I was contemplating titling this chapter "Replay Your Nightmare", but I was convinced not to. :
~Aest 3

Clara still remembered that day.
The day everything finally pieced together, only to figure out that the puzzle was always tattered and haphazard. Like it was destined to be torn apart regardless of attempted mending.

She remembered it all. Every. Single. Second.
A tease. A burden. A curse.
An illusion of a flawless picture, only to then notice the hidden imperfections.

It was a Wednesday afternoon and Micheal was at school- it was only 7am, and Fazbear's wasn't open yet.
Clara had been fussing over Micheal all month, prodding him about therapy, about what happened to Chris wasn't his fault.
Micheal never seemed to believe her.

Clara needed to get out of the house, and she needed a reason to not accept her sister, Loretta's, invitation to come over and "talk" (cough-pester-cough), so she tagged along with William to Freddy Fazbear's, who jad to over-see the transition of the two animatronics from the Spring location to a personal stage at the main chain location.
Though he tried to talk her out of it.

"Are you sure?" He'd asked for the fifteenth time. "Do you think you'll be okay? Grief is a strong thing, Rosie, and I think it'll be too hard on-"
Clara remembered softening at the nickname, as she always did many times before. "Rosie."

When she was younger, or so the story went, there was some huge argument over what Clara's name would be.
Clarissa (mom's suggestion), or Roselle (fathers proposal)?
They agreed on the longest first-name to trip off the human tongue:
Clarissa Roselle. How marvelously creative!

"Clarissa Roselle Alouette Schmidt (Afton)."
Try saying that five times fast.

"I'll be fine, William. No reason to worry. If anything..." Clara paused. "If anything, being there would give me that one feeling of connection, you know?"

At the time, Clara thought that the questions were fueled by concern.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.
If only she'd known, knew now, known then, and known during all those restless nights of reminiscing.

What would have gone differently if Clara listened? What would have happened if she had stay home? Or stayed with Loretta, even?

Ignorance is bliss, they always say.

Though, to be ignorant, in this situation meant to be naive. To be blind.
If only it meant to be deaf as well.

If only.

If only she hadn't seen that little black-haired girl being lead away from him in the spring bonnie suit.
Would Clara's curiosity not have been sparked if she saw only the girl alone?

If only...

What if she didn't follow, would she oblivious to the girl's terrified screams and sobs? Or would the sound have just reverberated down the hall, and into Clara's ears either way?

If only...

Would Clara still would have looked if she knew just how much what was going on behind that door she peeked through would affect her so much?
Would the sickening snap, snap, shrink, grind sound affect Clara so much if she didn't know what it came from?
Only passed if off as one of the machines?
And not the snapping of spring locks from Golden Freddy and the squelch of a knife?

If only- What?
If only Clara hadn't seen the way his eyes flickered? From dark purple to sky blue, and back again?

The man took off the headpiece of the rabbit suit and ran his hand through his hair, a look of satisfaction dancing across his face.
The man was none other than William.

Clara sucked in a breath, and stumbled away from thw door, looking away from the scene and the way blood molted Golden Freddy's golden fur.

Her shoes clucked on the floor and Clara silently cursed herself for wearing heels and praying that William didn't hear her, didn't see her through the crack.
But he did.

William's eyes did that odd flicker scene again. Purple, to blue, purple, blue.
His face looked pained, and somewhat irritated, like it was an inconvenience to have been cought by his wife in the act of murder.

William took a step toward the door, and Clara took off sprinting, her ginger curls flying wildly behind her.

"Clara?" William called, the empty hallway making his voice sound like it was coming from everywhere, as if he'd meant for Clara to feel like she couldn't escape him fast enough.

Clara stumbled and righted herself, cursing as she tore off her heels without slowing down.

Freddy Fazbear's had never felt so large to Clara before.
Time seemed to slow down, causing Clara's surroundings to seem so far away.

Clara raced past Pirates Cove, skidding around the "Out of order" sign that that seem to become part of the scenery since Foxy had started malfunctioning.

It was then when Clara snuck a glance over her shoulder.
William was out of the spring suit, without so much as a scratch on him.
His eyes flickered, frome purple to blue, seemingly indecisive.
Though he sauntered with the air of a predator, like he knew he'd catch her.

"Clara, love. If you could please-" William started, but Clara didn't listen.

Clara sprinted past the arcade, ignoring William's protests as well as the corridors, pavilion, and finally made it to the main stage area.
The doors were so close.
The crisp air burned Clara's lungs and left her craving water, but she didn't slow.

Clara got the feeling that she was being watched, somehow, and whirled around as she ran. All three animatronics were powered off onstage, but Clara couldn't shake the feeling.

When Clara turned around, her heart plummeted to the floor.

There, blocking the only exit, was William.

How did he..?

His eyes glinted dangerously, now back to being a shade of dark purple, instead of his natural light blue.
Pixels were dancing around his image, like his whole body was glitching madly.
What the heck was that about?

A slow smile spread across William's face, and her heartbeat came back with a vengeance.

She was trapped...

"Mom... Mom? Mom!"

The voice came from William, who's eyes were back to sky blue, and Clara blinked, and his face changed, morphing and melding until she realized that she was looking at Micheal- grown up Micheal, in his living room.

But- why was she above him?
Clara blinked, and her fuzzy vision cleared, revealing that she was... Flying? In her sleep.
Stress, maybe? Her body getting used to her wings?

That was odd, but Clara couldn't bring herself to think to much into her sleep-flying.

As Micheal helped Clara back down to the velvet love seat, Clara didn't stop thinking, over and over:

That didn't happen...

Clara could've swore that she got away, William still far behind her. Clara drove like the devil was on her heels, and- well, she wasn't watching where she was going, apperantly, because the last thing she could remember was the deafening sound of screeching brakes, the ear-shattering sound of fracturing glass, and her own screams.

And then, waking up after William tried to transfer her sould into Balllora.
Thinking that the transfer didn't work, he sent her back to SL, where she was stuck for years.

But, she never was blocked by William.
There was no maniacal glint in his eye, as if... As if he were going to kill her.

Clara took a shuddery breath, and Micheal peered curiously at her, looking all kinds of concerned, conflicted, curious, and cautious.
Like he wanted to help, but didn't know how, or what would happen if he tried.

Clara mustered a smile that she hoped looked genuine. "Keep frowning so much, and you'll get wrinkles on your lovely face."

Michael's eyebrows pinched together. "You were thrashing, and when I checked your pulse, it was racing faster than anything I've ever felt."

Clara forced out a small laugh and gave a little wave, the worry radiating from Micheal was thick and a tad bit overwhelming, and Clara needed to practically fan the emotion away. "Just a nightmare, Micheal." It didn't feel like one, though.
"Just a nightmare..."