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abyssal_sylph) wrote2024-06-30 09:02 am
abyssal_sylph) wrote2024-06-30 09:02 am
Basil Thorn Was Not Meant For Happy Endings {Fic}
Fandom: OMORI
Rating: Mature
Warning(s): Major Character Death (A Character dying multiple times by Suicide in different timelines), Mentioned/Referenced Bullying.
Relationship(s): Basil ♦️ Aubrey, but it's ambiguous.
Character(s): Aubrey, Basil, Other's Implied/Referenced.
(additional) Tags: Aubrey POV, no smut, (Screw) Destiny, Angst, all the OMORI endings, 5+1 fic, Hopeful Ending.
Word Count: 1275 words
Summary: I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happenedand always will.
AO3 echo
I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happened and always will.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
He is meant to die young and alone. For him to die in the limbo of not a child but for sure not grown, for him to die without friends having known the taste of companionship, for him to die like this to accept fate.
Basil Thorn was not meant to make it beyond the end.
And Aubrey Wilson is a knife in his spine.
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Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Hero has dragged Basil out of the lake, there’s no point in the attempt to remove the water from his lungs, Hero tries anyway. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel’s screaming has stopped, Hero is no longer hoping, the wind is rejoicing.
Aubrey shakes. Her whole body overtaken by the undeniable truth that she has pushed him into the lake. For a moment her body was not hers, not her logos or ethos but her pathos was the thing that fired synapsis into backing him into the mouth of death and gave him a final goodbye. Fury in her veins and justice broken and bleeding in her heart, she pushed him into the freezing, hungry, unforgiving lake.
Basil’s eyes stare into the abyss, mouth hanging loose, and hands relaxed in calm acceptance.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
=============
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
There in the dark, with garden shears in his soft belly and blood staining the floor below his body. Hero is calling the ambulance. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is crying, Hero is crying, the wind is crying.
Aubrey shakes. Her whole body understood that she caused this. She stole his things, she spread rumors, she got her friends to join and eventually everyone did. Basil had no allies in school, his grandmother slowly dying over the years, no other family cared for him and his caretaker could never understand. Basil may have had friends long ago, once upon a time, and maybe in a different life he could’ve gained his old ones back, repaired with gold, but that was no longer the truth. He died as he lived; alone.
Basil’s face is in shadow, his body turning inside out, the wound of his soul made material.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
=============
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
In the unforgiving light of the burning sun, the body broken and bending in unnatural ways. Kel has run off to get the doctors. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is gone, Hero is kneeling, the wind is humming.
Aubrey shakes. Because for a moment it looked like her old friend group would get together again. That they would forgive eachother for coping with the death of Mari poorly and heal as they helped eachother mend the other’s wounds. That even if Sunny had killed himself she could make amends with Basil, to stop him from leaving this world this hopelessly. But that’s not what happened.
Basil has been made unrecognizable, the only trace of him being a fragment of his face.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
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Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Basil had been found, days after he’d gone missing, partially eaten by the wolves when Kel had hoped to find and save him. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is catatonic, Hero is trying to sooth, the wind is howling.
Aubrey shakes. They could not forgive them, would not for what they did and hid behind lies, not yet. They had left them alone with the other and hoped they would be enough for eachother, that they could comfort the other as the rest could process the reality of the situation. They had hoped that Basil could be found again and tell him they simply needed time. But it’s already too late.
Basil’s face is the only thing that really survived, it was the thing that made him identifiable.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
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Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Basil she found hanging in his bedroom, from a rope that used to hold a potted plant. Aubrey had rushed there, getting him from the rope. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel wasn’t there, Hero wasn’t there, the wind wasn’t there.
Aubrey shakes. They had forgiven them, hell, Aubrey visited the two as often as she could, today she’d gone to Basil’s house for a sleepover, only having been awakened by the sound of the alarm. It wasn’t always easy being near him, to pretend nothing happened, to deny the rot still in her heart for him, to make right the harm she caused him. But she wanted to try. She wanted him to live.
Basil’s body had long grown cold, soaking up with it all hope.
Aubrey Wilson could not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
=============
I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happened and always will.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
H̶̭̏̎̀͊e̴̩͋̎͌̈͐̒͊̈́͘͠ ̶̡̮̘̯̠͕̮͕͓̉̈́̈́̔́̎̄͘͘i̴̟͙̜̙͂̉̏͊ś̴̨̘̚ ̸̢̨̛̗̬̼͕̹͔̮̯̬̽͐̎̈́̌̅̽̋m̵̛̯͈̘̿̈́̈́̽̀̋͐̃͂͝͠ě̴͙̺͇̦̥̦̠̳̼̩̬̇̍̍̌͘͝â̴͍̞͎̱͇̮͉͌̄̅̏͌̇̄͛̃̓̚̕͝n̷̛̗̲̣͕͎̆̾͘̕t̴͕̯͍̻͕͎̖̺̲̻͙̜̘̬̘̃̈́̋̍͂̐̿̉̕̚ ̷͕̗̩̫̯͈͆̎̇̀̽̄͌̄̀̔̐̚͠t̶̰̯̲̥̯̦͎̭̝̩̗̝̤̍̀͊̾ͅo̵̡͔͂̓͆͑̋͊͛̍̄͌͐̍͒̇̕ͅ ̸̧̛̘̲̻͎̼̼͉͉̗̄̈́̊̓͐̎̄d̴̡̳͎͎̱̱͎͈̥͍̫̣̻̙̳͆̋͊͗̍̆̀̒̃͋̔̿̽̕i̷̡̨̪̲̪̲͐̌̐͜͝ḙ̶̢̮̬́̽͐̋̊̑̓̏̀͠ͅ ̵̧͇͓̣̋ͅy̷̩̱͐̊̎̓̓ő̴̞͆͘ų̴̡̹̱̘͎͓̇́̀ͅņ̶͈͇̟̓̇͂̆͌̀̈́͌͜͠g̷͚̠̈́͒͋̉̈́͒͠͝ ̴̧̜̫͕͔̝̣̜̤̹̰̩̎͜͝͝à̸̢͈̖͓̏̑̆̑͂̎͂̋͐̐̍́͝ǹ̴̡̢̡͇̥̫͕̱̞̭̖͉̳̋d̴͖̳̜̲̱̞̣̪̗͈̩͕̭̤̈́̒͛́̾͂̆́͗̽͜ ̵̡̛̣̲͕̩̫̤̠̖̤͓͙̗̰̌͑̎̌̅̆̕͜à̴̡̤͈̗̱̬̙͚͚̳̿̾͘ͅl̵̨̧͎̤͇̥̜̺͖̤͔̖̝̪̘͛̂ö̶̢̡̩͚̪͙̝̳͔̪̩̀̽̂ň̶̨͓̹͖̠̿̇̈́̆͐̔͠ễ̴͔͈̩͎̝̔͐͜.̵̧̭͓́̈̈́͂̈́̋́̊͆ ̵̧̟̝̰͖̹̮̘͚͍̫͉̣̓̾͋̓͊̀̓̈́̿͑͘F̵̜̫̔͑ͅͅô̴̡̯̱̯̰͖̹͂̄̿͆̃̄̀͑̅̇͌͒̽͝r̶̝̥̹̞̪͙͛̄̏̒̈́̀̕͜ ̸̡̟̮̤̼̎́̀̊͝͝ḩ̵̞̘̥̗͎̤͇̘͍̩͔̇̈͌̀̾͘̚̚͘͜i̸̧̫̞̲̯̅͒́̚m̴̩͊̑͑̂́̌̂̀̈́̓̓͝ ̵̧̨̡̭͚̤̪͙̻̩̙͍̦̜̺͌̊͒͌́͋͑͋̚͘t̸̡̩̩̘̥̚õ̸͙̲͍͗͌́͂̚͠ ̶̹͙̬̮̻̗̹̏́̋̓̐͑̽̐͘͜͜͜ͅͅḑ̷̙̮̻̫̪̣̗͉̗̎͛̏͘i̷̡̨͚̠̺͇͚̲̎̐̔̂̅̆͒͑͐̂͝͠ͅͅͅe̴̖̰͊͂̿́̎͐̃̂̐̍̇̓ͅ ̸̧̢̡̛͔̺͔͇̱͚͔̲͈̀͐̓̃͒͊̃̃͐̅̀͝i̸̧̢̡͚͍̼̝̱͚̱̙̘̭̔͐̅͒͐̀́ͅǹ̴̙͇͋ ̶͔̮͚͉̟̟͚̭̘̘̖̋̓̊̑͛̉̒̊̈́̕ṱ̴̡̱̝̱̞͉̟̀̄̌̈́͋͌̆͆̈́͝h̷̨͚̜̖͕̹̄̏̎e̶̢̨̳̖͎̐̒̏̈́̍̈́ ̴͈͔̰̪̗̘̭̱͋͐͝l̵̛̰̏̊̉͋́̒̈͝ḭ̶͙̟͕͎͔̩̻̳̻̼̩͘m̸̨̱̱͚̥͔̟̒͒́̇̃̒̆̎̐̑̚̕͠ͅb̷͕̙̜̱̬͚̔ò̶̢͈͍͖̭͉̟͙͉̑̇͗͑͌͗͠ ̸̨̛̛͙͍̖͉̮͍͈̫̲͓͑̄̋̿̅̓͂̚͘͝ó̸͇̱͈͎̰̗͙̜͕̞͓̱̀̾̒f̷̱̼̈́͝ ̶̡̨̛̦͕̤̘̞̦̥̼̭̓̄̓̒̄͗̃͒͒̕ͅn̷̨̼͖͔̯̼̹͎͖̠͙͓̙̂̾̆̓̐̍͆̚o̴̪̱̺̝͇̼̾̌̊̓̾͝ṱ̸̠͈̒͆ ̸̣͚̮̟͉͔̯͑̽͋́̃ͅa̵̢̢̼̥̦̜͔̗͍̯̥̱̟̲̹̓ ̷͙͂͋̐̍͌̇̉̀͋͊͐͝ĉ̸̖̇̒̋̃̈̇͒̌͝h̵̻̼̅ì̸͕͉̜͍͕̹̫͍͓̟̳͝l̸͖̘̯̞̜̊̀̄d̵̛̹̦͍̪̼̮͈̦͍̝̖̗͖̘̣̿͌̈́̍̿̈͒͌̓ ̴̼̣̳́͌̏́̆̓̔̀͛͑͊b̶͈͓͓̑̆̉̿̓̋̈͒̓̒̏̀͘͠͝ụ̶̩͉͙͖̗̎̐̐͒ẗ̶̞̍͊͂͝͝ ̵͓̼̱̦̭̫͚̦̦̳͕͖̩̞̗̀̌̒̾̌̈́̏̓̕̕f̷̮̬̼̜͓̪̪̦͕͕͇̆͑̑̋̿͘ǫ̶̢̛͇͇̱̪̦̖̥̖̉͗̿͋̃͆̀̚ͅṛ̷͔̗͙͖̤̪̺͓͓̭̹̎̀̽̓͠ ̴̺̻̻̼̙̟͇͓͇̜̚ͅs̷̢̠̮͍͈̱̮̬̝̻̆̊̃̐͗u̶̮̗̬͈͓͇̳̟̖̼͌̈̀͆͗̓͗ṟ̵̘̜̝̳͓͓̞̈́̆̕e̸̢̧͉͉̬̣͇͉͗̓̃͌͊̚̕͜ͅ ̸̫̹̹̭̬̳̾͑̋̌̾̎̀̈̓͌͌͋͘͜͜͝͝n̴̡̛͚͎͍̱̼̪̄͒̈́͌͐̇̽́̆̒̏̌̚͠o̵̮͚̱͇͓͙͕̝̝̹̾̀ẗ̷̡̘̭̗͙̣͓͉̬̫̩̼̻̫́͌̓͗̈́̿̾ ̶̭̦̯̙̱͎̞̖̜̻̈́͒̌̎̾̊̉̕ͅͅg̶͖͈̘̑̑̀̑̄̌̐̂͆̚̚r̴̨̨̲̪͖̪̺͚̩̍̑̒͂͛͘͜o̸̖̞͂͊ẃ̵̢̼̞̈̓̍̊͜n̴͇͙͖̗͙͛́̏̀̊̚̚͝,̸̢̤̟̼͔̬̼̜͖͚̼͇͒̎͛͌̇̀̄̏͜ ̶͎̦͈͍͍͑́͛̿̑͘͜f̶̜͂̽̅͂͋͘̚ȯ̵̙̼̼̪̏̀̈́͝͝r̵̛͖͎̖̟͉͙̠̳͈͖̈̈́̿̾́͒͆͛͘͝͝ ̴̪͍̬̎̆͗̀͆̊́̅̚̕͘ḫ̷̣̖̲͕͍̘̹̦̬̬̏̚͜͝ĭ̸͚̃̈́̅m̷̠̥̠̾̔̂͋͊̀͝͠ ̶̡̳͚̰̜̰̠͉̘́͝t̸̛͕̊̀̽̈́̚o̵̝͇̅̈̅̄̑̄̂͑͂̊͛̍̄̋̕ ̵̝̳̫̦̬̪̟̻̺̯̺̹͂͂͊̿̈́̈̓̽͝ͅd̵͔̭̿̏i̸̢͔̖̘͖̼͊̈̇̐͝é̵̛̺̲̙͉͎͕̻̥̳̹̝͉̲̳̐̌͑̿͒̒̽̚ ̷̛̛̦͈̯̳͔͚̗̪̠̗͊̃͋̄͂̌̕͝ͅŵ̴̧̢̛̹͉̮̞͔̰̩͖̳̈́͛̕i̴͖̅͛̎ţ̴̢̨͔̲̙̖͖̥̗̏͒͐̊h̸̰͈͇̫̖̑͊͛̈́̌̚͘͜͠ô̷̡̫̤̹̘̘̦̖̗̪̗̜̲̐͆͆͑̇̕̚̕͠ͅͅǔ̸̗̌̃̐̇̚͝t̴̨̫͉̰̪̑̊͐̄̆̀̏̓̌̌̌͌͑͠ ̷̭̈́̈̎̔͂͐̏f̸̢̧̜͚̒͂̀́̄̉̓̀̊̉͐̐̕͝r̴̛̭̻̲͈̰̙̫̱͎̻̤̐́̃̇̇͊̊̑̓̒̕͘ͅͅḯ̶͈͎̱͍̬̞̇̉̀̈́̆̀̕͝ȩ̸̮̪̰̞̞̻̣͊͒̆̍̽͘n̶̡̧̧̫̬̞̖͎̣͈̤̖̱̎̏̓̆̐̒̈̄̓̒̚d̴̛̼͈̥̜͊̍̽͜ͅs̴͔̪̦̠͉͇͎̬̫̲̮̔́͑̈́͐̿́̈́͋̈̓̎̆̚ ̵̻̙̦̩͊͒h̵̢̛͇̫͖̜̟̙̞̞̔̓͒̿̄̒̌͒̅̾͘ā̵̘͙̘͙́̇͂ͅv̷̳̩̲͉́͂͌͐̌̀͒͠ị̷̧̙̫͚̹͎͉̼͙͙͕͇̀͋̑͋̿́̽́̍̔̽̎͂̚ͅṅ̵̺̮̯͛̍̚g̸̛̜̳̥͐̇̈̀̀͒̏͗̐͌̿ ̷̛̠̦̉̾͋̎̑̓̄̿̈̂͘͝k̵̪̦̖̈́̇̄͌̂͗́̓͝͠ͅn̸̨͈̜̹͚̟̻̤̚͜ơ̴͖̅̒͒̆͑̎̆͝w̷̡͖͓̬̟̣͈̗̯̣̘͐̃̉̃̑͒͝ṅ̶̯̌̈̄̉͂͑̿̐͝ ̶̢̧̼̜̦̘̞̤̞̮͗͒̀͘͠ẗ̷̼̠́̿͝ḥ̶̛̝̀͊̊̌̓e̶̤̫̪̲̣̹̔̾͂̌̂̓͑͠ ̴̢̨̩̥͙͇͍̗̪̼̜̳̝̈́̔͑͘̚t̶̺͇̲̹̼̮̀́̎a̸̡̩̭̱̩̹̱͊͂͂̎͑̾̏̚ͅs̵͖̥̫̣̩͒̕t̷̙̺͐̀̈́̽͘̚͝ë̸̡̏͗ ̶̨̠̜̣͙͕̘̗͛́́o̵̧̰͚͔̬͙̙̫̖͕̾̐̐̾̽͊̉̊͌̈́͌͜͝͝f̶̧̞͉̲͕͓̤̣̬̔͑́͂̊̒ ̸̧̛̜̳̱̜̭́̈́͐̒͒̾̊̌̕͝c̴̡̙͕̱̼̙̫̿̋̈́̕ȫ̸̡̧̜̥̣͙̣̘̰͈̱̒̍̉̍͝ͅm̴̨͈̰̀̅̒̾̓̀̎͝p̶̡̧͊̈́̂̿ā̶̟̲̜̘̱̂ṋ̷͉͋͐̾̑̃͋̕ĭ̶̖͌͗̾̉́̿̓̈́̕͝ơ̵̛̗͍̻̺͙̬̥̮̎͒̊͛͊͠n̷̹̪̼̻̠̙̭̈́s̶̨̛̫̟̯̤̺̺̜̈́̇͋̓͑̽̚͝͝ͅh̸̛̝͍̅̿͂̌̚͘͝i̵̹̜̫̘̟͙̫̭͌͑̋̆̓̅͌̚p̶̧̧̺̣̎̊̅̓̑͊̿͗̾̾͋͐́̍͝,̵̺͍̝͚̪͍̪͕̓̍̇͛͛͋͘͜ ̶̬̼̈́̊̀̅͋̋̈̌͝f̸̡̟̍̃̀͌̑̔̅̚̕̚ơ̵̧̧̤͖̘͓͎̭͖̹͙̙̹̪͎͗̌̔̂͗͑͗͂͠ȑ̴̢̩͔͛͛͗̐̋̎́̑̑͒͋̅̕ ̷̢̡̡͍̱̹͔̫͂̀̒̇͗̽̇̆̾̈́̐̓͘ḩ̷̡̡̛̹͇̼͈͓̜̤̜̺͐͜ͅi̴̡̍̎̒̾͐͜m̷̢̡̛̘͉̖̱̰̙͉̙͍̎͑̑̈́̏͑̓̌͐̌͛͛̐̕ ̶̱̉͋̔t̷̨̢̺̼̠͉͇̘̰̮̠̭̺̊̏͒̏̓́̎͐͌̾̈͛̈͠ớ̵̡̢̱̲̜̩̝͍̮̭͓̮̲̘̏͑̂͆̌̿͌̽́̚̚͜͠ ̷̡̙͉̖͖͍̫͑̈́̄̊̐̔̃̌̀̋̐͑́̈́̋͜d̷̨̧̝̳͖̻͉͚̔̾́͜͝į̸̧̥͈̱͈̙̰͕̰̲́̍͘e̶̥͇̤͆ ̴̞͚̆̈́͗̓̏̅́̈́̾͑̌͜͠l̷̝̬̪̑̅̓͐i̵̖͎̙̝̞̪̞͛͠ḱ̵͉̹͐̍̽͛͋͆́͑̓̑̍͘͝e̷̟̩͛͛̈́̈́͆̈͆ ̷̼͓͉̀̍̓̇͛t̵̢̛̩̲̬̤͇͚̣̟̲̘̐̂̓̃͆̽̿̌̇̀̓̚̕h̷̬͉̙̘͚̹̰͇͋̿͗́̈̀̋̋̓͊̕͝i̸͕̭̭͍̔̑͑̇̀s̶̢͓̞̪̻̤͕͚̤̖͔͖̻̭͓͐̔͌͊̂͊̏͌͂̇͝͝ ̶̤̽̈́̕t̵̜̣̼̫̗̯̲̏̈́͂̈́̆͆͊́́̇̃o̵͚̥̊̋̀͊͊̀͑ ̵͉̠͖͙̝͎͌̉́̈́͐͒̃̏̓̈͒͑́͌a̷̟̒̀c̷̢̛̜͙͉̥͕̗̬͑̆̎́̋̀͑̋͒̀̾͑͠͝ͅc̵̖̙̱̓̿̾̏̄͗̌͒͆͌̒̅e̴͔͓̬͐͑̄̂̐͊͛̌͐̎̕͠͝p̵̛̎͜ț̵̛͎͉̦̫̠̆̾̃̈̍̾͑̋̌ ̵̛̲̼̹̩̖̟̩̹͓̫̈̽͗̐̂̓̂̊̏̉̚͜f̷͓̟̺̥̤͙͓͎̫̞̾͛͑̀̚a̸̧͈͔͚͎̹͕͈̽̈̽̑ͅṯ̵͊͛̍͐̓̀͝é̶̻̳̤̼̱͇͇̬̞͔́́̾̏̄͝.̸͍͈̻̤̝͎̪̾̿̂̋̄͌̎̋̊̑͗͊͌̓̓
̴̺̹̹̖̦͈͇͊̇̈́
̶̧̢̧̛̪͚̳̰͉͔̞̘͖͚̍̔́͌̈́̆̇̈͛̋̌͜͝
[the rest of the text is unsalvageable]
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I’ll tell you what happened, and I’ll tell you what happens now.
Basil Thorn was my friend, once. A friend I held dear as we grew into eachother. Then a tragedy occurred, one we could not recover from, and we split apart. In hoping for the past, something unchanged and unaffected, I set us both up for heartbreak, when I returned to him. I used his change as an excuse to steal from him, to lie about him, to hurt him.
It took time and intervention to make me stop, to make me realize, too late and too little, what I was doing was wrong.
But I moved forward still. I came to him again and came to apologize, to stay there while he had lost his only true family. I did not know why he and Sunny fought that night, though now I’m grateful we heard them. In the hospital I ran away once I knew of the truth, unable to bear the enormity of it, of the pain we uselessly suffered.
And still I returned to him.
I had done enough to him, not enough for him. I held him as we cried for a past we could not change. I kept being by his side, holding on nights where he did not trust himself to keep his own body alive.
What happens next? I don't know, I don't know.
But if there's a chance I can ensure he dies old, if there's a chance I'll be with him as he dies, if there's a chance he'll live.
I’ll fight for it; for fate is the instrument of the devil, and humanity will prevail beyond evil.
For my love for him will snap the strings of fate; for we will get a happy ending, together.
Rating: Mature
Warning(s): Major Character Death (A Character dying multiple times by Suicide in different timelines), Mentioned/Referenced Bullying.
Relationship(s): Basil ♦️ Aubrey, but it's ambiguous.
Character(s): Aubrey, Basil, Other's Implied/Referenced.
(additional) Tags: Aubrey POV, no smut, (Screw) Destiny, Angst, all the OMORI endings, 5+1 fic, Hopeful Ending.
Word Count: 1275 words
Summary: I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happened
AO3 echo
I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happened and always will.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
He is meant to die young and alone. For him to die in the limbo of not a child but for sure not grown, for him to die without friends having known the taste of companionship, for him to die like this to accept fate.
Basil Thorn was not meant to make it beyond the end.
And Aubrey Wilson is a knife in his spine.
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Hero has dragged Basil out of the lake, there’s no point in the attempt to remove the water from his lungs, Hero tries anyway. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel’s screaming has stopped, Hero is no longer hoping, the wind is rejoicing.
Aubrey shakes. Her whole body overtaken by the undeniable truth that she has pushed him into the lake. For a moment her body was not hers, not her logos or ethos but her pathos was the thing that fired synapsis into backing him into the mouth of death and gave him a final goodbye. Fury in her veins and justice broken and bleeding in her heart, she pushed him into the freezing, hungry, unforgiving lake.
Basil’s eyes stare into the abyss, mouth hanging loose, and hands relaxed in calm acceptance.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
There in the dark, with garden shears in his soft belly and blood staining the floor below his body. Hero is calling the ambulance. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is crying, Hero is crying, the wind is crying.
Aubrey shakes. Her whole body understood that she caused this. She stole his things, she spread rumors, she got her friends to join and eventually everyone did. Basil had no allies in school, his grandmother slowly dying over the years, no other family cared for him and his caretaker could never understand. Basil may have had friends long ago, once upon a time, and maybe in a different life he could’ve gained his old ones back, repaired with gold, but that was no longer the truth. He died as he lived; alone.
Basil’s face is in shadow, his body turning inside out, the wound of his soul made material.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
In the unforgiving light of the burning sun, the body broken and bending in unnatural ways. Kel has run off to get the doctors. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is gone, Hero is kneeling, the wind is humming.
Aubrey shakes. Because for a moment it looked like her old friend group would get together again. That they would forgive eachother for coping with the death of Mari poorly and heal as they helped eachother mend the other’s wounds. That even if Sunny had killed himself she could make amends with Basil, to stop him from leaving this world this hopelessly. But that’s not what happened.
Basil has been made unrecognizable, the only trace of him being a fragment of his face.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Basil had been found, days after he’d gone missing, partially eaten by the wolves when Kel had hoped to find and save him. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel is catatonic, Hero is trying to sooth, the wind is howling.
Aubrey shakes. They could not forgive them, would not for what they did and hid behind lies, not yet. They had left them alone with the other and hoped they would be enough for eachother, that they could comfort the other as the rest could process the reality of the situation. They had hoped that Basil could be found again and tell him they simply needed time. But it’s already too late.
Basil’s face is the only thing that really survived, it was the thing that made him identifiable.
Aubrey Wilson can not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
Aubrey Wilson is frozen in place, for no human can only be a weapon.
Basil she found hanging in his bedroom, from a rope that used to hold a potted plant. Aubrey had rushed there, getting him from the rope. It does not matter, for Basil’s already dead.
Kel wasn’t there, Hero wasn’t there, the wind wasn’t there.
Aubrey shakes. They had forgiven them, hell, Aubrey visited the two as often as she could, today she’d gone to Basil’s house for a sleepover, only having been awakened by the sound of the alarm. It wasn’t always easy being near him, to pretend nothing happened, to deny the rot still in her heart for him, to make right the harm she caused him. But she wanted to try. She wanted him to live.
Basil’s body had long grown cold, soaking up with it all hope.
Aubrey Wilson could not forgive herself.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
I’ve told you what’s coming; this story has already happened and always will.
Basil Thorn was not meant for happy endings.
H̶̭̏̎̀͊e̴̩͋̎͌̈͐̒͊̈́͘͠ ̶̡̮̘̯̠͕̮͕͓̉̈́̈́̔́̎̄͘͘i̴̟͙̜̙͂̉̏͊ś̴̨̘̚ ̸̢̨̛̗̬̼͕̹͔̮̯̬̽͐̎̈́̌̅̽̋m̵̛̯͈̘̿̈́̈́̽̀̋͐̃͂͝͠ě̴͙̺͇̦̥̦̠̳̼̩̬̇̍̍̌͘͝â̴͍̞͎̱͇̮͉͌̄̅̏͌̇̄͛̃̓̚̕͝n̷̛̗̲̣͕͎̆̾͘̕t̴͕̯͍̻͕͎̖̺̲̻͙̜̘̬̘̃̈́̋̍͂̐̿̉̕̚ ̷͕̗̩̫̯͈͆̎̇̀̽̄͌̄̀̔̐̚͠t̶̰̯̲̥̯̦͎̭̝̩̗̝̤̍̀͊̾ͅo̵̡͔͂̓͆͑̋͊͛̍̄͌͐̍͒̇̕ͅ ̸̧̛̘̲̻͎̼̼͉͉̗̄̈́̊̓͐̎̄d̴̡̳͎͎̱̱͎͈̥͍̫̣̻̙̳͆̋͊͗̍̆̀̒̃͋̔̿̽̕i̷̡̨̪̲̪̲͐̌̐͜͝ḙ̶̢̮̬́̽͐̋̊̑̓̏̀͠ͅ ̵̧͇͓̣̋ͅy̷̩̱͐̊̎̓̓ő̴̞͆͘ų̴̡̹̱̘͎͓̇́̀ͅņ̶͈͇̟̓̇͂̆͌̀̈́͌͜͠g̷͚̠̈́͒͋̉̈́͒͠͝ ̴̧̜̫͕͔̝̣̜̤̹̰̩̎͜͝͝à̸̢͈̖͓̏̑̆̑͂̎͂̋͐̐̍́͝ǹ̴̡̢̡͇̥̫͕̱̞̭̖͉̳̋d̴͖̳̜̲̱̞̣̪̗͈̩͕̭̤̈́̒͛́̾͂̆́͗̽͜ ̵̡̛̣̲͕̩̫̤̠̖̤͓͙̗̰̌͑̎̌̅̆̕͜à̴̡̤͈̗̱̬̙͚͚̳̿̾͘ͅl̵̨̧͎̤͇̥̜̺͖̤͔̖̝̪̘͛̂ö̶̢̡̩͚̪͙̝̳͔̪̩̀̽̂ň̶̨͓̹͖̠̿̇̈́̆͐̔͠ễ̴͔͈̩͎̝̔͐͜.̵̧̭͓́̈̈́͂̈́̋́̊͆ ̵̧̟̝̰͖̹̮̘͚͍̫͉̣̓̾͋̓͊̀̓̈́̿͑͘F̵̜̫̔͑ͅͅô̴̡̯̱̯̰͖̹͂̄̿͆̃̄̀͑̅̇͌͒̽͝r̶̝̥̹̞̪͙͛̄̏̒̈́̀̕͜ ̸̡̟̮̤̼̎́̀̊͝͝ḩ̵̞̘̥̗͎̤͇̘͍̩͔̇̈͌̀̾͘̚̚͘͜i̸̧̫̞̲̯̅͒́̚m̴̩͊̑͑̂́̌̂̀̈́̓̓͝ ̵̧̨̡̭͚̤̪͙̻̩̙͍̦̜̺͌̊͒͌́͋͑͋̚͘t̸̡̩̩̘̥̚õ̸͙̲͍͗͌́͂̚͠ ̶̹͙̬̮̻̗̹̏́̋̓̐͑̽̐͘͜͜͜ͅͅḑ̷̙̮̻̫̪̣̗͉̗̎͛̏͘i̷̡̨͚̠̺͇͚̲̎̐̔̂̅̆͒͑͐̂͝͠ͅͅͅe̴̖̰͊͂̿́̎͐̃̂̐̍̇̓ͅ ̸̧̢̡̛͔̺͔͇̱͚͔̲͈̀͐̓̃͒͊̃̃͐̅̀͝i̸̧̢̡͚͍̼̝̱͚̱̙̘̭̔͐̅͒͐̀́ͅǹ̴̙͇͋ ̶͔̮͚͉̟̟͚̭̘̘̖̋̓̊̑͛̉̒̊̈́̕ṱ̴̡̱̝̱̞͉̟̀̄̌̈́͋͌̆͆̈́͝h̷̨͚̜̖͕̹̄̏̎e̶̢̨̳̖͎̐̒̏̈́̍̈́ ̴͈͔̰̪̗̘̭̱͋͐͝l̵̛̰̏̊̉͋́̒̈͝ḭ̶͙̟͕͎͔̩̻̳̻̼̩͘m̸̨̱̱͚̥͔̟̒͒́̇̃̒̆̎̐̑̚̕͠ͅb̷͕̙̜̱̬͚̔ò̶̢͈͍͖̭͉̟͙͉̑̇͗͑͌͗͠ ̸̨̛̛͙͍̖͉̮͍͈̫̲͓͑̄̋̿̅̓͂̚͘͝ó̸͇̱͈͎̰̗͙̜͕̞͓̱̀̾̒f̷̱̼̈́͝ ̶̡̨̛̦͕̤̘̞̦̥̼̭̓̄̓̒̄͗̃͒͒̕ͅn̷̨̼͖͔̯̼̹͎͖̠͙͓̙̂̾̆̓̐̍͆̚o̴̪̱̺̝͇̼̾̌̊̓̾͝ṱ̸̠͈̒͆ ̸̣͚̮̟͉͔̯͑̽͋́̃ͅa̵̢̢̼̥̦̜͔̗͍̯̥̱̟̲̹̓ ̷͙͂͋̐̍͌̇̉̀͋͊͐͝ĉ̸̖̇̒̋̃̈̇͒̌͝h̵̻̼̅ì̸͕͉̜͍͕̹̫͍͓̟̳͝l̸͖̘̯̞̜̊̀̄d̵̛̹̦͍̪̼̮͈̦͍̝̖̗͖̘̣̿͌̈́̍̿̈͒͌̓ ̴̼̣̳́͌̏́̆̓̔̀͛͑͊b̶͈͓͓̑̆̉̿̓̋̈͒̓̒̏̀͘͠͝ụ̶̩͉͙͖̗̎̐̐͒ẗ̶̞̍͊͂͝͝ ̵͓̼̱̦̭̫͚̦̦̳͕͖̩̞̗̀̌̒̾̌̈́̏̓̕̕f̷̮̬̼̜͓̪̪̦͕͕͇̆͑̑̋̿͘ǫ̶̢̛͇͇̱̪̦̖̥̖̉͗̿͋̃͆̀̚ͅṛ̷͔̗͙͖̤̪̺͓͓̭̹̎̀̽̓͠ ̴̺̻̻̼̙̟͇͓͇̜̚ͅs̷̢̠̮͍͈̱̮̬̝̻̆̊̃̐͗u̶̮̗̬͈͓͇̳̟̖̼͌̈̀͆͗̓͗ṟ̵̘̜̝̳͓͓̞̈́̆̕e̸̢̧͉͉̬̣͇͉͗̓̃͌͊̚̕͜ͅ ̸̫̹̹̭̬̳̾͑̋̌̾̎̀̈̓͌͌͋͘͜͜͝͝n̴̡̛͚͎͍̱̼̪̄͒̈́͌͐̇̽́̆̒̏̌̚͠o̵̮͚̱͇͓͙͕̝̝̹̾̀ẗ̷̡̘̭̗͙̣͓͉̬̫̩̼̻̫́͌̓͗̈́̿̾ ̶̭̦̯̙̱͎̞̖̜̻̈́͒̌̎̾̊̉̕ͅͅg̶͖͈̘̑̑̀̑̄̌̐̂͆̚̚r̴̨̨̲̪͖̪̺͚̩̍̑̒͂͛͘͜o̸̖̞͂͊ẃ̵̢̼̞̈̓̍̊͜n̴͇͙͖̗͙͛́̏̀̊̚̚͝,̸̢̤̟̼͔̬̼̜͖͚̼͇͒̎͛͌̇̀̄̏͜ ̶͎̦͈͍͍͑́͛̿̑͘͜f̶̜͂̽̅͂͋͘̚ȯ̵̙̼̼̪̏̀̈́͝͝r̵̛͖͎̖̟͉͙̠̳͈͖̈̈́̿̾́͒͆͛͘͝͝ ̴̪͍̬̎̆͗̀͆̊́̅̚̕͘ḫ̷̣̖̲͕͍̘̹̦̬̬̏̚͜͝ĭ̸͚̃̈́̅m̷̠̥̠̾̔̂͋͊̀͝͠ ̶̡̳͚̰̜̰̠͉̘́͝t̸̛͕̊̀̽̈́̚o̵̝͇̅̈̅̄̑̄̂͑͂̊͛̍̄̋̕ ̵̝̳̫̦̬̪̟̻̺̯̺̹͂͂͊̿̈́̈̓̽͝ͅd̵͔̭̿̏i̸̢͔̖̘͖̼͊̈̇̐͝é̵̛̺̲̙͉͎͕̻̥̳̹̝͉̲̳̐̌͑̿͒̒̽̚ ̷̛̛̦͈̯̳͔͚̗̪̠̗͊̃͋̄͂̌̕͝ͅŵ̴̧̢̛̹͉̮̞͔̰̩͖̳̈́͛̕i̴͖̅͛̎ţ̴̢̨͔̲̙̖͖̥̗̏͒͐̊h̸̰͈͇̫̖̑͊͛̈́̌̚͘͜͠ô̷̡̫̤̹̘̘̦̖̗̪̗̜̲̐͆͆͑̇̕̚̕͠ͅͅǔ̸̗̌̃̐̇̚͝t̴̨̫͉̰̪̑̊͐̄̆̀̏̓̌̌̌͌͑͠ ̷̭̈́̈̎̔͂͐̏f̸̢̧̜͚̒͂̀́̄̉̓̀̊̉͐̐̕͝r̴̛̭̻̲͈̰̙̫̱͎̻̤̐́̃̇̇͊̊̑̓̒̕͘ͅͅḯ̶͈͎̱͍̬̞̇̉̀̈́̆̀̕͝ȩ̸̮̪̰̞̞̻̣͊͒̆̍̽͘n̶̡̧̧̫̬̞̖͎̣͈̤̖̱̎̏̓̆̐̒̈̄̓̒̚d̴̛̼͈̥̜͊̍̽͜ͅs̴͔̪̦̠͉͇͎̬̫̲̮̔́͑̈́͐̿́̈́͋̈̓̎̆̚ ̵̻̙̦̩͊͒h̵̢̛͇̫͖̜̟̙̞̞̔̓͒̿̄̒̌͒̅̾͘ā̵̘͙̘͙́̇͂ͅv̷̳̩̲͉́͂͌͐̌̀͒͠ị̷̧̙̫͚̹͎͉̼͙͙͕͇̀͋̑͋̿́̽́̍̔̽̎͂̚ͅṅ̵̺̮̯͛̍̚g̸̛̜̳̥͐̇̈̀̀͒̏͗̐͌̿ ̷̛̠̦̉̾͋̎̑̓̄̿̈̂͘͝k̵̪̦̖̈́̇̄͌̂͗́̓͝͠ͅn̸̨͈̜̹͚̟̻̤̚͜ơ̴͖̅̒͒̆͑̎̆͝w̷̡͖͓̬̟̣͈̗̯̣̘͐̃̉̃̑͒͝ṅ̶̯̌̈̄̉͂͑̿̐͝ ̶̢̧̼̜̦̘̞̤̞̮͗͒̀͘͠ẗ̷̼̠́̿͝ḥ̶̛̝̀͊̊̌̓e̶̤̫̪̲̣̹̔̾͂̌̂̓͑͠ ̴̢̨̩̥͙͇͍̗̪̼̜̳̝̈́̔͑͘̚t̶̺͇̲̹̼̮̀́̎a̸̡̩̭̱̩̹̱͊͂͂̎͑̾̏̚ͅs̵͖̥̫̣̩͒̕t̷̙̺͐̀̈́̽͘̚͝ë̸̡̏͗ ̶̨̠̜̣͙͕̘̗͛́́o̵̧̰͚͔̬͙̙̫̖͕̾̐̐̾̽͊̉̊͌̈́͌͜͝͝f̶̧̞͉̲͕͓̤̣̬̔͑́͂̊̒ ̸̧̛̜̳̱̜̭́̈́͐̒͒̾̊̌̕͝c̴̡̙͕̱̼̙̫̿̋̈́̕ȫ̸̡̧̜̥̣͙̣̘̰͈̱̒̍̉̍͝ͅm̴̨͈̰̀̅̒̾̓̀̎͝p̶̡̧͊̈́̂̿ā̶̟̲̜̘̱̂ṋ̷͉͋͐̾̑̃͋̕ĭ̶̖͌͗̾̉́̿̓̈́̕͝ơ̵̛̗͍̻̺͙̬̥̮̎͒̊͛͊͠n̷̹̪̼̻̠̙̭̈́s̶̨̛̫̟̯̤̺̺̜̈́̇͋̓͑̽̚͝͝ͅh̸̛̝͍̅̿͂̌̚͘͝i̵̹̜̫̘̟͙̫̭͌͑̋̆̓̅͌̚p̶̧̧̺̣̎̊̅̓̑͊̿͗̾̾͋͐́̍͝,̵̺͍̝͚̪͍̪͕̓̍̇͛͛͋͘͜ ̶̬̼̈́̊̀̅͋̋̈̌͝f̸̡̟̍̃̀͌̑̔̅̚̕̚ơ̵̧̧̤͖̘͓͎̭͖̹͙̙̹̪͎͗̌̔̂͗͑͗͂͠ȑ̴̢̩͔͛͛͗̐̋̎́̑̑͒͋̅̕ ̷̢̡̡͍̱̹͔̫͂̀̒̇͗̽̇̆̾̈́̐̓͘ḩ̷̡̡̛̹͇̼͈͓̜̤̜̺͐͜ͅi̴̡̍̎̒̾͐͜m̷̢̡̛̘͉̖̱̰̙͉̙͍̎͑̑̈́̏͑̓̌͐̌͛͛̐̕ ̶̱̉͋̔t̷̨̢̺̼̠͉͇̘̰̮̠̭̺̊̏͒̏̓́̎͐͌̾̈͛̈͠ớ̵̡̢̱̲̜̩̝͍̮̭͓̮̲̘̏͑̂͆̌̿͌̽́̚̚͜͠ ̷̡̙͉̖͖͍̫͑̈́̄̊̐̔̃̌̀̋̐͑́̈́̋͜d̷̨̧̝̳͖̻͉͚̔̾́͜͝į̸̧̥͈̱͈̙̰͕̰̲́̍͘e̶̥͇̤͆ ̴̞͚̆̈́͗̓̏̅́̈́̾͑̌͜͠l̷̝̬̪̑̅̓͐i̵̖͎̙̝̞̪̞͛͠ḱ̵͉̹͐̍̽͛͋͆́͑̓̑̍͘͝e̷̟̩͛͛̈́̈́͆̈͆ ̷̼͓͉̀̍̓̇͛t̵̢̛̩̲̬̤͇͚̣̟̲̘̐̂̓̃͆̽̿̌̇̀̓̚̕h̷̬͉̙̘͚̹̰͇͋̿͗́̈̀̋̋̓͊̕͝i̸͕̭̭͍̔̑͑̇̀s̶̢͓̞̪̻̤͕͚̤̖͔͖̻̭͓͐̔͌͊̂͊̏͌͂̇͝͝ ̶̤̽̈́̕t̵̜̣̼̫̗̯̲̏̈́͂̈́̆͆͊́́̇̃o̵͚̥̊̋̀͊͊̀͑ ̵͉̠͖͙̝͎͌̉́̈́͐͒̃̏̓̈͒͑́͌a̷̟̒̀c̷̢̛̜͙͉̥͕̗̬͑̆̎́̋̀͑̋͒̀̾͑͠͝ͅc̵̖̙̱̓̿̾̏̄͗̌͒͆͌̒̅e̴͔͓̬͐͑̄̂̐͊͛̌͐̎̕͠͝p̵̛̎͜ț̵̛͎͉̦̫̠̆̾̃̈̍̾͑̋̌ ̵̛̲̼̹̩̖̟̩̹͓̫̈̽͗̐̂̓̂̊̏̉̚͜f̷͓̟̺̥̤͙͓͎̫̞̾͛͑̀̚a̸̧͈͔͚͎̹͕͈̽̈̽̑ͅṯ̵͊͛̍͐̓̀͝é̶̻̳̤̼̱͇͇̬̞͔́́̾̏̄͝.̸͍͈̻̤̝͎̪̾̿̂̋̄͌̎̋̊̑͗͊͌̓̓
̴̺̹̹̖̦͈͇͊̇̈́
̶̧̢̧̛̪͚̳̰͉͔̞̘͖͚̍̔́͌̈́̆̇̈͛̋̌͜͝
[the rest of the text is unsalvageable]
I’ll tell you what happened, and I’ll tell you what happens now.
Basil Thorn was my friend, once. A friend I held dear as we grew into eachother. Then a tragedy occurred, one we could not recover from, and we split apart. In hoping for the past, something unchanged and unaffected, I set us both up for heartbreak, when I returned to him. I used his change as an excuse to steal from him, to lie about him, to hurt him.
It took time and intervention to make me stop, to make me realize, too late and too little, what I was doing was wrong.
But I moved forward still. I came to him again and came to apologize, to stay there while he had lost his only true family. I did not know why he and Sunny fought that night, though now I’m grateful we heard them. In the hospital I ran away once I knew of the truth, unable to bear the enormity of it, of the pain we uselessly suffered.
And still I returned to him.
I had done enough to him, not enough for him. I held him as we cried for a past we could not change. I kept being by his side, holding on nights where he did not trust himself to keep his own body alive.
What happens next? I don't know, I don't know.
But if there's a chance I can ensure he dies old, if there's a chance I'll be with him as he dies, if there's a chance he'll live.
I’ll fight for it; for fate is the instrument of the devil, and humanity will prevail beyond evil.
For my love for him will snap the strings of fate; for we will get a happy ending, together.