Sunny sat in the corner of the room, eyes wide and bloodshot. He held onto a longsword forged of black steel, hugging it to his chest. The only company around was the sound of his own erratic breath, and the desolate silence of his thoughts. The room — a guest room, if he had to guess — was lavishly furnaced.
The only sign of life within, however, was the curled up boy in the corner.
Sunny had tried to kill himself twelve times.
No, that was wrong. He tried to try, only to find out that no matter how much he willed it, his body refused to move with that directive in mind.
Ah, Shadow Bond. That Innate Ability of his was truly his first and only love. Who would have thought his suspicions and fears came true? That the one bound to him would be someone who would steal everything from him — his freedom, his dignity, his malice, his body, and even his right to life and death?
Self-righteousness twisted by a sickening malformation of love. Who did she think she was? His mother? Not even his real mother, who clearly preferred Rain to himself, would go as far as to beat him. Not to mention gouging out his eye, crushing his skull over and over, and drowning him.
And now he had to sit in the corner like a rebellious teen. He'd show her rebellion, alright...
...And yet, no matter how much he imagined cutting her to pieces and ejecting her rotting corpse into space, Sunny couldn't find any joy. Just relief of having slipped his chains. He couldn't bring himself to hate her, because he wasn't even allowed that right. She was his darling master, after all, and good little slaves didn't have bad thoughts about their masters.
His desire to kill her was based on nothing but utter paranoia, creeping out from the very depths of his soul. It was a practical goal, one that had to happen in order to reclaim his freedom.
...That wasn't to say that he wasn't driven by hate. Why, his utter humiliation without the means to fight back nurtured a very infernal malice for the chains wrapped around his neck like a noose.
But what comes after? Even if he manages to kill Firefly, an endeavor most treacherous considering the power she held over him, he would end up vulnerable to anyone else who knew of his True Name... which was more than one. He couldn't trust anyone with that. Not just because they were all somehow mentally unstable...
But because he couldn't trust anyone.
Not even himself.
'Who the hell are you, [Sunless]?'
How could he possibly send himself a message to deceive Sunny? For what purpose? Why would he try to lure him into a false sense of security?
Not that it worked, naturally, but the mere idea that [Sunless] tried to set Sunny up was... absurd. There was just no point.
Had Firefly ordered him to write that? It was a possibility, and despite his Flaw, was still achievable with Weaver's Mask.
But was that really the reason?
The sense of dissonance that had been brewing within Sunny for a while was beginning to grow more and more clearer. The shadow of the past was enveloping him, sending him into a downwards spiral with no direction.
'Who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you, who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you, who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you, who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you, who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you, who are you, why would you, how could you, when did you, what did you???'
It was then, that Sunny came to the realization that his greatest enemy may not have been Firefly herself. Perhaps he was right there, deep inside his mind, waiting for his inevitable return. Perhaps it was all an elaborate scheme, beginning from the moment that [Sunless] wrote that note—
...What note? No, there definitely was a note, but he couldn't quite remember the words, or where he had read it. He still recalled the general message, but...
What was wrong with his memories? Was this a part of [Sunless'] plan, too?
'What kind of creature were you, [Sunless]?'
The thought of eventually obtaining his memories filled him with dread. What would he see? Would it be Sunny, or would it be someone wearing his face. Doing things he wouldn't, and not doing what he would.
Did he sleep with her?
Did she make him?
He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
...Eventually, Sunny allowed the Mantle to return under his skin. His hair faded back to its original color, as well. He wiped the tears from his face.
Over the course of the night, he had broken out in tears multiple times. He didn't allow himself to cry out, or to let out so much as a sob. Who knew if she could hear him.
It was irrational, but he could never be too careful.
Looking down at his now wet sleeve, Sunny observed his current attire. Someone had dressed him in an plain robes, most likely designed to be sleepwear. Did she dress him? She was the last person he wanted to see him like that.
...This was Fu Xuan's estate?
Sunny blinked, eyes darting around the room for a moment to properly take everything in. His shadow sense mapped out the building and beyond, and he sent his own shadows out for recon. It was still too early in the morning, and the sun hadn't risen just yet.
So, he was stuck here until then. Her orders were clear: Don't leave the room until morning. Perhaps it was technically morning, but it also... was not.
What had happened with Cirrus' takeover? How long had it been since he had fallen unconscious? Where was Fu Xuan at the moment?
'Fu Xuan...'
Sunny's eyes widened as he slightly loosened his grip over Hail Sorrow.
She was a diviner, wasn't she? But what kind of diviner was she? Did her Aspect have connections to Fate or Destiny? Was it something more mundane, such as the environment or mathematics?
He needed to talk to her, and he needed to do so now...
...But he couldn't, so he had no choice but to wait until morning.
He brushed his hand through his hair, gazing down at his sword for a long moment. Then, he sighed, dismissing it.
Suicide can come later.