Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
MARC FELT OUT OF IT as he was being rolled through the psych ward. Only coming back to it when he was taken into a familiar looking office. His tired eyes trying to stay open. His vision coming in and out of focus.
"I know you're having a great deal of difficulty being able to differentiate between what's real and what's in your head," The doctor sitting opposite him said. His voice sounding far too familiar to Marc, "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of borrowing the film you brought."
The doctor pushed forward a VHS tape of Tomb Buster across the table. Marc tried to focus his eyesight on it.
The doctor chuckled, "It was fun to see that my old VHS player still worked. How many times would you say you've seen that movie, hmm? Approximately? Hmm?"
Marc tried to open his mouth, but he couldn't. Feeling like he had no control over his body. But not in the same way as if when Steven was controlling it. More in a way that made him feel powerless and vulnerable. Like he had been drugged. Like his senses were so numb, that not only could he not control himself, but he also couldn't feel Steven there. He lifted his eyes slightly to look at the doctor. But his blurry vision wasn't able to make out his face. Merely a figure of a man. But something about him seemed so damn familiar.
"I liked the villain," The doctor stated, "'No tree can ascend to the light of heaven if it doesn't descend to the depths of hell'. That's a good line. Yeah. The plot makes a real meal out of a lunar god. And didn't you say you worked for one?"
Marc allowed his eyes to try and take in the office space around him. But with everything being so goddamn white he couldn't make out what each thing was. Where it ended and where it began. But one thing caught his attention. Something that almost didn't feel right being in there.
A painting.
One with many different colors swirling around on the canvas. The vague shapes he was able to spot made it feel like it was a landscape piece.
"Hmm? What do you make out of that similarity?" The doctor continued to ask, despite the lack of Marc's responses, "I mean, given the production value of that film, I can't imagine too many other people have seen it. What do you think? Is that a coincidence?"
Marc looked back at the doctor. Blinking. Until his eyes finally began to slowly but surely make out more of the shape of the doctor's face. Until he finally realised why the doctor's voice sounded so familiar. Goddamn Arthur Harrow.
