realized that it didn't have to be at night at all, all he could do was lay and watch the clock come ever closer to midnight.
Marth, why? Why would you do this?
It hurts so bad, save me!
Let me GO!
He hardly could tell what happened around him now. Everything was broken by the voices. They hated him. He'd ruined everything. Through the pain, he wanted it to just fade away, and sleep forever. But not even his sleep was left alone.
He didn't sleep anymore.
Palutena would be needing a new captain. Marth might have even helped her find one, had he not been occupied with the former's wails of agony. He now made sure to cover the windows to avoid any more unexpected approaches.
What if he was wrong?
An insane person would not be aware they were insane, would they?
He could hardly recall his own name by himself anymore. Who was he?
This life he had created may simply be a delusion, the people around him never having existed in the first place. Who was he really? The shattered prince, mentally ruined, trapped in a coma? A simple person, laboring under the insane false reality of being a hero in a building full of strange people? What had shaken his delusion?
Why did he have to exist?
The constant pain hounded him. He was scared, scared of erasing more lives. The screams of the destroyed, forced out by the excruciating agony of nonexistence, were becoming distorted, strange and warped and grating him.
He clawed at himself, sobbing, as they continued.
Why? Why?
Free me!
The pain…
Why did I ever want to see you?!
What have you done? What is wrong with you?
Get us out! PLEASE!
Worse
Than
Death.
Inside, the shattered prince screamed for his own deletion.
…
If he even had the capacity to feel anything anymore, he might have felt surprised when something pulled him part-way out of his stupor of pain. Someone was slamming on his door.
He stared blankly at the heavy desk he had shoved up against the door, the voices going almost still. It was very strange, for hearing a physical sound rather than something in his head now felt like the unreal dream. At the thought, the paranoia set in again. What made him think this was real in the first place?
"Marth!" yelled a voice. It was addressing him. "Marth, let me in or I will come in there and drag you out myself!"
For a fraction of a fraction of a second, there was a clear, sharp silence in his head at her voice.
Then, the voices came blasting back, full force, ripping at his insides. All of the shredded souls screamed at him simultaneously, Link's voice soaring above them all.
DON'T LOOK AT HER!
Marth keeled forward, hardly able to contain the bile rising in his throat. Gasping, he crawled to the far side of his room. She couldn't get in, she wouldn't.
However, he heard a strange sound outside in the hall, like a great humming, and realized what she was about to do. He curled up like a turtle in its shell, hiding his face as the Phantom smashed straight through everything, desk and all. Zelda's footsteps stormed into the room, and she spotted him on the floor.
"Marth!" she cried. "Marth, what are you doing? Are you okay? Marth!"
Link screamed at him. Do you want her to die?! Do you want to do this to her? DO YOU?!
Marth sobbed, curling up tighter. "No, no, I'm sorry," he pleaded with Link.
Zelda was irate with fear. She stormed over to him, and his heart thumped wildly, threatening to burst.
No! No!
IT HURTS!
"Marth, what have you done?" Zelda gasped. "Please get up. Please!"
Let me go, please!
Gods, it hurts, I want to go home!
Marth moaned in response. "No, no…"
"Look at me, Marth," cried Zelda desperately. "Just look, it's going to be okay."
NO! DON'T DO IT!
YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!
IT HURTS! IT HURTS!
"N- no!" yelled Marth. To her? To them? He did not know. "Stop! Please!"
"Marth, look at me!" she howled. She grabbed his arm. "Please stop this!"
Oh, the pain!
DO YOU WANT TO DESTROY US ALL?
"You're not real!" shrieked Marth. To all of them. "Get out!"
"I am not leaving without you!" Zelda yelled back, yanking on his arm. He struggled to shield his face, the voices howling. Not again, no, he would not show himself again.
"This helps nothing!" Zelda argued desperately, incensed. "Let me help you!"
"No!" Marth struggled to hide. "No! DO NOT LOOK AT ME!"
Stop! STOP!
She was pulling his arms, trying to get him to look up, he was trying so hard to not.
"DON'T-," he screeched, lurching away with his eyes screwed shut, "-LOOK AT ME!"
He was so weak, with no food or sleep for what had been eternity. She gave an almighty yank, forcing his emaciated arms out as she held his wrists, leaving him staring right up into her eyes.
You…you…
Again.
Again!
The pain! IT HURTS!
WHY? WHY?
What have you DONE?
It HurTS sO BaD! SToP!
YOU'VE KILLED HER! WHY MUST YOU DO THIS?
YOU ARE A MONSTER!
…what have you done?
It was
over.
Whatever she saw in his eyes was enough to make her leave. She would not try to come back in today. He blocked his door again.
She would not come back in ever.
He passed out on the floor. He had dried out all his tears. Even unconscious, he was still haunted by the voices of broken existence.
No escape.
…
Gods, it hurts so much…
Why did I ever want to see you?
Let me GO!
You are insane!
Why did this happen?!
Just kill me!
What made them scream at midnight? What was there to behold, that led them to the purgatory of a shattered conscience?
Why did they scream?
…
Oh, how it hurts!
Look what you've done!
Why?
Why did you do this to me?
What did I ever do to you?
Please…! I can't do it anymore!
Stop
StOp this.
It hUrTS
MaKe iT SToP!
yOu can'T dO ThIs
k1LL m3
i Hat3 y0U
M0nsT3R
…
Another patch of perceived clarity. It was unexpected. He did not know what triggered it. He gazed at the messy red spot on the wall, a deadpan expression on his face. He brushed his fingers down his face, feeling wetness on them. He had been bashing his head against the wall.
He staggered back, collapsing to the floor again. The nausea was at its peak, the pain in his head beyond anything he'd ever felt. Not only from beating it repeatedly into the wall, but the words of his once-friends sending constant spikes of agony, imparting him with the torment they felt in their intermediate between existence and death.
He was struggling to contain his nausea again. The voices were a roar in the back of his brain, leaving the forefront of his mind in a state of horrible, muted clarity. It now felt unnatural to have such focus in the front of his consciousness.
He didn't know how, but his conscious moment had begun with a hazy plan already formed in his mind. A plan he needed to carry out.
He knew what he had to do.
He managed to haul himself to his feet, staggering toward his doorway. He grabbed his clock off the nightstand, the sight of its face instinctively sending ice down his spine. But he did not scream. He had yet to do that.
What if they see you?
Don't!
The pain…
He pushed the bed barricade away from the damaged door, weak arms shaking. His whole body shook as he stood before the door. No one could see him. Please.
He slowly creaked the door open, clock clutched tightly in his hand reading 11:55. It was late; all others were asleep. Not in danger of his presence.
He crossed the hall, mind numb with the assault of vicious whispers, moans of suffering. He entered the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He fell to the floor, shivering from the exertion of walking even that far.
Eleven fifty-six. The illness was too much. He keeled over and vomited. Blood was still dripping from his head as he gasped for air.
Eleven fifty-seven. He wondered yet again if he was even here. Was he crazy? Maybe he would never find out. He knew how to end it. End it forever.
Make it stop existing.
Eleven fifty-eight. He grabbed the edge of the bathroom counter, gasping as he pulled himself up. The screaming sent another crescendo of pain in his head, the room spinning around him. He ignored it. Instead, bracing himself with his arms, he positioned himself in front of the bathroom mirror.
Eleven fifty-nine.
Quaking, he slowly raised his head.
A skeleton. A demon. A husk.
This person's face was thin and hollow, clearly deprived of food, sleep, and any life whatsoever. His skin was deathly pale, sickly, almost gray. His hair was unkempt, sticky with red. Blood dripped down the side of his head and trickled from the corner of his mouth, making him look very ghastly. But none of these things compared to his eyes.
His eyes were kaleidoscopes, fragmented windows that showed how little was left. Each voice inside made its own crack, storming and swirling every which way in a maelstrom that drowned out any humanity, any identity.
They were a dead man's eyes. The eyes of someone who was already far gone.
It's too much…
Help…
He didn't know what was really happening. He didn't know what was reality, and what was his own creation. This would all go away.
The pain, make it stop…
What if it followed? Was there really an escape from this hell?
How could you? Why?
Fear. Emptiness.
Let me go.
For a split second, the shattered prince inside missed them. If he could see them one more time, if he could just hear them, not screaming in pain, not hating him for what he'd done…maybe they'd all be free soon.
Or all be trapped.
The fullness, the brief desire, left him.
I'm sorry.
Twelve o' clock.
Ghostly teeth of fear itself. A hissing made of every scream to ever be emitted filling the air, from origin unknown.
He saw in the mirror before him. He saw what they saw.
Marth screamed pretty loud, too.
Mario strolled back down the hall, carrying duct tape with him. Heaven only knew how the door to one of the guest rooms got so messed up. Probably Ness and Lucas roughhousing or something. Or Shulk running around and practicing swordplay in unadvisable areas. Honestly, no one knew how to handle a sword around here.
Mario sighed as he stepped off the stool five minutes later, observing his duct-tape handiwork. He could get someone better on it later. He also made a mental note to tell Master Hand that they had a good amount of extra rooms. Perhaps they would have room to invite some new fighters. He smiled at the thought. He always did like seeing new faces.
He now had to make a quick stop at the infirmary to perform all those doctor-y duties; Samus had reported feeling ill this morning. He turned and walked back down the hall, whistling a merry tune as he went. A very good day.
...so yeah. Sorry. I'm not sure how much I liked that. Also, at the end, it's kinda ambiguous what Marth sees. It could possibly have been some creature of pure destruction, or a distorted version of Marth himself.
Marth:...but we're all actually good though. :)
Wha-? What are you doing here? You're ruining the end of the story!
Marth: But you just said-
I don't care.
Pit: I don't like when you do these. Why do I always die?
Technically, in this one you just cease to exist. Well, depending on how you interpret it, you could've just not existed in the first place. Now everyone GET OUT OF MY AUTHOR'S NOTE!
Thanks for making it this far, everyone! I'm not messed up, I promise. Though this did kinda end up reflecting what depression feels like. You can even check out my other stuff if you want to. No pressure.
Your face is beautiful! Bye!