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{A/N: Hi! This was an idea that I had yesterday, so I wrote it down in my notes, not intending to use it. But I got bored, so here's this little bonus from our favourite puppeteer's point of view! ...Kind of.}
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{♦️} Narrator's POV {♦️}
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The red strings that made up his hammock glowed and shimmered under his weight; of course, he was deceased, a ghost, and didn't have bones, organs, or legs, so he didn't weigh much, and the gravity in his prison was a bit odd, but the pressure of his ghostly body and uneven, unnatural breathing stretching the magical threads still brought glitter. One of his arms dangled over the edge of the hammock, strings extruding from his fingertips, some bringing themselves to the hammock and the obelisks that held it up, some swaying in the air in front of him, making whatever shapes and items he pleased. Most would love to have this much creative freedom, but after 193 years in what he now saw as his prison, the puppeteer had grown a distaste for it. All he had for almost 200 years to occupy him were simple strings. It just grew stale after a while.
He weaved a small object out of the threads he wielded—a somewhat hourglass-shaped vase, empty of flowers. With more of his threads, he shaped simple daisies above it, all with six petals each. The items hovered in the air, swaying about, almost unnoticeable red sparkles falling from the strings that built them. The puppeteer sighed through his nose. He dismantled his creations and rolled onto his back, staring up into the starry night sky. Billions upon billions of stars shone above, moonlight flooding the cloudy, barren wasteland that had been his home for over a century. When he first saw it all those years ago, he thought it was beautiful. But now, having seen it every single day and night for ages, he has grown bored, even distasteful of it.
He couldn't say he exactly hated it, but he'd sure as hell rather be anywhere else but here. It was still a lovely sight, but at this point, he could swear he had named every single star he saw. He truly wished he could find something new up here instead of having to create it himself.
"...Though, it is a bit selfish to be bored of this, is it not?" the puppeteer thinks. "Being here, I am safe from... her. Nothing can hurt me. She can't hurt me.
...
But I've been here for so long, I almost wish someone would come and hurt me..."
He paused. No, that isn't right. Why would he want someone to hurt him? He threw an arm over his eyes, the chains on his wrist clinking loudly. He flinched at the noise.
"Good lord, *!?÷@, you flinch at everything! Why are you so scared?! You're a prince! Princes are stoic and unafraid, not fearful and weak!"
He cringed at the thought. Her voice ran through his head. That is exactly what she would say in this situation—in fact, she's said it before. Though, he does not remember the name used originally. It has been oh, so long since that name had been used, and after some time, he just... forgot it. It has no meaning to him anymore; not only does he not exactly wish to associate with his time being alive, but he was split in half at death. There are two of him now. The citizens of his kingdom need to differentiate between them somehow.
"Oh, goodness, if I keep thinking about this, I'll break..."
And so, he thought about something else.
The newcomer. The puppeteer hadn't figured out their name yet, but he does know that they are one of his other half's new contractors. And, like every other 'disposable servant' that had worked for him, he threatened and forced them into signing it... doesn't he know that essentially voids the contract as a whole? "Goodness, Snatcher, we went to law school when we were alive... you should know this!"
And then there's that alien girl, the child with the hat. She had returned after 4 years. In all honesty, he was glad to see her again. He was sure Snatcher felt the same—since they were the same person, they could read each other's emotions easily—but like always, he denies it, despite how obvious it is. That poor girl... he sent her to the manor! How in the world could he do that to anyone, let alone a literal child?! "Good lord, sometimes I wonder how he and I were the same person when we were alive..."
He sighed. "Well, now that the hatted child is back, I hope he doesn't have her go there again... and I hope the newcomer never has to go there, either. That would be terrible... I'd have to figure out a way to scold Snatcher from up here. That would be difficult."
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CHAPTER 4.5—END
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𝕴 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖊𝖉, 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍.
I know you lay in bed, contemplating your own death.
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{♦️} Words: 852 {♦️}
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~{🌔𝕲𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓, 𝕲𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖔𝖋 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘🌖}~
Fanfiction{Glow of the Moon, Glow of our Hearts} this is a (discontinued btw) moonjumper x reader fic bc im hella gay for this man just warning you, theres probably gonna be a bit of angst and some mentions/implications of 4b^53. and the bastard noodle being...
