Ok, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist!

I promised you 'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables', and I have delivered it. This was supposed to be the fourth song in 'La Mewníables', which was chapter 16. It was gonna be like, 60K total, and would discuss the Giancarlo Uprising against the second kingdom [New Mewni, whilst also discussing Marco's continued grief, Star's handling of her second-Mewberry incident, and more broadly, the Butterfly's monarchial reinstatement and forced constitutionalizing.

This is a scene I wanted to make really, really badly. Almost as much as the Marco v.s. Tom of chapter 20. I may get around to those, but for now, I'll do this.

Also, my style has changed a lot. Let me know if it reads well.

Anyway, here's Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The door was cracked open. Through the parting, a stream of moonlight shone, and a nearer the bottom, purple light bled upward. Star's footsteps grew more silent, and more still as she approached. There was… a feeling in that light. Her guilt was all but gone, but the sting and scent of pain was fresh, cast upon the hardwood of the midnight hallways in a flux of purple and white. She came upon the door, pressing an open eye through the slit to see inside.

The room was halved in purple haze. On the floor, a tide of carpet clashed with false timber flooring, dark violet and ominous. The single window of Marco's room was fully unshuttered. Tides of night glow drifted through the panes, dancing through the purple haze, arcing this way and that as the wind blew the palm fronds outside. Particles of dark color rose from the mirage in the corner, making the form of a table, and chairs beside.

He was sitting in the middle of the room. Star could not shunt off her grimace at the sight of his cast. It pushed a dagger into her heart. God, she wished to whimper, but that would give her away. She wanted nothing more than to bolt in, and jump into his arms, and plead for forgiveness, though she knew Marco held her no slight. Nonetheless, she hurt him. She hurt so many people at the school. New Mewni was held together by cracks, and splintered houses. Courts were summoned afar from the king and queen, and unrest oozed from every sewer across the city. She wanted things to be alright again, but looking upon her love, she could only feel sadness. It was grief, the taste was not lost to her.

Marco had his back to her, and his good arm was gripping hard on his thigh. Though she could not see his eyes, she could see his tensity, the strain of his muscles through his blue nightwear, and the slight shutters and rise of his hairs. A faint pulse waved through the purple mirage, and more detail became. It was clear now a long table, seated for seven. With hung tapestries and kit, still lacking enough dimension to see clearly. The air was still… as silent as the clashing light of purple and white.

Musical Que - Les Miserables - Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (Billie Cast)

/ This is the closest actor I could find to Marco's voice. Performance is not bad at all, too. Maybe a bit too monotone, but I liked it enough to use it/

Star pressed herself harder against the parted door. Marco stirred, but not by her. He pushed his head to hang lower, and a soft voice grew from the middle of the room. The purple mirage seemed to stiffen up.

"There's a grief… that can't be spoken…"

It was a gentle cry, parted and soft like silk and honey. Those few words were enough to captivate. Her partner looked up, his gaze lost through the open window. The stars above were faint, save for six clear eyes of celestial white, burning hard in the pitch of night.

"There's a pain… goes on and on."

He did not look for long, and sharply did his head fall down, this time to land upon the purple mirage on the far side of his room. It swirled with violet, waving and glimmering as black clashed with indigo.

"Empty chairs at empty tables…"

He rose with the help of his good hand, his eyes never leaving the purple corner. Star shifted back, afraid he had noticed her. Something was happening. She had not the will to interrupt it. His shoulder rolled, and the white splint fell to the ground. The wound was fully healed. There was no surprise there, yet Star felt no less guilty.

"... Now, my friends, are dead… And gone…"

Those words bled with strain. They were smooth, a rhythmic lullaby of sweltering pain, yet she could tell they were hard-said. He began to walk into the mirage. The swirling let reached out to hug him, making him one with the low-hanging haze as his silhouette flooded with purple. He changed in that image. His height reached up tall, and his shoulders went broad, yet through the thin character, she still saw him plain. He had become one with the image.

"Here they talked of revolution… Here it was they lit the flame…"

"Here they sang about tomorrow," Marco grazed a hand across the shaped wood of the purple table. Star pressed closer against the door. "And tomorrow… Never came."

Marco stopped as he spoke the last word, swallowing hard. The haze crept further into the room. It gripped his bed, covering it whole in fog and haze, and the windowsill became host to a battle of winding lights. Glimmers danced across the room, like spinning tops that caressed the air and whispered words of sorrow. Star swept up a tear.

"...From the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn… and they rose with voices ringing-"

He pressed sharply away from the table, his eyes pointed low as his voice swelled. His hands came together, and a glow took shape there.

"-And I can hear them now, the very words that they had sung!"

From his hands sprouted a great nest of branches and leaves, a tapestry of purple, with faint glimpses of memories held on every twig. The glow was shed upon every surface, and the room changed further. It was all a perfect show, and Star was now most to her prior grief. All she felt was Marco's. She counted six in total, six separate faces, a parade of joy, and hate, and scowls, and half-lidded eyes and laughter. Six souls, and every one bled dread.

"Became their last… communion."

"In my lonely… masquerade. At dawn…"

The tree withered and fell apart, casting trailing streams of light that died to nothing. Marco's voice fell low and muted, and he parted from the table's side. The glimmer of a teardrop caught the streaming moonlight with a shine. The silent, sobbing boy made for the window.

"Oh, my friends, my friends… forgive me."

"That I live… and you are gone…"

In the purple night, the faces came back. But Star could see that Marco saw none of them. Silhouettes lives and perished, seated at the table. Cheering drinks with wide smiles, before succumbing back into the dark violet.

"...There's a grief that can't be… spoken-"

His voice went pointed.

"There's a pain, goes on. And on…"

Marco's nails bit hard into the wood of the windowsill. His body tensed. Every vein and strand of muscle showed through his hazed skin. Then he pushed back. Stepping away from the window while clutching the hair on his head. Faces formed in the window. But these were black with grief.

"Phantom faces at the window!"

He staggered. One leg tripping the other as he fell. Star jolted, a worried look stealing her face. The boy crawled back as the shadows freed themselves from the window. Looming tall and dark, like reapers coming to collect a soul. He looked beyond frantic. Terrified.

"Phantom shadows on the floor!"

More tears fell as he turned over. He made his feet, pushing away the shadows as he made for the chair at the center of the room. The blonde girl shuttered back, pulling the door closer to mask herself. She remained undetected.

"Empty chairs at empty tables…" He clawed at the backrest of the chair. His hands gripped it. Star lost the view of his face as his eyes went low.

"Where my friends will meet… No more!"

"Oh, my friends, my FRIENDS-"

The chair was thrown aside as Marco collapsed. Shining tears fell from his eyes.

"DON'T ASK ME!"

His voice tore and pleaded for mercy. A staggered cry as the shadows bounded around him. Six in total. Wearing veiled faces with outstretched hands, pulling on him as he went to his knees. His back was to her now, yet she saw marks grow on his skin. And heavy phantom shackles bound his wrists to the floor.

"What your sacrifice was for!"

"*Sob*, Empty chairs at empty… ta… *sobbing*"

He could not finish. The emotion was gripping him too tightly. Shackling his lungs. Squeezing him from within.

It was then the light began to fade. The table vanished, as did the chairs, and the hazing fog. The purple reside, save for six characters, fleshed out and full in the light. Six faces. Six fates. Star cleared her eyes of tears as she pushed the food fully open. Marco did not stir, his arms were free now. Yet he did not look at the figures. His eyes stared off through the window.

"Where my friends… Will sing…"

"... No….… mooore."

That final word was barely a whisper. Silent in the calm air as the six figures faded one by one. The sound of sobbing resumed. And it did not stop. Not even when Star left him for her bed, where she found her rest. As he own dreams began to spin their strings, she could not forget those six faces.

I understand now, she thought, the world falling away beneath her sheets. A single ray of night glow fell across her room. I understand what he could not tell me. I understand what he lost… God, Marco…

I finally… understand. Six faces.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

So a lot of that probably made no sense to any of you. But it makes sense to me, and it was VERY cathartic to write that.

Stay tuned… maybe.