Soft Hearts Hold Secrets

Hydrophobia

Don't do it.

The paperweight was heavy in his pocket. Of course, as paperweights go, that particular one was heavier than most. The solid gold, bedazzled with jewels -- the sleek curvature of the sculpted goat head dense and weighty. He remembered all the times he'd met eyes with the thing, standing before Lucio's desk in his stiff attention, allowing his gaze to drift from the man behind the desk and down to the goats eyes. Eyes of real ruby that glittered when polished -- and my, they'd been polished a lot.

Don't do it.

Put it back.

How strange it was that he'd become so familiar with the goat paperweight, but never dared to touch it. Feel it. To touch anything upon Lucio's desk was forbidden, of course. Hallowed ground he was not meant to cross. Too good for him, as Lucio would put it. He'd just get it dirty.

Dirty with blood.

He felt the elevator stop. It stopped with a jolt of sorts -- one that made his legs feel weak and his balance feel thrown. Or was it like that before? He didn't have time to think about it. The elevator doors opened. Bright lights of the lobby beld into the sight spaces as the doors droned their way open, the chime of the elevator speakers like twin tuning forks held up to each of his ears despite being so quiet before. The voice in the back of his head whispered in the wake of it as he stepped forwards.

Don't do it.

It isn't worth it.

Put it back.

Somehow, the lobby was darker when he stepped into the main floor. The shadows crept from their corners like ivy. Like hands reaching out to grasp him. For some reason, he couldn't hurry his step. He just walked forwards down the distorted path he couldn't deter from. The shadows could touch him all they wanted -- there was nothing he could do about it. He could do nothing about most things those days.

Don't do it.

No one talked to him. No one usually did. Averted stares from faces he couldn't turn and see. Awkward shuffles in the opposite direction from feet he couldn't hear. That's why he didn't worry about anyone stopping him. That's why he'd allowed his 'meeting' of sorts to take place in the lobby of the Palace. Lucio would wonder if he drifted too far... and Lucio wondering about him was never quite good.

Last chance. Turn back.

Don't do it.

You know what will happen. You know what's coming.

The 'meeting' took place on a metal bench set against the wall of the Palace lobby. The man he was to meet with was already there -- face lost to ill memory. Consumed by shadow. He didn't know what the man looked like. He didn't know what he sounded like. He never did. In every repeated track of that repressed moment, he never knew.

Stop.

Don't do it.

Stop!

He didn't stop. He made his way to the bench, and cleared his throat, earning the man's shadowed gaze.

"Ah," the man hummed, as he always did. The voice was fuzzy -- unreal. A generic tone in the back of his mind. "I was beginning to think you'd chickened out, Scourge."

Muriel, following the plot of his memory, didn't respond.

Don't do it.

The voice was getting louder.

Stop! Stop!

His eyes on the ground, Muriel reached his hand into his pocket and revealed the golden paperweight to the man on the bench. It glittered in the lights of the lobby -- even with the shadows, the reflections of the goat's golden surface had been like stage lights, shooting off into every direction. Muriel worried someone would see it... but it seemed as though it was just him and that man in the lobby. Alone. He didn't think to wonder where everyone else went, a burning spool of worry winding and unwinding itself about his stomach as he waited for the man on the bench to respond.