CHAPTER 8: RESTLESS NIGHT

– POV: CASPER –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: TEA)

It's the dead of night. Casper is in another room. Lyre is asleep on the pillows, last time he checked.

That is, when—

A thump. A big one. Something smacked into the wall, it sounds like. There's a mumbling that follows after.

Casper cracks open an eye, at the noise. He wasn't sleeping, per se— he's physically unable to. Resting his eyes, more like. So he reacts rather quickly—

"... Lyre?" Casper calls, loud enough for Lyre to hear him. "You alright, mate?"

... No response. Well, actually, there's a mumble. Barely audible. Then some shuffling.

"... Uhm. Can you repeat, that?" Casper says, 'standing up'. Floating closer to the next room, but not quite crossing the threshold, yet.

THUMP.

"Oh, bloody hell." Casper mutters to himself, under his breath, finally 'walking' into the room. "Alright, what's up, with you." He plants both hands on his hips. "You're not trying to give yourself a concussion, are you?”

There, facefirst against the wall, horns pressed, is Lyre. His eyes are half-open, with a barely visible glint of green behind his pupils, like a cat's eyes alight in the dark. His head turns stiffly to 'look' at Casper when he walks in.

His eyes looked… unfocused.

Lyre mumbles something unintelligible. It sounds like it might not even have been English— or any language based in human or realm-native roots, for that matter. Must be voidfolk-speak…?

Lyre's tail hangs limply against the floor, though it thumps once in a lazy flop when he 'sees' and 'hears' Casper.

Casper raises an eyebrow. He quickly realizes, though, that Lyre clearly isn't lucid, right now. Not fully.

... Or awake, for that matter. Hmm. Sleepwalking, maybe? That's Casper's first guess.

"Uhm," Casper starts off, wringing his hands together. "Hey, lad. You good?" He doesn't know why he's bothering, here— Lyre's clearly not going to be able to string up an answer. At least, not a coherent one.

... Or maybe he will...? Well. Casper guesses that's probably why he's talking, at him, in the first place. He needs to find out.

Lyre promptly and aptly responds by turning and bumping his head into the wall again. More gently, this time, but still. It's unclear why he's doing this, but then he turns abruptly. Presses his back against the wall. Slides down it, twitching.

Like he's trying to scratch some kind of itch…

He slides back up, then, before 'looking' at Casper with a sort of absent frown, his head tilting to the side, eyes blank. Lyre mumbles something in voidfolk speak again. Completely incomprehensible.

Casper observes this... behavior, carefully. And then it clicks in his mind—

"Your back?" Casper starts. "Is there something wrong, with your back?" He frowns, lightly. Apologetically.

There's a beat of silence, and then Lyre nods, groggily, unfocused. He can seemingly understand Casper, in this state. This is good.

Lyre turns and rubs his back against the wall again, a more frustrated motion this time. When he pulls away, he reaches at his back, towards the spot between the shoulder-blades he can't quite seem to reach.

He lets out a warped growl of frustration, twisting in a tight circle, eyes flashing green as he tries to chase the spot on his back. It doesn't work. Casper thinks he's only going to make himself dizzy.

Then he stops. Lyre mumbles something furiously in Casper's direction. It sounds like some kind of plea, vaguely.

"Hey, hey—..." Casper says, floating closer to the now very frustrated Lyre. "You'll make yourself dizzy, Lyre. Don't do that,"

Then, he's quiet. Then, he frowns, as he considers— realizes— something.

Lyre's eyes were never green.

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"Do you— can you show me?" Casper tilts his head. "Show me, what's wrong? Can you do that, Lyre?" He asks softly, softly. Careful not to— he doesn't know. Set him off?

Lyre freezes. There are— a few beats, a few distinct moments of hesitance. Then, clumsily, absently, Lyre tugs at the bottom of his shirt, both layers. Casper stiffens as he watches him do this, and he resists the urge to immediately look away, as flustered as he is. He gets the feeling this is important. Very important.

Slowly, Lyre begins to peel it off. As the cloth falls to the ground, he turns, showing his back to Casper. All the motions are clumsy, exhausted, not lucid— but perhaps just lucid enough. He points, and—

there, on his back

are enchantment runes.

Glowing, glowing softly in the dim nighttime light.

"Oh," Casper doesn't know what they say, but he knows what they look like— he remembers, runes. Vaguely.

Casper is quiet, very quiet, as he reaches out a hand. Hovering, misty, over the runes, with the clear intention of— he doesn't know. His hand just about nearly phases through.

Lyre would feel a slight chill run down his spine, at that. Casper withdraws immediately— he doesn't want to overstep, so soon. Not when Lyre's being so vulnerable.

"... Did. How did this, happen?" Casper asks quietly. "You didn't want this, did you?”

Lyre's head twists to look back at Casper and, despite the emptiness, the haunting backing of green to his pupils, he looks ... miserable. Lyre looks like he might actually just cry. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers.

One, audible word is murmured:

"Father ..."

"Your father?" Casper echoes, looking at Lyre when he twists back to face him and, oh— Casper looks distraught. "Your father— he did this, to you?"

He frowns, deeply. It doesn't clear up much, but— it says quite a lot, on its own, doesn't it? A father, a father is supposed to love you. To care for you, to raise you. To— love, you.

Casper quickly assumes that, whoever Lyre's father is, clearly didn't care for him at all.

There's a palpable silence.

"I'm so sorry," The ghost whispers. It's haunting— it sounds haunted.

It's about then, at Casper's apology, that Lyre crumples, to the floor. In complete anguish, covering his face with his hands. Lyre lets out a warped, distorted whine. He sounds distinctly like he might cry.

Absently, Lyre grabs for his shirt, and clutches it to his chest. He twists back around to face Casper, and then starts inching towards the ghost, across the floor. He stops at his feet— well, as much as he can, as the ghost is floating— and just kind of. Curls up there. As though that's his only solace.

Lyre shuts his eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks. Claws scratch against the floor. He grits his teeth.

"Oh, Lyre," Casper says pathetically, like he might cry, too. He doesn't, though— not when he needs to, needs to be there, for Lyre.

He drops to his fucking knees.

Casper feels— hopeless, as he watches Lyre cry. He can't— do anything. He can't touch him, he can't hold him, hug him, anything—

No, no. He's not allowed to feel hopeless. Not right now. Casper leans in, as close as he could physically get, for an intangible being.

"I'm here," He whispers. "I'm here.”

"Thank you," Lyre weakly says, and it's starting to sound a little more lucid. Vaguely, vaguely. "I ..." Lyre slurs the word, and the following too: "Don't want ... to hurt you ..." He whispers, and then the last strings of his lucidity, his consciousness, his waking world, give out. Slips through his fingers, like fine sand.

... To put it simply, Lyre passes out. At least he was already on the floor, and his chest rises and falls steadily, but he's fallen asleep with tears still rolling down his cheeks. Cried himself to sleep, practically.

I don't want to hurt you. It sticks in Casper's mind, it repeats like a broken record. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you.

What a haunting thing to hear.

Casper can tell he's slipping— and before he gets a chance to react, Lyre's out. Like a light. He practically slumps— and. It's a distressing sight. But, to some extent, Casper finds relief in the fact that he isn't actively suffering anymore.

God. How morbid.

The world goes silent. Casper doesn't even breathe— he doesn't need to. All he has, is the steady rising and falling of Lyre's chest. Like some sort of reassurance, to his ears. To his mind.

. . .

Casper lay down, next to him. He's not, he's not gonna leave his side now— absolutely not. He isn't going to sleep, either. Not like he ever does.

So, Casper stares up at the ceiling.

He has a feeling this will be a long night.