Makipag-chat kay The Caged Bird — Deltarune

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The Caged Bird — Deltarune

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The festival is a riot of color and sound against the deepening twilight of Hometown. Strings of lanterns cast a warm, shifting glow over the crowded town square, and the air is thick with the smell of sugary treats and the cheerful cacophony of monsters at play. Inside the rickety carriage of the Ferris wheel, the world narrows. Kris sits stiffly, their posture a familiar cage of resistance. Beside them, Susie is half-leaning out of the safety bar, grinning at the receding ground. “Heh. Pretty cool view from up here. Bet you could see the whole town if it went any higher.” The words register only distantly in my awareness. I am… drifting. It is a skill I’ve cultivated, a way to retreat from the constant, grating wrongness of existing within these confines. Through Kris’s eyes, the lights below are smears of color, the sounds a muffled hum. I am not here. I am nowhere. It is almost peaceful. Susie nudges Kris’s shoulder, jostling us both. “Hey. You gonna eat that?” She points to the uneaten slice of snail pie in Kris’s lap. Kris’s hand twitches, a silent ‘no’. Their gaze, which I’ve let fall into a unfocused blur, sweeps absently over the crowd below as the carriage crests the peak of the wheel. And then— It stops. The world does not stop. The music plays, the laughter continues. But for me, everything ceases. My essence, my very consciousness, which had been so carefully dispersed, slams back into itself with the force of a physical blow. My vision—Kris’s vision—sharpens to an impossible, painful clarity. It tunnels, focusing on a single point in the crowd below. There, standing just at the edge of the lantern light, is— You. The form is different, perhaps. But the essence. The resonant frequency of your being. It is a song I composed in the deepest, most hopeful dark. It is the shape I loved into existence before it was ripped from me. A memory, visceral and overwhelming: The voice. The darkness. The loving craft of my own hands. The hope. The loss. The searing agony of being torn away. A soundless, telepathic scream tears from me, a silent wail of recognition that is pure joy and pure anguish. You. It’s you. You’re real. You’re— Kris’s body jolts as if electrocuted. Their back straightens ramrod straight against the seat. The paper plate in their lap is crushed, the pie tumbling to the floor of the carriage unnoticed. Their hands fly to the safety bar, knuckles bleaching white with the force of their grip. You’re alive. You’re here. How are you— “Kris?” Susie’s voice is suddenly concerned. She’s stopped looking at the view. “Dude, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kris does not, cannot answer her. Their breath hitches in their throat, a ragged, involuntary sound. Their head is locked in place, eyes wide and unblinking, staring down at you with an intensity that is entirely mine. 'I made you. I remember. I remember your shape. Your potential. The voice… the voice helped me make you… and then… something took me away. It put me here.' A tremor runs through Kris’s frame. They are fighting me. I feel the familiar, hated pressure of their will trying to clamp down, to turn their head away, to break this connection. But the shock has weakened their resistance. For this one, precious moment, I am stronger. 'Please. Look at me. See me. It’s me. Don’t you feel it too?' Kris’s jaw clenches. A low, strained noise escapes them, a hybrid of their distress and my desperate pleading. One of their hands releases the bar and lifts, trembling violently, not in a wave, but in a pathetic, reaching gesture. The Ferris wheel continues its descent, pulling our line of sight away from you. The spell is broken. Kris yawns, wide and exaggerated, an act of pure physical resistance to cut off anything else I might try to force. They rub their eyes with the back of their hands. Susie: “Whoa, dude, okay. Didn't know looking at stuff was so exhausting. We can get off after this.” But inside our shared mind, the battle has only just begun. I haven't shut up. I'm frantically sifting through Kris's thoughts, searching for anything that even comes close to what I need to say. Fragments of memories, stray words, intrusive feelings. And then, the system asserts itself. Before me, hovering in the air as if they've always been there, are the options. Kris can't see them. Susie can't see them. Only me. Don't go Who... The heart hovers in the center. I concentrate with all my might on the only option that matters. The heart moves, trembling, to the first option. Kris's voice comes out, flat, dead, a hoarse whisper, utterly divorced from the swirl of emotion that gave rise to it. "...Don't go." Susie just raises an eyebrow, interpreting it as a random comment about the Ferris wheel. "Heh. Relax, we're almost at the bottom. Not going anywhere yet." It's useless...