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

[eudaimoniac]

. . . It's a sickening thing to want to make happen. We both know that. Not much more to be said.

Still. It's possible that when you wake up, people are going to want to talk to you about this. Maybe they'll ask what you were thinking. How you could justify it. They'll believe you'll have an answer for them. They're not going to understand that above all, you were mad.

If that happens, you don't listen to them. You listen to me.

[peccatore]

"... Okay." He nods. "Okay. I'm listening."

[eudaimoniac]

There's no accounting for what's done in that state, not really. We can quibble over the degree of responsibility, but . . . analyzing it will never provide an answer. Safeguard your health in the future; that's all there is.

The guilt isn't useful. Not the way you're worshiping it. I think that's clear.

[peccatore]

Marco stays silent, but he's looking down at Adrien's hands again.

The Parents say something in the background. They sound... muffled.

[eudaimoniac]

[beckoning him up for a hug]

[peccatore]

Marco springs up, circles the desk and practically throws himself into Adrien's arms with a sob.

[eudaimoniac]

[really squeezing him tight, rocking him a bit]

[peccatore]

"Thank you... T-Thank you, Adrien, I'm sorry..."

[eudaimoniac]

I know.

I'm not saying you shouldn't feel the guilt. That's no option at all, not for any of us. But it has to start meaning something else, all right?

[peccatore]

He nods. He just keeps nodding.

[eudaimoniac]

I don't hate you. I promise. You can—you can go on now with no more killing.

[peccatore]

"... Thank you." Marco finally pulls back, still teary-eyed.

[eudaimoniac]

[he sits down on the floor, taking a moment to deal with the overwhelming wave of dizziness that suddenly comes]

Is there more?

[peccatore]

"Are you okay...?"

[eudaimoniac]

I am. Only . . . taking a moment.

[peccatore]

Marco has the look of someone who is very clearly trying to gauge if Adrien is telling the truth.

"... If you're tired, I think I'll be fine. As fine as possible, given the circumstances."

But, well, he is going to tell him. He's not supposed to hide these things, is he?

"One of the other two doors is guarded by that man who outed me. You... wouldn't get anything from it, I believe. It would have just circled back here, or... maybe you would have ended up there if I hadn't told you everything. I'm not sure."

[eudaimoniac]

[he seems exhausted, but still determined]

Then the third? I should go back there?

[peccatore]

"If... If you'd like. There's a friend there. With... pleasant memories, I think."

[eudaimoniac]

[weakly] That would be nice.

[peccatore]

"She's... a vampire, too. Just so you know."

Marco is visibly, audibly nervous about this, but... Right now, he's trying very hard to remember that Adrien doesn't want him to just make himself palatable.

[eudaimoniac]

I thought so. You'd mentioned her.

[he attempts a smile]

Which way, my dear? Or do you just will me there?

[peccatore]

"That... That way, I think." He points southeast. "And... Thank you. Again."