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]

"... Yes? Do I know you?"

Behind Viktor, the Parents are becoming louder -

"No, it's not him! It's not him anymore!"
"No one here has really met him."
"No one ever will...!"

- but this Marco doesn't seem to know they're there.

[pyrrhicviktory]

Maybe not yet. In the future.

... Your parents are quite distressed.

[peccatore]

"My...? Ah!"

This time, he turns firmly towards the town and starts advancing towards it. His steps are unsteady, but strangely light.

"Oh, they must be worried. It's so late. How did I...? D-Doesn't matter. I need to go."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Do you know where you are, Marco?

[peccatore]

Reluctantly, he stops. When he looks back at Viktor, though, their eyes don't quite meet.

"We are right outside Craco, sir. I was born and raised here."

[pyrrhicviktory]

Was this when you were turned...?

[peccatore]

He makes eye contact then, less wild animal and more mournful, and answers with a very small nod.

[pyrrhicviktory]

You never reconciled with your parents?

[ there's no judgment in the question. ]

[peccatore]

Despite the lack of judgement, a deep pain flashes across Marco's eyes. He turns away and continues onward into the town.

Meanwhile, the Parents are right at Viktor's back once more.

"Come, you poor, kind man. Come and see," says the Father.
"He doesn't understand. God forgive him."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... I think Marco understands very well.

But... you may lead on.

[peccatore]

"Not him, you poor man," whispers the Mother.

But lead on is what they do, following Marco's steps through the town.

He appears to know exactly where he's going, turning corners and climbing steps with ease, although... he seems distracted on occasion, too. The night sky above seems impossibly bright; he finds himself staring at it, after a pulsing, throbbing sound that he catches near a window makes him stop.

Despite this, he continues all the way to a house near a small, tilled field.

[pyrrhicviktory]

I will thank you not to condescend to me.

[ but Viktor follows, once again sending some light ahead of them to guide the way ]

[peccatore]

"Oh... So sorry, sir, so sorry!"

Once he's at the front door, Marco hesitates; knocks lightly, as though afraid to break something. The door opens, and the one standing on the other side is...

Well, it's a man shaped very much like the Father. He seems more real, too; more three-dimensional, more present. His features are clearer. He has Marco's nose.

"Marco! Goodness gracious, where were you?" He throws his arms around Marco, who doesn't embrace him back so much as he collapses into his arms. "Your poor mother was worried sick. Come in, let her see you."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Is this how it went?

[peccatore]

"It is," the Father says mournfully.
"And there is no way to stop it," the Mother adds.

Marco proceeds to walk inside. Proceeds to shamble inside. There is the sound of a beating heart, two beating hearts, growing louder and louder.

Will you follow, Viktor?

[pyrrhicviktory]

... No. If it has already happened, then...

[ he pushes on, anyway. ]

[peccatore]

Marco's mother, a woman shaped like one of the specters following Viktor, with Marco's eyes and cheekbones, rises from her bed to hug her son as well. The sound of those beating hearts grows unbearably loud.

The sight that follows is unpleasant.

It's her that he tears into first, with all the grace and care of a starving animal getting its first kill in days. He seems to have the presence of mind to do cover her mouth and muffle her screams until her strength fails her, and to smack his father away (sending him crashing into a table) when he tries to separate them, but nothing else.

Marco drinks until there's nothing left to drink, and when his mother collapses, pale and drained, he goes for his father as well.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Maybe it's just all the practice Lark has had him doing at holding himself apart from other people's memories. Maybe it's the charm Sunny made him. Or maybe it's just easier when it's someone else's memory. To separate yourself from the horror of it. Viktor doesn't let it overwhelm him, even though it's objectively horrifying, and every instinct in his body is telling him to run. His knees feel like they have turned to water, but somehow he forces them to take root and support his weight. ]

... So this is the root of it all. Your self loathing. You could not control yourself, and they died by your hand.

[ Again Viktor keeps his voice even, level. He only sounds like he's stating a factual timeline, not a judgment. ]

[peccatore]

When Marco finally stops...

He falls to his knees, yes. But he also looks at Viktor - really looks at him, like he did before, in the moment he asked him if he knew where he was.

"... You're still talking to me?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

Did you think I would stop?

[peccatore]

"I... wasn't sure that you would have seen a point. This is only a memory, after all."

[pyrrhicviktory]

Maybe so. But since we cannot change the past... talking about it is often the only thing that helps.

[peccatore]

The Father chimes in again.

"What is there to talk about? This is only the beginning."
"We tried to warn you," adds the Mother.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Viktor turns to both of them, then. ]

I think we've heard quite enough from both of you, thank you.

[peccatore]

"But it's only the beginning," the Mother repeats.
"Do you think this is enough for you to understand?"