One, final level down—to at last claim the rift's Time Piece—and Hat Kid was thrust back to the Horizon in the present, posed along the castle's outer walls as the dweller crow flew away in a burst of feathers and angry caws. One starry sky was traded for another and she was falling, facing the several meter drop to the streets below and she scrambled to hang on to the hourglass in one hand and her umbrella with the other. She tried to use its hook to latch onto a notch in the stonework, but missed and looked on in shock—still half-dazed by her return to reality—as the safety of the wall grew further beyond reach.
Before the terror of the moment could truly settle in though, something coiled around her waist. As her body was jerked upright through the air, Hat Kid glanced over her shoulder to see the red Dweller struggling to slow their descent. She was jarred around as his ethereal tail fought to maintain a hold on her material body, and at times it felt like her stomach was sinking through a heavy curtain of mist before he regained his grip once again.
Soon enough, her feet found solid ground. However, the young alien was too busy staring at her rescuer to feel any relief. Like most of the other red Dwellers, his mask was featureless. Now she could see it though: The shape of antlers and the subtle frame that once marked its deer-like features. The red strings were woven so close together, so tightly around it, that it seemed to have been washed with the vibrant color. As the Dweller let go of her, Hat Kid reached out a hand to brush his cheek—just barely feeling the threaded texture over its hard surface. Even if she thought it would help, there was no hope in her trying to remove them. It was like a physical manifestation of damage that ran far deeper than she alone could heal.
"Are you alright?" the Dweller asked with deep concern. It was almost disturbing now, how normal he sounded. "You shouldn't be playing up that high! Not unless you feel like staying with us a whole lot longer…"
Should she try getting through to him by tapping into one of his hidden memories? She considered it, but—thinking of the mass of threads knotted and pull taut throughout them—she didn't believe she could. It was likely that they not only blocked off certain memories, but warped them as well, stitching together a false "reality" in-place of the ones lost.
She thought of two of the other Dwellers who'd initially followed Moonjumper to the Horizon: The baker, the seamstress… Even though the latter's daughter seemed to have managed to find her own way here later on, there had been a disconnect between what the two appeared to believe: With one convinced to stay here out of safety and the other struggling to separate this copied civilization from the real Subcon Forest. She didn't think the young woman was blind or ignorant to her mother's state; however, it was possible she'd also been tricked into thinking that part of her mind was simply lost, affected by the tragedy of Subcon's destruction and security Moonjumper provided.
'Security,' but not freedom. At least the Dwellers were safe, but even many of those that had apparently chosen to stay here of their own free will likely only did so out of either fear or deception. If she had even a remote chance of helping them, would they even be willing to let her? Probably not, still, resolve swallowed fear as she braced herself for the confrontation ahead.
Reading her expression gradually go from still terror to hardened determination as he waited without reply, the red Dweller again asked, "Are you ok? O-of course, we don't have a doctor, but maybe you should rest."
Hat Kid managed to draw a smile onto her lips, shaking her head to clear it. "I'm fine, thank you. I just need to find Moonjumper."
"Oh, that's right!" he then exclaimed, "The prince was looking for you! He's in the palace garden."
At least she wouldn't have to search for him… She bid the Dweller a quick goodbye, stowing away the Time Piece as she spun on her heel to round back to the palace entrance, clenching her hands at her sides as she moved thereafter. The girl knew the way well now. Still, the halls somehow felt longer than before—if not quite as empty. She was almost hyper-aware of her surroundings, as if some unseen danger might turn the corners ahead. Nevertheless, despite all of her feelings, the place was silent and still, as always.
She guessed that this would be one of the last—if not the last—times she would walk these halls again, so Hat Kid made one, short stop at her room to gather the rest of her belongings and shove them however they would fit into her bag. The lack of confidence in the action made her stomach churn, but past experience told her she was in the right. If she had to make a hasty retreat, there'd be no time to collect anything.
A minute before she reached the garden, the young alien felt eyes aimed at the back of her skull. Although he didn't show it—just as he hadn't all those other times—Moonjumper was ready for her. The phantom ruler waited by a plot of iridescent flowers in full-bloom, turning his gaze all-to-perfectly in sync to her arrival.
"I'm not sure how many of these relics you lost, but I believe there shouldn't be too many more for you to find here." His voice maintained its usual calm, although she thought she caught something only slightly lighter in his tone. Whether joy or relief, she didn't know. Her mind was too busy to question it as she stared at the hourglass-shape he held in his hand. He waved it pointedly in the air for her attention, "I'm sure you look forward to returning to the mortal world as well. You must miss your home very much."
The child said nothing at first, only giving him a nod in reply. All heated words and questions died on her lips. If she wanted the Time Piece, she had to play nice for just a minute longer until he handed it over. There was one thing in her favor: The way he spoke, he didn't know that the relic in his hands was the last one she needed—and, by extension, he didn't know where she'd been up until that moment. "Where did you find it?" she asked, stalling to recollect her thoughts and approach.
"Some of my guard captured it from a few of the nature sprites entering the realm," he answered, then continued almost to himself, "They're several weeks early, actually… These things can happen if they've dealt with a drastic change in their environment. It can confuse them."
Something like the planet suddenly overflowing with lava? she mused, but kept it to herself. Since the Horizon was a separate realm altogether, maybe Mustache Girl's tampering with time hadn't affected it as it did her alternate world.
"I'll need to prepare for them," the phantom prince explained, "meaning I'll be even busier than usual. I'm sorry for being a poor host."
Hat Kid breathed a little easier as he carefully placed the Time Piece into her waiting hands, although she couldn't help staring at his own with caution. That cold, yet certain touch was different to her now. Every movement stayed purposeful; however, instead of being the guiding sway of a ruler leading his people, they now seemed like a puppetmaster's manipulative gestures from the shadows. She wanted to back away, but settled for tucking the hourglass into her pack with the rest.
"It's fine…" She remained courteous to avoid pressuring him, worried that—when she did start asking questions—she might accidently back him into a corner. "I'm just happy to get my Time Pieces back, and I liked exploring everything so…"
Her sentence drifted as she struggled to talk to him as she once had. Luckily, it was enough to pass. Moonjumper folded his arms behind his back and looked off to the distance. "It's strange. You shouldn't be here, but—I admit—it's been a joy having you as my guest. You've, for lack of a better word, livened things here. I think the others agree."
Hat Kid bit the inside of her lower lip. Beyond her initial wonder, this place felt so quiet and empty partly due to Moonjumper's actions. Yes, he kept the ghosts and spirits here safe and content, but there was still a malaise hanging over everything. The state of the town, kept in a near-perfection reflect of the past, showed a refusal to move forward. Many of the Dwellers he'd brainwashed, like the baker and seamstress, played the roles they'd carried in their former lives—roles that didn't hold the same purpose now due to their phantasmal existences. On top of that, his control over them had clearly muddled their minds.
Furthermore, the enforcement of the masks protected them from the Horizon's visions, yes, but it also blocked any chance for the ghosts to face whatever burden hung over them in death and move past it. The ones who successfully did so had all apparently left, carrying on wherever they belonged in their afterlives. The ones who didn't remained, trapped in an unnatural state of permanence, like toys left shelved for display, to help the phantom prince preserve a life that'd already been lost.
"It may be many years from now, but when you eventually depart from the mortal coil," he added, "I hope you know you can return here and make yourself at home."
Whatever he thought, it wasn't reassuring. Somehow, even the idea of working for Snatcher for all eternity seemed a better alternative. At least his minions were allowed to slip off every now and then. She managed a small smile anyway, then sighed, "I don't think I'd really fit in."
The prince tilted his head as he looked back at her, caught off-guard by the comment. "And why is that?"
"Because I'm not from Subcon. You can't fit me anywhere."
It wasn't the first time he'd reacted poorly, hearing that name. His shoulders rose in subtle tension, though confusion never left his steady gaze.
"That's where you were from, wasn't it? And you're trying to remake everything like how Subcon Forest used to be as much as possible." The child didn't wait for him to question how she knew that, excusing herself early with a half-truth, "I started recognizing the paths and buildings. You tried to match them."
He was quiet for a long moment, then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes, it was my home, for a while…" his voice became almost emotionless, falling into a soft, thoughtful murmur. He returned her half-truth with his own. "As you know, I wasn't wholly myself when I arrived here. Recreating things I once knew helped."
"And the Dwellers?"
"They arrived after I did." The initial shock was starting to wear off, "Did someone make you feel like you couldn't belong here because you're not a Dweller? Child, ghosts and spirits from all other the world have come here. There's no need to feel out of place."
"Some of them think they're still in Subcon," she pressed further, hugging her pack close to her chest, "Some of them don't even seem to remember what happened or why they died! Do they even remember what the real Subcon used to be like? It's not right!"
"Do they need to remember?"
The question made Hat Kid pause. It was asked with sincerity, but she could hardly imagine why he'd ask that at all. To her, it seemed obvious: Memories were important, and no one had a right to take or distort them. Throughout all her adventures, there wasn't anything or anyone she wanted to forget.
However, Moonjumper continued, speaking with sad, but honest confidence, "If there was a memory so terrible that it could break you, wouldn't it better to let it—and all the pain it wrought—go?" He raised a finger, tapping the side of his skull, "'It would have been better if we never met.' 'I was happier before I ever knew what this or that was like.' 'I hate myself. I can't forgive myself, and I hate myself even more.' 'I want to go back to how things were before, when I was young and innocent.' These are the kinds of things people tell themselves, cursing the things that bubble up from the backs of their minds and keep them awake at night. If they managed to forget all of that, if they're happier this way, is it so wrong?"
She fell silent. It wasn't like she didn't have things she regretted, or things that still hurt her, but she still couldn't imagine giving up a single memory. Her thoughts went to the deer-masked Dweller though, how he'd gone from a young man happily in love; to a broken soul beyond consoling, overwhelmed by loss. Maybe that's what he forgot, and why he carried himself the way he did now. She thought of the masks everyone here wore, including Moonjumper himself, to bar the Horizon's visions.
She guessed she could understand, but it was like believing a lie, wasn't it? A beautiful lie, maybe sometimes, but a lie all the same. If you did something that you couldn't forgive yourself for, would forgetting regret be worth forgetting a lesson that helped you grow? If you lost someone you cared about, would forgetting the pain be worth forgetting all of the love you felt for them?
"Granted, the loss of their memories keeps them from ever moving on…" he admitted in a voice even quieter than before, almost a whisper, "They can't heal from something they can't remember, but then there are some wounds that don't heal to begin with."
You're wrong…
That's what she wanted to tell him, but she didn't. Hat Kid got the feeling he was speaking from experience. The ruined replica of Vanessa's manor in the ice women's territory… Was that from where he'd tried to remember, but the pain was too much? Was that why he altered the Horizon as he did, to look like Subcon in a time before Vanessa's storm, and live how his life might've been if he never fell in love with her?
He was still wrong though: Even if they left a nasty scar, wounds did heal. Snatcher was proof of that. Maybe he let himself become a monster, but he didn't let what happened consume him entirely. He made new homes for his people, gave them new bodies and new purpose, protected them and urged that there was still something more to their phantasmal existences—even if they couldn't move on to the next world just yet. All that with many still failing to realize it… If Moonjumper and Snatcher really were both the prince, the same person, then the Horizon's ruler should've also had that chance.
The girl flinched as a cold hand removed her hat and patted her head, chains scraping against her ear from the other's wrist. She was so deep in thought that she hadn't noticed how silent and solemn she had become. It was strange, Moonjumper trying to comfort her like this. She still felt uneasy and was angry at him for what he was doing, but wasn't without sympathy. After all, even he was a victim of his own beliefs. He'd had to dip low to reach her. His face was within arm's reach.
Meaning he had no time to draw back as she reached up and pulled off his mask.
The loose fabric that bundled around the back of his head came with it, first revealing waves of locks like dark, arctic waters that framed Moonjumper's—the prince's—face in an unruly way. Even after seeing him in the time rift, she was still stunned by it. For the most part, his blue skin was the same, but his lips and the rims of his eyes were a darker, more greyed color. The eyes themselves were the most striking: The irises drained of color, but the normally pure white sclera overtaken by a vibrant, bloodshot red—streaks that failed to branch off like veins, but rather overlapped in taut, straight lines like his scarlet thread.
Hat Kid stepped back, "I know who you were, Moonjumper. And I don't think you should keep anyone in the dark like this. The Dwellers have family and friends that they left behind in the real Subcon, and you have to still be hurting too. You're not even giving yourself the chance to get better, so please, try to remember."
His first three, real expressions were as follows: Surprise, fear, and rage. After fully coming to terms with what she'd done, a hand shakingly rising to graze his own cheek, he snapped his gaze to the ground and stared hard at the cobblestone before closing his eyes tightly shut—fingers soon tangled in his hair as he covered his face. Slowly, he began to mumble under his breath, and the panicked way his body arched around itself made the child step further back with caution. A near half-minute passed before she heard it, the demand spoken in a sharp, angry chant: Give it back.
"Give it back!"
The final cry tore from his throat in a furious shout. Moonjumper dove toward the girl, knocking her to the ground as he tried to rip the mask from her grasp. Instead, it was knocked out of her hold, sent skidding across the ground with noisy clatter.
He continued after it. Hat Kid reached out to grab him, but just missed the edge of his cloak. When it was finally in his possession once more, desperation ebbed, but fury remained. His eyes were wild: He was far from the calm, collected prince she knew. She opened her mouth to speak, to beg him not to put it on, but there was no room to talk. With a wave of his hand, the ground began to quake, then it opened up beneath her.
Then she slipped into darkness.
((Author's Note: Little fun fact I picked up while researching for this… Apparently, hypothermia can actually cause amnesia. I was just musing over the song lyrics to "Masked" before, but I'll gladly accept any happy accident that vindicates what I was going for. XD))