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castle_perrault[[ Sorry for the belatedness of this post! On the flipside if there was stuff set during the event you wanted to get to but wasn't able to post yet, feel free to backdate your posts. Event information/discussion can still be found here. ]]
Once again, it's midnight.
This time, the change isn't as sudden and dramatic. The winds die down, and the castle is quiet. Slowly, the air grows warmer.
Presently, the silence is broken by the sound of running water. The fountains and garden streams, frozen solid only yesterday, have thawed out, and the sound of the water echoes through the castle. It's joined by the quiet dripping of the icicles, and the occasional heavy fwump as melting snow slides and falls off the rooftops.
The change won't be quite complete in the morning: Although the air is springtime warm and smells fresh and clean, the ground is still thick with soaking wet snow and slush, and it will take a few days for it to all melt away.
However, the inside of the castle has gone entirely back to normal. Gone are the decorations, the special food, and the haunting carols in the distance. Castle Perrault is once again a strange, slightly derelict mausoleum.
And the residents of the castle who changed over the holidays will also wake up as their usual selves- except for the slight wrinkle that they can remember everything they said and did over the past month...
* * *
Chara wakes up in a cozy bedroom, warm from their head to their toes and snuggled up under a thick quilt. There's someone in the bed with them, radiating heat, and breathing quietly.
"Mm.... 'Ree?" they mumble. Comfy as they are, Chara can't help but feel vaguely disoriented. They blink sleepy eyes, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where the heck are they? They roll over, stretching out a hand to prod at their companion- and their hand falls right onto the shoulder of someone that is distinctly not covered in white fur. Actually their fur is brown, human hair. Because it isn't Asriel, it's their friend Frisk.
Pieces of missing information slam into place, and Chara immediately jerks their hand back with a stifled cry. They scoot back, wrestling themselves free of the quilt, and fall off the bed, crashing onto the floor with bruising force. They ignore the pain and flatten themselves up against the wall, staring at the bed and the spot where they'd been curled up next to Frisk.
Oh hell. Oh hell. Oh hell.
* * *
They escape eventually, bolting through the castle hallways which have gone back to being dingy and bare. Their lungs burn, their calves are hurting, but they keep going. They don't really have a destination in mind; just away. As if there was anywhere on this godforsaken island where they could get away from everyone else for good- even if they flung themselves off the edge they'd only disappear for a few days, and it's not as if they'd have any memory of their time of respite.
They turn a corner and nearly slam into a wall.
A dead end, one they've never seen before: Just a little nook in the wall of the castle, a short set of steps leading up to a window overlooking nothing but clouds. And now that they've stopped running, they're too tired to go back to it. Their legs and chest hurt. They slump against the wall, breathing hard through an aching throat. After a few moments, they feel less winded, though still sore and their pulse is still racing.
"I hate you," they announce.
As they say it, the absurdity of it and how they must look strikes them, and they giggle. "I hate you," they repeat, and more laughter bubbles out. They repeat it, over and over: "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" Breathless, hysterical laughter wells up, spills out, interspersing the declarations of laughter.
They know they must look insane. They think they probably are.
Once again, it's midnight.
This time, the change isn't as sudden and dramatic. The winds die down, and the castle is quiet. Slowly, the air grows warmer.
Presently, the silence is broken by the sound of running water. The fountains and garden streams, frozen solid only yesterday, have thawed out, and the sound of the water echoes through the castle. It's joined by the quiet dripping of the icicles, and the occasional heavy fwump as melting snow slides and falls off the rooftops.
The change won't be quite complete in the morning: Although the air is springtime warm and smells fresh and clean, the ground is still thick with soaking wet snow and slush, and it will take a few days for it to all melt away.
However, the inside of the castle has gone entirely back to normal. Gone are the decorations, the special food, and the haunting carols in the distance. Castle Perrault is once again a strange, slightly derelict mausoleum.
And the residents of the castle who changed over the holidays will also wake up as their usual selves- except for the slight wrinkle that they can remember everything they said and did over the past month...
* * *
Chara wakes up in a cozy bedroom, warm from their head to their toes and snuggled up under a thick quilt. There's someone in the bed with them, radiating heat, and breathing quietly.
"Mm.... 'Ree?" they mumble. Comfy as they are, Chara can't help but feel vaguely disoriented. They blink sleepy eyes, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Where the heck are they? They roll over, stretching out a hand to prod at their companion- and their hand falls right onto the shoulder of someone that is distinctly not covered in white fur. Actually their fur is brown, human hair. Because it isn't Asriel, it's their friend Frisk.
Pieces of missing information slam into place, and Chara immediately jerks their hand back with a stifled cry. They scoot back, wrestling themselves free of the quilt, and fall off the bed, crashing onto the floor with bruising force. They ignore the pain and flatten themselves up against the wall, staring at the bed and the spot where they'd been curled up next to Frisk.
Oh hell. Oh hell. Oh hell.
* * *
They escape eventually, bolting through the castle hallways which have gone back to being dingy and bare. Their lungs burn, their calves are hurting, but they keep going. They don't really have a destination in mind; just away. As if there was anywhere on this godforsaken island where they could get away from everyone else for good- even if they flung themselves off the edge they'd only disappear for a few days, and it's not as if they'd have any memory of their time of respite.
They turn a corner and nearly slam into a wall.
A dead end, one they've never seen before: Just a little nook in the wall of the castle, a short set of steps leading up to a window overlooking nothing but clouds. And now that they've stopped running, they're too tired to go back to it. Their legs and chest hurt. They slump against the wall, breathing hard through an aching throat. After a few moments, they feel less winded, though still sore and their pulse is still racing.
"I hate you," they announce.
As they say it, the absurdity of it and how they must look strikes them, and they giggle. "I hate you," they repeat, and more laughter bubbles out. They repeat it, over and over: "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" Breathless, hysterical laughter wells up, spills out, interspersing the declarations of laughter.
They know they must look insane. They think they probably are.