Chapter Text
The obuliette should've been left a mess as it was before under lock and key, gathering cobwebs, home to spiders and despair. Surprisingly, Lisette had chosen to be more proactive with her newfound freedom, sweeping stone floors and dusting walls. They weren't entirely spotless, but less filth crunched underneath her heels as she trod cautiously, meandering through the labyrinth, and mirrors had been polished, chips and hairline cracks painstakingly repaired with glue. Even the nauseating greenish glow resonating from tarnished frames had been toned down so that her reflection's cherubic features were not highlighted so garishly. Enjel's face appeared to warp, melting like the wax of candles flickering in ancient holders the more she stared at it.
A constant sense of paranoia set her teeth on edge- it felt like she was being watched, somehow, and oppressive silence made it worse. Perhaps bats had taken up residence in the rafters, shying away from translucent beams of light and gusts of wind filtering through holes in crumbling foundation, splattering the foundation with musky guano. No clones were skulking about, performing whatever mundane task their creator willed. But she could hear something quiet that sounded like whispering, so faint it made her second guess herself, always on the brink of detection. Enjel didn't belong here. Somewhere, chains scraped across iron. Rubble clattered to the ground, unleashing a puff of dust that made her cough. She traveled aimlessly, unfamiliar with the labyrinthine layout of the dungeon. Placing a right hand on a wall wouldn't prevent her from getting lost. The shadows themselves were playing tricks, warping squalid corridors into dead ends, changing reality itself in the disorienting blink of an eye. If she tripped and fell, she feared that she might never get up again.
The angel almost wished that she had stayed with the real Lisette, and could return to the grave, but that meant abandoning her post. It was her job to wander and survey Kosmich's creations, influencing his minions with faith and fake cheer. Point blank, she also refused to disappoint the others now that Harpae and Fleta were attending the party, not wanting to ruin their excitement. There was no going back. Not when Enjel was so close. So she steadfastly bit her tongue, and ignored when shifting pebbles turned to the clinking of unsteady glass sheet awnings that could break at any moment if enough weight was balanced upon it, sending her hurtling down into black abyss. But it held. Wind whistling through tunnels gave way to an enclave, spacious yet claustrophobic at the same time, with its tight turns and cluttered display. Enjel remembered this. The antique mirror she'd appeared in, propped up against the north wall, shielded by ratty, moth-eaten curtains that were forcibly dragged open. It now showed a long table drowning in a white cloth, covered in washed plates and brown splatters. An attempt at organization had been made. There were still teetering piles of dishes set close enough to the edge to topple off and shatter, but some were stacked more carefully in shorter, neat jurisdiction. China teapots and cups were either removed or left out, gleaming under wavering candlelight that made those shadows buck and dance in eternal, ghostly waltz.
"I like what you've done with the place," Enjel murmured. "You... really have changed, haven't you?"
At the very end of the table where Goldia had once been bound with rope, surrounded by guests permanently invited, a lone figure sat hunched. Cautiously, Enjel moved closer. Lisette's double was not a captive, but remained in place, violet eyes glittering in the low light, face unsmiling and haggard. She didn't move, even as Enjel stopped a safe distance away, and cleared her throat. Bread crumbs decorated a soup dish surrounded by crumpled napkins.
"Hello," said Enjel, for lack of a better approach to friendly topics. "Can you hear me?"
The golem took ages to nod, but at least it was reciprocation. Didn't turn, or even flinch at the sight of another person, staring blankly forward.
"Pardon my interruption. I... wish to speak with your creator. But it doesn't look like Lisette is here. Could you, ah, provide directions, please?"
Chapped lips moved, cracking like worked, dry clay. She was saying something. Enjel leaned in, strained to listen.
"What?"
"She's right behind you."
Heart hammering in her chest, Enjel jerked around like she'd seen the devil, and was still trying to process it when a boot slammed down with the force of a thunderclap, echoing across cobblestone. Even Lisette's movements seemed to be amplified, stiff and haughty as she approached from behind a pillar like a reanimated corpse shambling out of a dank crypt. She certainly knew how to make a memorable entrance. They glared at each other for a long moment before Lisette's mouth parted in a sneer, its thin pink lips full, not pouty but ripe and coated in gloss.
"Enjel." She hadn't given her appearance much thought, a fact which separated her drastically from the real Lisette, hair wild, dress tattered. However, spots of fresh rosy color stained her cheeks, and the inkblot circles ringing her eyes weren't as puffy. "I knew you'd invade my territory again. Couldn't keep away, huh?" It was easy to forget that Enjel wasn't in the vicinity of the genuine article. Rather, this was another clone. The most troubled of them all, haunted by anger and grief, given the unfortunate task of copying doppelgangers and sending them off to lord-knows-where.
Enjel sighed, placing her bandaged hand over her heart, trying not to look startled.
"You really ought to announce when you're coming in," she said. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."
"I don't have to do anything," Lisette spat. "You shouldn't be here right now. Why did you think this was a good idea, coming back? That I'd welcome visitors with open arms?"
A pair of golden scissors was clenched firmly in one of her bony hands. Enjel half-expected to be impaled, or at the very least struck with the blunt object, but fingers snaked around it as if Lisette was nervous about thievery. The one upside to the job, Enjel supposed, was having endless replicas of a prized weapon to use at your disposal. She wished that Kosmich had done that with her scythe, but there was only one in existence. Countless shears littered every inch of the complex, dug into the ground, sticking out of impacted glass, some covered in platinum blonde strands, others rusted and dyed with blood.
"Because it's not your territory, Lisette. Well... technically it isn't. That belongs to someone else."
The maiden's nails were manicured, cut so precisely short it'd be impossible to nibble on them. Lisette's eyes fell upon Enjel's missing finger. Her expression hardened, scowl lessening into a frown. Enjel hid it within the folds of her skirt. They were both victims of Kosmich's interference, doomed to obey his commands, cursed with the knowledge of it.
"A bold claim," Lisette responded snidely. "The midnight circus was never staked. It's up for grabs."
"Don't give me that." Enjel did her best to maintain temperament. "Lisette- the real you- told me everything! How could you do that to her, knowing what she's been through? Barring yourself from entry-"
"Shut up!"
The command didn't quite border on enraged, shrill vibrato. Not yet. She supposed that was a good thing.
"I'd know it better than anyone, Enjel." White teeth bared in a curling snarl that made Lisette's cheeks split open and Enjel's blood run cold. "No reason to obscure names now that Goldia's out of the picture, right? You're one to talk, anyway, with how you fooled her into giving away unconditional trust. And now the others are just-"
With lightning deftness she hurled the shears at a teacup, using enough unnecessary force to dislocate her right shoulder. The cup broke into tinkling pieces on direct impact, shears vibrating in wood.
"They're going along with it! Your newest crackpot scheme. It makes me sick!"
Another pair of scissors was bound to manifest out of nowhere. Enjel didn't like it, but Lisette had a point- nay, a right to mention selfish hypocrisy. Ever since Goldia left, she'd spent months trying to get over resentment, blaming others when she was really the one at fault, playing up the image of trusted advisor and friend so their predecessor would be fooled into growing complacent and willingly handing over the pocket mirror. Unconditional trust. Kosmich ordered deception, but to what end could that be used as an excuse? She decided not to play her hand too much, or resort to lying again. Honesty was key.
"Lisette..." Enjel crossed her hands behind her back, tracing invisible routes with the pointed toe of her shoe. "You're right to call me out on that."
He'd told her during one excursion to a library that bar shoes would be referred to as mary janes in the distant future. Its amber surface was dirty, leather stained with unidentifiable daubs of grime. Not again- she'd already wasted enough hours polishing that bastard's alligator-print boots while he slouched in arrogant comfort on his ridiculous pumpkin throne.
"But it's not, um, a scheme meant to fool anybody. Harpae, Fleta, and Egliette are all welcome to get rid of their invitations if they decide not to attend the celebration. I just figured we all could use a fun change of pace, given everything that's happened. You know?"
She lifted her gaze off stone to see confusion manifest in Lisette's face, washing away some of the vapid anger.
"All I did was pay each of them a visit.”
Lisette was always doing something. Never staying still unless interrogation took precedence, always roaming and chasing faraway stars like a rabid dog after its own tail, desperate to bite it, lie down and foam at the mouth. Refusing to rest unless no invaders skulked around. It occurred to her, then, that being stared at in impassive assumption and silence broke a common mold of routine events. Disturbing. Maybe Lisette herself wasn’t used to it. Was this what Enjel looked like, when her not-sawed-off wing flared into existence, showering a blizzard of feathers, and she gave up all pretenses in front of Goldia? Or worse?
She hoped not. Oh, please don’t let it be like that.
Amethystine eyes narrowed into slits, pupils shiny as the faceted quartz studding her collar.
More accusations could be tossed around. Regaling of horror stories. Instead, a simple question was asked that set off more confusion:
“Why?”
Bristling, Enjel prepared to defend herself.
“Why, what?”
“What’s in it for you?”
She hadn’t expected that. It didn’t come imbued with as much subtle revulsion.
“For me? Uh… I don’t really know, to be honest. When I first started planning this, I had an idea in mind… that none of us really get to take it easy. Ever. Everything’s doom and gloom all the time. Not that I’m… saying there shouldn’t be difficult obstacles, given what this place is like.” Explaining so much to people who should already have a vague idea of what was going on got tiring. She gestured to the dining table at large. “Or that I don’t appreciate… tidiness. I noticed that you organized this room, and pretty much every other place in the oubliette, and that’s… that’s good, Lisette. You’re probably sick of hearing everyone talk about Goldia by now, but I think that she’d be happy. Just to see that things have gotten a little easier for you ever since she collected your regalia, and that the circus has ended for the time being.” She was rambling, launching into semantics. “And I could easily shout at you. Get angry. I could tell you that you deserved those tomatoes being thrown back there inside the ring after what you- what we did. What unspeakable horrors all five of us put Goldia through, deserved or not.”
Lisette winced but remained still. Her face softened, smoothing out. Fists unclenched. And the omnipresent shadows had started to wane.
“But now it’s hard to say what that goal is. I began thinking this was a bad idea right after I went to the Pink Palace and met Fleta. Really met her. Egliette is so much easier to deal with, you know? Mood swings aside. If Egliette weren’t there, then that girl would be hopeless… ahaha. God. I saw it all from those mirrors. Just the ones in my- in my house. The Star Theater. And I don’t think that I have to tell you who the demon is. Goldia tried so hard to please Fleta from the very beginning. I kind of felt bad when I watched how much she was trying, but nothing would help. Fleta threatened violence. Yelled at her whenever things didn’t go her way like an ungrateful, whiny rich brat.” Her own fingers curled, lacquered nails biting into flesh. “Almost made me want to step in. Goldia just cringed and took it because there was no choice and nothing was working no matter how hard those two tried to get along. Harpae’s so much nicer-”
Lisette’s expression indicated that she didn’t agree with that last sentence as much as her knowing smirk did.
“Oh, you know what I mean. Right after you chased her the first time, Goldia ran into Harpae, and Harpae took her in. Made the mansion a second home… served tea by the fireplace, put together a cardigan when she noticed that Goldia was cold, gave a tour… a lot of pleasantries. They became close as sisters. Or… close like Henri and Goldia were once, when they were little kids. Still. Harpae didn’t have to do those things, but she did because… it’s probably been pretty lonely for her. Just living by herself like that without anyone to talk to. Material objects can’t replace people. And she got so- so angry and quiet, when Goldia went downstairs by mistake and explored rooms that were boarded off. Like a worried parent or something. You should’ve seen it, Liz. Harpae doesn’t yell, not like Fleta, but somehow it’s a lot more scary. I’ve always thought disappointment is much worse than anger. But then there was what happened at the vanity. God, just that gold vanity.” Enjel shivered. “A mirror revealed a different timeline. Harpae standing in the dark, running a brush through Goldia’s hair to hypnotize her, preventing her from leaving. And when Goldia dared to show independence; got uncomfortable with how controlling her friends had become… well. You can guess how it ended. A lot of timelines ended badly. But Harpae means well enough. She’s like- like the team mom we always wanted, baking cookies for the whole class. A mom that goes overboard, sometimes. And that’s not really her fault. I’m not sure that she’s fully aware how it comes across. Just like how foolish Goldia can be without realizing it. And how mean Fleta gets. But it’s hard to tell that kind of stuff. I’m… preaching to the choir here, aren’t I?”
The underlying message rang clear.
I could shame you for being the way you are, but I won’t.
Enjel didn’t have any siblings or parents, so she wouldn’t know what family feuds were like. She secretly wanted a little brother to boss around, to argue goodnaturedly with, mop crumbs off his face after lunch, and bandage his knees whenever he fell, scraping them, but didn’t dare ask Kosmich for one. Lisette glanced down, quietly digesting all this new, overwhelming information with considerable patience. The fight had gone out of her. It looked like she had an urge to ask something but wasn’t quite sure if it was a good idea, getting personal like this with a complete stranger, and wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she did.
Lisette looked back up. “Did Harpae and Fleta say anything bad about me?”
“What? No! Well, um… actually… yeah. They did, sometimes. Fleta certainly wasn’t complimentary. I hate that she blames you for everything but won’t take responsibility for her own actions, Lisette. And she doesn’t really have anything good to say about anyone, apart from Egliette and herself. Harpae definitely respects you more, though. At worst she just stated that you were, ah, ill and that you make questionable choices. But she didn’t mean that in a cruel way. More with sympathy. That was back after she and Goldia first met, I think… it’s been awhile. Don’t remember the exact date. Ha ha. I, um. Uh.”
Enjel staggered a little, placing a shaky hand upon her forehead to steady herself. She wasn’t used to talking so much. It dried out her throat, made her feel woozy. Almost lightheaded.
“Are you okay?”
Now Lisette sounded concerned, getting ready to offer a hand without making a song and dance of it.
“I… think I need to sit down,” Enjel mumbled. “Sorry. Just been traveling a lot. Tired.”
No more words were exchanged. Instead, her unwitting host retreated to the table and pulled out a chair protected from the mess of dry porcelain shards. Decorumly, she sat down in the next seat over and patted the cushion. Enjel followed suit, palms flattening onto cloth, fingertips bumping a dish. It made ripples form within the amber, lukewarm liquid of another frigid cup.
“Sit. And don’t call me Liz, please... that’s her name.”
Lisette pointed dismissively at the limp figure close by on their left, who was currently busy staring into space.
“Do you always give names to your clones?”
“No, Enjel. Not always. I’m not very creative. Though I bet the demon boy has no trouble in that regard.”
This room felt strangely empty with just three occupants inside. She spoke of their overlord as though she’d uttered a curse word, forming syllables with thinly-veiled disgust, tongue tripping up. A mostly mutual feeling.
“That’s Kosmich for you,” Enjel remarked. “He’s… creative. Let’s put it that way.”
Lisette snorted. “I still don’t see how you can willingly go around performing errands for such an almighty idiot.” She folded her arms tightly across her bodice, wrinkling ruffles in the process. “Doesn’t it get tiring, having to endure someone breathing down your back all the time?”
“I don’t know.” It was a relief to be able to snipe back and forth a little and not have to force a cheesy smile during. “Maybe Liz would be able to tell you how she feels about it. Ever asked her?”
“Yes, but I don’t try to control everything they do,” the maiden pointed out. “Think of my creator. I just insert whatever emotion’s bothering me into a reflection and then send it off to do some exploring the second it can walk. Bash its head against a wall. Whatever. My doppelgangers are independent… nobody gives them instructions.”
“...Good point.”
The angel was too fatigued to argue.
“At least they have agency. But so do we. Must be nice, being able to… literally cast out emotions. I wish I could do that.” Enjel bit her lip. “Does it help fully get rid of them, though?”
“What do you think?”
Glancing over, she could see constant, stubborn exhaustion so intense it was palpable. How that same fatigue had worn on the frail, skinny girl reclining at a table full of towering chinaware she could easily smash to bits in a justified fit of vented rage. Even in the dim light, overlapping bald spots were thatched subtly close to the middle-part connected with choppy curtained bangs, and hollows filled out the dips in her sunken cheeks. Growing thin with anxiety. Wearier as the years passed like rainstorms and meaner all the while. More bitter. Not bothering to adjust the drooping, ragged paisley bow adorning her head or wash her clothes because it took too much effort to look presentable half the time. Enjel may not have lived an easy life, but there were guilty pleasures to indulge in, and more than enough distractions to pursue. Lisette might have actually tried to catch her if she had fallen down earlier. Maybe not out of real concern, but just so there wouldn’t be another dead body littering the premises. And, all of a sudden, Enjel found herself wishing to reach an arm around Lisette’s too-thin body and gently pull her close, to take one of those scarred cold hand in hers and lightly kiss the reddened knuckles, tell her that things might be difficult but it didn’t mean they’d never get better. That it’d be okay if they just sat together for awhile and Lisette let her composure finally break down, and buried her face into one of the only shoulders that had been offered to her in decades and wept openly until crying would be the only echoing sound in this sprawling dining room, and all sadness temporarily fled, drying out, her ashamed even to be held by someone who cared. It made Enjel’s heart ache something fierce with a compassion she was unused to, the same love she felt for Goldia, and Harpae, and Fleta, mingling with baleful resentment. Even Kosmich, who had no mother or father who loved him dearly or a home to go to but the one he’d made for himself and laughed off all hardship. Enjel cared far too much, and she didn’t understand why, but she was ready to accept it.
But a part of her knew that would never happen. Lisette was too proud to admit defeat- so much stronger than she ever could be. And that maintained a permanent divide between them. Yet they were both here, not murdering each other, waiting for a reprieve.
The world had no right to blame them for what they’d done. Mistakes made. Back then, they were kids. Just kids… too young to know right from wrong, until it was too late.
Still-fragrant tea that had been prepared, and left to steep and go flat in the kettle, was getting cold.
It went untouched.