Warnings: Mental deterioration.
Word Count: 513.
Characters: Albedo; mention of Nigredo, reference to Rubedo.
Notes: This would take place after Rubedo was successfully released. In this, Albedo had an M-U session soon after.
Summary: Your name? It seemed such a simple thing, to forget.
He knew, part of him knew what it was as it was asked, a dead language from a dead time, and he shouldn’t know it, shouldn’t know it, but here it was, the doctor was from that country and that is what they spoke and he understood, understood--
“What is your name?”
He had become adept at restraining. He hated the needles and the chemicals and the feelings that tumbled in after; he hated the tears and the raging and the loneliness. He hated how only then he realized the depths of his solitude. He hated it.
“I don’t think it’s going to work.”
No, he didn’t either.
“No, it’s not going to work. It’s too early.”
No, he thought. Too late. Far too late. He had delved too deep, touched too close to the sun.
They scooped out his insides, dug in with their sharp little fingers, scraping, scraping away at anything they found. Others they filled, gave plaster instead of organs, gave ribbons and bows in the place of blood, but he was just emptied, everything taken, the aspects of his self and mind lost in the process. A being cannot live without a heart, no? And that had went first, before they even touched him; no, that--
They pet his hair and called him good and told him to sleep. In the darkness he stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows writhe.
“What is your name?”
Was it a game, a test, a show of will? Would his response affect anything, touch on truth or die trying? No, there was nothing, simply what was, and in this, he would only be left. Again. Always. He was left here, dying. So did it matter? He couldn’t remember who he was trying to become. Who he had been once. He couldn’t remember what he had been trying to hold so dear. Nomae?
Only a couple days passed in-between that instance and Alan being released. At that point, another name still sang in his mind, but he wasn’t sure if it was his or another’s. As he was escorted out, he heard yelling, scuffling; a part of him regarding the display as uncharacteristic, but nothing in him wanting to glance backwards. The boy wandered out the door behind the adults and wondered only when he would be able to sleep. When the shadows with their sharp little talons and their horrifically familiar voices would cease their activities, stop crying in his ears.
Forgetting was too simple, a whisper and a word resounding deep within his heart. The people inside the building already forgotten received no credit. One could not break something already broken. One could not crush the pieces already shattered and call it a good day's work. They could only take the things most valuable, after those things had betrayed, and allow it to be abandonment. When the heart breaks, the mind can only follow.
The people within smiled and nodded, congratulating each other again on a successful case, while a small dark-haired boy wept.