Dr. Flowera tapped the area of your head where you’d had the concussion. You flinched slightly, more from surprise than pain.
"Are you sure you don’t feel any pain?" she asked, her tone skeptical as she leaned back in her chair, pen poised over her clipboard.
"Yes," you replied, a bit weary from having to explain the same thing for what felt like the hundredth time.
She sighed and set the pen down, clasping her hands in front of her. "Explain to me when it stopped hurting."
You paused, recalling the timeline of events. "A few days ago, maybe less. It just... faded."
"And how do you think it healed so fast?" She raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with such a vague explanation.
You rubbed the back of your neck. "I don’t know... maybe I just have a fast metabolism or something?" It sounded ridiculous even to your own ears, but what other explanation could there be? You weren’t exactly ready to tell her about the things you’d gone through with Walden, Solaria, and... everything else.
Flowera frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. "A serious concussion disappearing in just a week? Without any medical treatment? That’s highly unusual." She leaned forward. "It doesn’t make sense."
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "I’m not a doctor, but that’s what happened. I feel fine now."
Flowera’s gaze turned more intense, probing. "And what about the psychological side of things? Trauma, stress? This isn’t just about physical recovery, you know." Her voice softened slightly, but there was a sharpness to it. "Do you feel... depressed? Anxious? Traumatized?"
You stiffened, taken aback by the question. The scream of a man whose life you took echoed in your mind. The weight of your finger pulling the trigger. The suffocating guilt that clawed at you, even now. And Walden... Walden’s cries after her death. His transformation into someone colder, more ruthless, someone you barely recognized anymore. You could still hear it—bones cracking under a boot, the sound of a man’s skull being crushed, his life snuffed out in the most brutal way possible.
You blinked, the room coming back into focus. "No. I’m not... I mean, I’ve dealt with some things, but I’m not depressed." It was half a lie, but admitting more would open up things you weren’t ready to deal with.
Flowera studied you for a moment, her skepticism growing more apparent. She scribbled something on her clipboard, her pen moving fast, almost agitated.
"If anything else happens, anything, you need to tell me." She stood up, adjusting her glasses. "And I mean that, seriously. Come back again if you experience any more... issues."
You nodded, standing up to leave, but you could feel her eyes boring into your back, and as you stepped out of the room, you heard her muttering quietly to herself, "A serious concussion disappearing in just a week... and now this?"
The door closed behind you, but her words lingered. She didn’t believe you.
You walked down the street, lightheaded, the sound of violence playing on a loop in your mind.
Crunch. A skull, again and again.
And then—
“There you are…”
The voice was soft, familiar. Gentle in a way that made your chest ache. A voice you hadn’t heard in too long.
You blinked, reality settling around you in fragments, as if waking from a dream. Somehow, without even realizing, your legs had carried you into the little cake shop you’d been meaning to visit—your sanctuary, a place your mind had clung to as an escape.
And there she was, standing by one of the tables, arms loosely crossed. Blonde hair catching the light in soft waves, kind green eyes holding a warmth you thought you’d lost forever. The sight of her horns, curled like candy corn, brought a strange comfort—something oddly nostalgic.
“Julie,” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. The name felt fragile on your tongue, like glass. You nearly cracked right there.
Her expression softened. “Come here.”
Before you knew it, she’d pulled you into a hug, arms firm yet gentle, like she knew exactly how broken you were and wasn’t about to let you fall apart alone.
That’s when it hit you—everything. The images, the sounds, the weight of it all. You buried your face into her shoulder and let it out, the tears coming without permission, tearing through you.
Julie didn’t say a word. And for that, you were grateful. You had no energy left to explain. Just the quiet warmth of her embrace was enough to keep you afloat.
After what felt like a small eternity, she leaned back, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, a touch of fondness in her voice.
You gave a small, broken laugh, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your jacket. “I missed you too.”
Julie gestured to a chair. “Sit with me for a while?”
You nodded, letting yourself be led to one of the corner tables, where the air smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon. It was a strange comfort—the kind you hadn’t realized you needed.
She sat across from you, propping her chin on her hand as she smiled softly. “I’m living with Sally now.”
That caught you off guard. “Sally? Really?”
Julie chuckled. “Yeah. I moved into her place a few months ago. It’s been nice having her around—less quiet, you know?” She paused, as if weighing her next words. “She always asks about you.”
You gave a small nod but didn’t reply. The silence sat heavily between you for a moment, and then she asked, “So... how’s work?”
Your stomach twisted, and you looked down at the table, tracing the edge of a napkin with your finger. “It’s... fine,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Julie’s smile faltered, but she didn’t push. She knew when not to.
There was a beat of silence. Then, slowly, you cleared your throat. “I, uh… heard about the divorce.”
The words hung between you, awkward. Julie’s expression shifted, and you saw the flicker of something raw pass through her—something she tried to hide behind a steady breath. She sucked it in, let it out slow.
“So… he didn’t tell you?” she asked quietly, the weight of her words settling in the space between you.
You shook your head. “No. He didn’t say a word.”
Julie glanced away for a moment, biting her lip. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” She gave a tight, humorless smile. “Walden doesn’t talk about things, not anymore.”
You could see it in your mind, then—the cracks that must have formed between them, widening over time until everything fell apart. “Ophelia…” you whispered.
Julie gave a small, brittle nod, her gaze distant. “Yeah. After she… after she died, something broke in him. He wasn’t the same. Neither of us were, but Walden… he carried it differently. He shut down. I guess I thought I could wait it out, but…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
You didn’t need her to finish. You could picture it clearly: the weight of grief, too heavy to carry for two people. Walden retreating into himself, unreachable. Julie left trying to hold the pieces together alone until they were too jagged to touch.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured.
Julie gave a small shrug, though her eyes glimmered with a sadness she tried to keep hidden. “It’s okay. It was… inevitable, I think.”
Still, you couldn’t help but wonder: Why hadn’t Walden told you? You thought back to every interaction with him, trying to piece together the signs you must have missed, the moments when he almost said something but never did.
“He thought it was best you didn’t know,” Julie said softly, as if reading your thoughts.
You leaned back in your chair, the weight of it all pressing down on you. It made sense, in a way—but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
And she's clearly lying
You studied Julie for a moment, your mind drifting without permission. There was something about her—something eerily familiar that tugged at the edges of your thoughts.
Dr. Flowera. The resemblance was undeniable. You remembered the time you woke and saw Flowera, the way your heart had stuttered in your chest, thinking—hoping—that it was Julie standing there instead of the doctor. The green eyes, the soft expressions, even the way they carried themselves. If Julie were human, she’d look exactly like her.
You cleared your throat, the comparison stirring an ache inside you.
Julie raised an eyebrow, noticing the shift in your expression. “What’s on your mind?”
You hesitated. “It’s nothing, just… You remind me of someone.”
Her lips curved, amused but curious. “Oh? Good or bad?”
“Good,” you answered “A doctor I know. Dr. Flowera. You two could pass for twins, almost.”
Julie tilted her head, processing your words. “Huh. I’ve never heard of her, but… maybe there’s a version of me out there that’s better with a stethoscope.”
You smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Maybe.”
Her gaze softened again “You mistook her for me once, didn’t you?”
Your silence was all the answer she needed.
Julie leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “I’m still here, you know.” Her voice was gentle, but there was an edge of insistence, as if she needed you to believe it. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours… I’m not going anywhere.”
You nodded, but the words stirred something restless inside you. A knot that wouldn’t quite loosen. “I know. It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to pin down the feeling that kept slipping through your grasp.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain.”
For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. Outside, the soft hum of life continued—the murmur of passersby, the clink of dishes in the shop, the muted sounds of the street beyond. But in here, with Julie, the world felt far away, like the two of you were sitting in a pocket of stillness.
Then she broke the silence, her voice quieter this time. “Do you ever wonder what things would’ve been like… if we’d been born human?”
The question lingered in the air between you, and you found yourself turning it over in your mind. Would it have been easier? Or just a different kind of hard? You thought of Flowera again, and for a fleeting moment, you imagined what Julie would’ve looked like in a white coat, clipboard in hand. Would she have been happier? Or would life have found a way to break her just the same?
“I wonder all the time,” you admitted, your voice low.
Julie smiled, though it was a tired sort of smile, like someone who’d spent too many nights thinking the same thoughts. “Yeah. Me too.”
There was another pause, then Julie shifted in her seat. “But… I don’t think it would’ve changed much. We are who we are, no matter what shape we take.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah… Maybe.”
She gave a soft chuckle, leaning back. “Besides, Sally says I’d be a terrible human. Apparently, I’m way too obsessed with sweets.”
You couldn’t help but laugh—really laugh this time. It was the first real moment of levity you’d felt in what seemed like forever. Julie grinned at the sound, her eyes brightening just a bit.
And for that moment, sitting across from her in the little cake shop, the weight of everything—Walden, Ophelia, the violence—felt just a little lighter. Not gone, but bearable. Like maybe, just maybe, you could carry it a little longer.
Julie tapped her fingers on the table, her expression soft but playful. “Now, since you’re here… What do you say we order something ridiculous? A slice of everything, maybe?”
You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
And for a while, it was just the two of you—sitting together, sharing cake, and forgetting, if only for a moment, the ghosts you both carried.
As you walked through the factory, the rhythmic hum of machinery buzzed in the background, but it did little to drown out the noise in your mind. Love. You found yourself thinking about how fragile, how easily it can change. The whispers of the past kept rising to the surface, one thought at the forefront of it all: Walden, Julie, and little Ophelia
You didn’t even know they were divorced. He hadn’t told you. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? And the man who once held her so tightly in his arms now turned into something colder, darker. You knew his pain; you could hear it every time you remembered Ophelia's name, the way his voice cracked ever so slightly when speaking of his daughter, their daughter, even when he tried to hide it. It all just seemed so distant now, as if the man Walden used to be had vanished alongside the love he once shared with his family.
You remembered the way Julie used to look at him, the warmth in her eyes. It was gone now, replaced by the reality of separation. And yet, Walden never uttered a word about it to you. It stung a little, knowing that this part of his life—this significant piece of who he was—remained hidden from you.
Love, you thought, wasn’t as solid as you once believed. It wavers, breaks, and sometimes leaves nothing behind but of what used to be. You ran your fingers over the cold steel of the factory machinery, your mind wandering back to the past days. You remembered that dark warehouse, the sickening crunch of bone under Ysio’s boot, the screams that haunted your dreams.
You blinked, forcing the memory out. The factory's hum continued, but your thoughts lingered on that idea: how easily love could die, replaced by something else entirely. Would you ever understand why Walden kept you in the dark? And if love was so fleeting, what was left after it was gone?
The metallic clang of conveyor belts and the hiss of steam blended into white noise, but your thoughts buzzed louder, refusing to settle.
You leaned against a railing, watching the assembly line move in a slow, mechanical rhythm—parts clicking into place with the precision of something lifeless. Yet here you were, tangled in thoughts too human, too complicated.
Love.
How something so powerful, so consuming, could dissolve under silence and grief. You kept circling back to Julie and Walden. They seemed unbreakable once. Solid.
But love wavered.
It cracked in ways no one saw coming, until one day the pieces didn’t fit anymore. You imagined Julie trying to patch the cracks, day after day, while Walden just… disappeared inside himself. And slowly, quietly, they broke.
You wondered when Walden had decided not to tell you. At what point did he look at the wreckage of their marriage and think, Better not. Maybe he didn’t want to burden you with it. Or maybe he thought you wouldn’t care. Either way, the silence felt like betrayal.
Why didn’t he tell me?
The thought gnawed at you. You’d been through enough with Walden to know when he was shutting people out, but still—you. You weren’t just anyone. At least, you hadn’t thought so.
A dull ache pressed at your chest, bitter and restless. How easily love could be abandoned, how even the people you thought you knew best could lock themselves away without so much as a warning. It made you question everything. If Walden could keep something like this from you… what else?
You leaned your elbows on the railing, watching the machines move in their endless loop, so orderly and predictable. You envied them, in a way. Machines didn’t know love. They didn’t know how it could lift you so high, only to slip through your fingers when you needed it most.
Maybe Walden had been trying to protect you by keeping quiet. Or maybe he’d just grown too tired to care. Grief did that to people. It wore them down until they became someone you didn’t recognize. Someone who kept secrets, even from the ones who tried to help.
You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling the sharp, metallic scent of the factory, trying to clear your mind. But the thoughts stuck to you, stubborn and heavy. Love—it could shift, change shape, or disappear altogether. And sometimes, people just… slipped away. Even the ones who swore they never would.
The machines clanked on, steady and unfeeling, as if mocking the mess inside your heart.
You sighed, straightening up, brushing a hand over your face like you could wipe away the thoughts swirling in your head. But you knew they’d come back—maybe not now, but later, in the quiet moments, when everything slowed down. When you were alone with nothing but the weight of Walden’s silence.
And you’d have to sit with it. With the wondering.
And the hardest part?
You never saw it coming until it was already gone.
You need some air....
The cold breeze cut through the rooftop like a knife, biting into your skin as the night stretched into darkness. You stood alone, pondering, your mind drifting toward heavy thoughts. Love was such a strange thing.
You shifted your weight, staring into the dark expanse before you. The factory loomed beneath, an eerie quiet settling over the area. A chill crept into your bones, not just from the cold but from your thoughts. Walden had been through so much. His life had become a spiral of grief and anger, but you still followed him, hoping something of the man you once knew remained.
The sky above was heavy with clouds, thick and dark, threatening rain. You tugged your coat tighter around yourself, bracing against the cold that signaled the start of the rainy season.
And then—without warning—Solaria was there.
He didn’t make a sound when he appeared beside you, as if the night had folded around him and let him step through unnoticed. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt fragile, like a glass pane balanced too close to the edge.
You glanced at him, studying his profile in the dim light. Solaria stood at ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his gaze focused somewhere out on the night. You noticed the soft way the wind teased his hair, and the angles of his face, illuminated briefly by the distant glow of town lights.
What struck you most, though, was how calm he seemed.
How? You couldn’t help but wonder. With everything going on— of A-1127-A, Aquamarine, the twisted hybrid responsibility that had been dumped on him—you had expected him to be drained, exhausted beyond repair. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, making every movement feel like lifting stone.
But he wasn’t.
If anything, Solaria looked... better. Sharper. Like he’d been reforged, made lighter somehow since the last time you’d seen him. His presence felt steady, like he was standing on solid ground while the world around him swayed. And after the life he’d just had—more than anyone else—you would have expected cracks, signs of wear. But there weren’t any.
“...You seem different,” you said quietly, the words slipping out without much thought.
Solaria turned his head slightly, glancing at you with those unreadable eyes-- well, eye of his. “Do I?”
You nodded, watching him closely. “Yeah. Like… you’re not carrying everything on your back anymore.”
He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile—just a flicker at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it came. “Maybe I’m learning to let go.”
You frowned. “That easy, huh?”
Solaria shrugged, the motion casual
“How’s... Aquamarine?” you asked, though you weren’t sure if you wanted the answer.
Solaria tilted his
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