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Suspicion immediately flares within you when Tree has a simple request of you; just to have a ‘small talk’.
To justify yourself, though, it’s not like it’s completely uncalled for. He’s just been a lot sneakier, a lot more sly, and it’s like your whole team turns a blind eye to his degeneracy. No — they’re blinded by him.
For the past few challenges, you’ve been forced to sit on the sidelines as he simply just… commands everyone. Treats your teammates—your friends—like shit and they just take it.
If Pie were here, she would’ve stopped this…
Grudgingly, you must admit that Death Pact Again has suffered no episodic losses since. But it’s still so innately coincidental the point where it can’t be a coincidence, and your restless paranoia has festered in you, growing and growing until this very moment.
Back to the point.
Of course, you immediately object. He sighs and rolls his eyes, almost as if he’s bored. You protest, saying that if he needed to talk to you so bad, he should talk to the team as well, but he simply replies with a curt “They’ve already heard what you need to know."
Your cries fall to deaf ears. Backed into a corner, you’re forced to follow him, intentionally slowing your steps to inconvenience him. He slows his, only daring to cast you a half-hearted side glare.
His eyes are… mildly distracting. Since when were they so glaringly bright?
Eventually (after a few minutes or so of walking in complete silence), he takes you down to the shoreline. Something about this… feels wrong. It’s all so dense, you think. He presses a hand against you to try and move you further to the rippling, sparkling waves. You whip around to face him directly, snarling.
“I have had it up to here! What the fuck is your angle?!” You begin, fully ready to rant until you genuinely cannot anymore, but he interrupts you by pressing a finger to your mouth in an awfully condescending manner. You hate him so much, you just want to—
He quickly pacifies you. “Enough of that,” he says, and his words become reality. You don’t actually remember what you wanted to say, but you still know that he’s full of bullshit.
“Oh, fuck off,” you spit at him, taking a step backwards. Your body trembles—whether or not it’s out of fear or adrenaline is up for debate. “You’re just a fucking… creep, you know that?!”
He rolls his eyes, unamused at your malignant defiance. “You say the same things over and over, darling. Do you ever get tired of being unoriginal, or is it something that Pie just had to instill in you?”
Oh my god you are going to end this bitch.
Fuck the Pact! You launch yourself to pounce on him, letting out a raw cry of your own accord, anticipating your fist colliding with his jaw—
He steps out of your way. You fall to the sand beneath him, stray flecks of your hair catching in your eyes. The waves ripple and move, back and forth. It’s kind of overstimulating, but… welcoming? There’s a lot happening and you just don’t want to think about it.
Of course, in your vulnerable position, you are forced to look up at Tree on your knees. He stares down at you, his glistening eyes piercing through you. You shift uncomfortably, trying to think of a retort to snap back at him (even so, you’re pretty sure this situation is slowly getting more and more despondent — has he even actually talked to you during all this time?) yet nothing comes to mind. He’s got you caught in his web of lies.
“It’s almost pathetic how easy this was,” he mutters, lifting you upwards. You growl at him, twitching as you’re forced to stare at him. His eyes are so vibrant, so bright, it’s almost like they’re pulling you in. Pretty…
No. No, you can’t, he’s doing something.
He ticks up a brow, pressing his fingers into your cheeks. “Hm? Finally have nothing to say? Color me surprised, I was almost certain you’d never shut up.” His teasing makes you scowl at him, baring your canines. If only you could just—
“Go on. Speak.” He releases his grip on you, even if it’s momentarily. You manage to seize this moment.
“Fuck… you…” Those words you manage to writhe out of your mouth only earn a quiet ‘tsk’ from the person who has some sort of… control over you.
He forces you back down to kneel once more. “Oh dear. Not quite empty yet, were we?” He muses. Using his heel, he kicks your head forward, leaving your body to stagger onto all fours.
You can feel your breaths becoming more discordant. He steps all too close, and you panic. Have you been moving closer to the shoreline, or has it been moving towards you?
“Poor little thing. You’re safe now.” He coos, stroking your back with all too much care. You can barely process what’s happening; everything melts into each other, like you’re underwater, sinking endlessly into the depths.
You stare up at him, your eyes glazed and unfocused. He guides you to stand—slowly, as you rely on him completely, even when that gives you a vague impression of… something—and you let him, all too compliant.
“You’re going to be good now, hm? Gonna do what I say?” You nod along eagerly, even as he smirks—his fangs are so sharp, so beautiful, so- wait- what—and you have the pleasure to witness his body uncoil and shift, changing from what you were so used to into a completely new being.
His hair snakes down his back as he flicks back some locks of hair hiding his now-apparent fins. His sclera darkens to an intimidating black. The dark look in his eye enraptures you, and you feel that incomprehensible fidgetiness again.
He still looks so admirable (no, that’s not right) all the same.
Your memory grows more hazy. Even within the current moment, you can just barely think, barely feel. It all feels like you’re an outsider in your own body, as if you’re watching everything happen from someone else’s view. You love (hate) it.
He’s simply guiding you into the water. You trust him. You have to trust him. It’s just a need.
And as you drown, he gives you a smile, and it feels all too divine (this isn’t how it was meant to go).
Days pass by from the initial incident. Of course, you live to serve Tree; aiding him in any way he wants, even if it comes to your detriment. He grows more and more pleased with you.
On some days outside of challenge times, he softly whispers to you. His words are a different tongue than to what you’re used to, but it doesn’t matter. You know what he wants and you will give it to him.
What you weren’t expecting was for him to act a lot more… adventurous.
One snap and it all comes flooding back in. Your past. Everything you did, everything you stood for. Your friends. It all hits you again and you feel so, so horrible.
He’s ruffling your hair. You whip your head away, tears evident in your eyes. “You- you… you sick freak!”
You want to hit him, to hurt him and mean it, but your evident fear has you paralyzed, shaking. He gives you a grin, lacking the kindness he was showing you moments before (and why do you miss it?).
“You’re so fun to toy with,” he admits to you, a strange sense of wistfulness in his words. “Out of all of the Pact, you surely interest me the words. Take that as a prestige.”
Instinctually, your mouth opens to bite back—literally or metaphorically, you don’t know—but before you can do so, he clicks his fingers once more.
Your thoughts bleed away, free will stripped of you within seconds. A half-lidded expression is painted over your face as your old tears drip freely from your face, down, down below. He has the courtesy to dry them for you.
He thumbs your chin (you think that you’re drooling). “Oh, darling,” he croons, “you won’t remember any of this.”