Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[peccatore]

"... It's okay, Mordimort."

Marco says this, but it doesn't seem like he wants to call the Parents' assessment into question either.

[reddenedgalaxy]

Do you... believe what they're saying?

[peccatore]

"This... This was the best solution I could find, at this point in time."

He's not saying no.

[reddenedgalaxy]

...They're wrong about you.

[peccatore]

"... Huh?"

[reddenedgalaxy]

The ghosts... they're wrong. You aren't... wretched.

[peccatore]

"I... Thank you, Mordimort. But..."

It looks like this memory is starting to fade; when Marco realises this, he gasps, panic seizing him.

"Wait, no! You can't show her that!"

[reddenedgalaxy]

Show me what...?

[peccatore]

"Wait, please, please don't--!"

But despite Marco's pleas, everything blurs again...

The surroundings soon settle into something that looks like a hotel room. That is the last pleasant thing there is to say about the scene. Lying on the bloodstained bed is a half-naked young man, his neck and shoulders covered in bite marks. There are some scratches on his body, too. Sitting on the side of the bed is Marco. He's half-naked, too. Right now, he's covering his face - weeping - but his hair appears to be styled similarly to when he was Luigi.

"I c-can't keep doing this..."

[reddenedgalaxy]

[What a horrifying scene to come across.]

Marco... I'm sorry...

[peccatore]

"... I'm so sorry, Mordimort." He's barely audible, only peeking at her through his fingers. "I'm sorry..."

[reddenedgalaxy]

...

[she doesn't really know what to say or do right now, so she just looks at the floor.]

[peccatore]

Once more, the Parents seem to see this as an opportunity.

"She still comforts him...?"
"Why?"
"Doesn't she understand?"
"How deeply have you deceived her, Marco?"
"You should be ashamed!"

Or maybe they are genuinely puzzled.

[reddenedgalaxy]

[THAT gets her attention. She looks to the Parents and frowns.]

He's already ashamed... you don't need to make him feel... mor bad.

[peccatore]

They stare back at her silently, piercing despite their lack of facial features.

[reddenedgalaxy]

I can't imagine... how it must have felt. But Marco has... suffered enough. He doesn't need to be... haunted by every mistake... when all he's trying to do is live...

[peccatore]

"... Selfish."
"He's selfish."
"If he keeps trying to live..."
"That's why we're here."
"We have to be here for him."
"As long as he wants to live."

Marco's hands tense up.

[reddenedgalaxy]

...You're awful. It's not selfish... to want to live.

[peccatore]

"He should have died that night."
"Prolonging an existence full of sin is itself a sin."

Marco mutters something under his breath as they speak. It's practically inaudible.

[reddenedgalaxy]

You're wrong.

[peccatore]

Marco mumbles a little more loudly this time.

"Mordimort, it's okay."

[reddenedgalaxy]

It's not okay... your family's memory... shouldn't be hurting you like this...

[peccatore]

Marco averts his eyes, and everything starts to blur very, very quickly...

When the world slows down, it coalesces into a highway on a rainy night. Something flickers off to the side, barely visible to anyone on the main road.

[reddenedgalaxy]

Rain... I hate rain...

[still, she presses on bravely to investigate the side of this weird road.]

[peccatore]

Smoke billows from the light. It isn't long until it becomes obvious that it's a fire - a small one, at least for now - burning from a car that veered off the road and only stopped when it hit a rocky protrusion.

One of the passengers, a short-haired businessman with blood dripping from a large cut on his head, is on the ground, not far from what must have been one of the side doors. The other, a familiar man in a moustache and a sweater, is crawling out of the wreckage.