House of the Hearth fics

Not The Ghost

God I need to make a fic with a title from I'm Not Done that would be *so* fun

CWs: Talks about death (crucabena + a few former kids of the house)

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Sometimes in the darker hours, when the fireplace has long been reduced to ashes, and when the children have all long since gone to sleep, he finds himself wandering the halls of the hotel like a ghost, like one of the echoes left behind by Father when she burns someone to ashes.

He doesn't mean to act like a ghost, but when the night is so dark, when his worst memories are brought back to the forefront, he cannot help but fear sleep.

And he doesn't wish to worry his siblings with his nightmares.

So, he wanders.

From here to there. In front of that door and down those stairs...

When he returns to his usual state of mind the next morning and recalls where he'd gone the night before, he always wonders if he's scared one of his siblings while drifting; yet still he wanders aimlessly during those sleepless nights.

Today though, he seems to have gained a companion.

And so he wanders, accompanied by one with blood that burns hot enough to scorch one's memories away. Much unlike the ice in his own blood, that keeps hold of memories he wishes to forget.

He goes here and there. Around that corner, down that hallway. To that balcony and to check on that sibling. All while she follows him, just a step behind.

"Those days from long ago truly do affect you so hard." The woman stated it as simply as one would while commenting on the color of the sunset.

He turns down a hallway to find the big window on the highest floor, the one that overlooks what feels like all of Fontaine. "I wish they didn't." He answered softly, pausing before the window and gazing at the eternally full moon.

She hummed, placing one hand on the boy's head in a familiarly horrible attempt at comfort.

"Peruere?" He looks up at her, pushing her hand away while careful not to touch her with his bare skin, which he knows would be ice cold.

She returned her hand to her side, looking at him with an expression that urged him to continue speaking. She didn't even say anything about the use of her name, which long has been burned away in the ashes of the past.

He chews on his lip, tempted to not ask anything at all, but he continues on anyway. "How do you cope with it?" It was barely audible, but in the silence of the midnight hotel made it felt like the words rang out through the halls regardless, making him shrink back with a grimace.

There was no question as to what it was.

She regarded him for a moment, before taking a breath to speak.

"You and I, we feel things in vastly different ways," She says to him. And he knows it is true.

He feels things like an anchor trying to drag him beneath the rough surface of a cold and stormy sea, it seeks to drown him, to kill him with his own sorrow. Her emotions are like embers, easy to deal with and often quick to stop burning, but also hot enough to start a fire that can swallow a building whole.

"You mourn those you couldn't save from her, such as Liliane and Clervie — even if you never met her or the rest of our siblings. You feel as if it is your fault that their lives were lost."

He nods, summoning a small penguin construct out of ice to fidget with, to make sure he didn't freeze any walls or floors.

"I mourn the fact that it took me a year to usurp her. And that mourning may be fueled in part by grief over losing both your and my siblings, yes; but in the end what I mourn the most is how much time I wasted waiting for the "right moment," as if such a thing exists for any course of action."