A/N: I have a lot of important homework to do. So what's the obvious solution? Work on a fanfiction!
I hope you like the way this story is going ^-^ This is where it really starts to get into its stride.
Thanks for reading - Kesa.
The door of the decrepit cabin shrieked as Chrono slowly forced it open, sticking into the damp floor as it did every time it rained. The wooden floor squeaked as he stumbled across the room, and he flinched as the rising smell from the mould and mildew hit him.
Slowly he scraped his way towards the pantry, desperately trying to avoid the wave of self-disgust and self-hatred that he was flooded with every time he entered his – abruptly, he halted mid-thought. He refused to use the word 'house' to refer to the dilapidated hovel. House and home were where the heart was, and – he recalled the quote with a slight shudder – home was where your loved ones were. Another quote returned to him, a line that he himself had spoken, years and years ago before his world had shattered for the second time. The place where Chrono would can go back to was already decided four years ago...and that place is… wherever –
Chrono was frequently shocked by the strength of his intent to hurt himself whenever possible. He had always known he had a large potential for self-hatred; half the events of his life were driven by his own desperation to escape himself. He had killed a hundred demon generals for the Sinners because he hated what he and the Sinners had done to Pandemonium's children; he had stayed with the Sinners because he hated what he had done for them; he had locked himself in Magdalene's tomb because he hated what he had done to Magdalene.
But those were not the kinds of memories he was trying to preserve, more the kind that he was trying to forget. The pantry opened with a creak and, peering into the darkness, he fished out a pale loaf of bread and a dry block of cheese. He really was trying to punish himself, he had to admit, but he suppressed the anger rising up and cut himself a meal.
Nibbling on his breakfast, Chrono headed back outside, considering the tasks he had for the day. It was also worth noting, he thought, that though he had a huge potential for self hatred he was also not half bad at suppressing it. Of course it would always return at awkward times, but he could continually postpone it-well, until it reached a certain point, and then he was forced to crouch into the corner of the shack, covering his ears and eyes, trying to block himself and shield himself from the ever-encroaching world and the whispers of the long deceased. He'd whisper apologies and shiver until the tremors wore off and he could force himself to look at the world again.
There were several new graves that needed to be dug and, finishing the small sandwich, he scooped up the shovel and tried to remember where the new plots were. It was difficult to dig with only one arm but compared to the more complicated skills he had learned over the decades – like delaying his self-loathing – digging one-handed was simple, and the small amount of difficulty it did offer was enough to distract him without being too much of a strain.
The soil was more like mud than dirt and he frowned as flecks flicked over his face, trying to wipe his face clean with a ragged sleeve. It slopped over his feet and with a shake of his head Rosette started to laugh at the hopeless expression on his face and Magdalene looked on with her faint smile.
"Look at you! Anyone'd think we didn't take good care of you!" Rosette chastised as he smiled and continued to shovel dirt out of the grave.
"Would you like help?" Magdalene offered, ignoring the way that he was flicking mud onto her delicate shoes, but Chrono just shook his head.
"Aw, no, Mary, he wouldn't want ya getting your pretty dress all dirty like he is! Move over, Chrono, and I'll show you how to get this done."
Again he shook his head, smiling as Rosette grumbled and feebly tried to nudge him out of the way before giving up and lying down in the mud. Slowly she wriggled herself into the ground and began to sing, that hymn that she and Joshua used to sing together. Gently Magdalene settled herself into the soil next to Rosette and began to harmonize, her higher and purer voice weaving around Rosette's stronger voice.
Casting aside the unsettling shiver that ran through him at the sounds he remembered from an eternity ago, he continued to dig, burying himself into his work. By the time he had completed the grave and had managed to clamber out of the pit he found himself humming along to the tune they were singing and abruptly stopped himself. To him, even humming was too close to actively interacting with his imagination.
Chrono's hand was slippery with mud and dirt and the shovel slipped through his fingers to land heavily on his foot. He doubled over with suprise and pain and Rosette and Magdalene rushed across to see what had happened. When he looked up to see their concerned faces he was forced to double over again, as – again – the wave of self-hatred was let loose to flood through him. The real Rosette would never have looked so concerned at the idea of Chrono giving himself a minor injury.
It just made it more obvious that they weren't his real friends. They were his imagination, his own interpretations of people that he had once, briefly, known. It wasn't Rosette, looking at him worriedly, and it wasn't Magdalene muttering reassurances as she examined his foot.
Why? Because Rosette and Magdalene were well and truly dead. Deader than dead, dead for decades and decades, very, very dead indeed. And the two women smiling at him now were lies.
He made it, faltering and stumbling, to the shack, before he curled up into a corner and tried to hide away from the world.
Chrono could never drag himself out of himself in situations like these. He needed someone like Magdalene or Rosette to set him back on his feet, point him in the direction he needed to go, and scold him for what he had done. He needed someone, someone real, to save him.
But he was fully aware that no-one could save him, any more. That Rosette and that Magdalene were gone, and the ones who had been singing only minutes ago were just his mind's attempt to try and keep him sane.
This time Chrono couldn't trust someone else to bring him out of this eighty year old mindset. He had to stand himself up, pull himself together, and turn his life into a life. Because otherwise, when he died, hoping that he'd be going to the same place that they had gone – which was highly unlikely – he'd never be able to even look at them again, drowning in the shame that he had learned nothing from the people who tried to teach him everything about the world.
In other words, Chrono had to save himself. Which had, he noted drily, never been his strong point. He had always been more on the side of saving everyone else, through the sacrifice of himself. But this time, to save his memories of people long dead, he had to pull himself out of himself and try to live the rest of his life in a way that, when he saw Rosette and Magdalene again, he could hold his head high and honestly thank them for teaching him how to live.