Relapse (Scene)

[Vespyr]

Vespyr’s footsteps were not the only ones echoing in the hallway of Scene’s mansion; others strode by her carrying bags and belongings, their faces expressionless. A sort of exodus was going on, or so it appeared—but Vespyr continued in the opposite direction of the Movement members, her eyes narrowed in curiosity as she made her way to Scene’s chambers.

It had been several months since they last spoke; Vespyr had deserted the crew, angry with their leader, determined that she was finished with them for good. For good this time, she continued to tell herself as she walked down the hall, her shoulders and spine confidently poised, her long black coat wafting behind her as a cold breeze pushed through the corridor. It picked up strands of her straight blond hair, lifting them away from her eyes which glinted in the half-light. She wasn’t in a terrible mood, but her gaze was stern and cold nonetheless; it was always that way, it seemed. Not an ounce of warmth was ever in those violet eyes, even when she was happy.

I ought to go far away from here, she muttered inwardly as she ascended a staircase with a cat’s agility. Her heart was somewhat excited for some reason, beating at a heightened state. It was just the place—being here had always made her a little jumpy, especially when… she was around Scene. She wondered what he had been up to these past few months, without her. She had expected he would come find her, to pester her somehow when she took her hiatus, but he had not. There had been no contact—and if she had been being watched, she didn’t know it. This she took as a good sign; perhaps he was done with her. He didn’t want her anymore and would let her go.

Such negative-sounding thoughts were in actuality optimistic for the girl, who had over the past year felt oppressed by the man she was about to confront. There had been feelings for him, yes… at times. They came and went, and sometime she was satisfied with the strange sort of relationship they had—but not now. She yearned to get away from this place, with all its good and bad memories. The past haunted her, and it was bittersweet. But despite it all, she just wanted to leave it behind.

Her hand rested inches from the door handle, hesitating whether to simply walk in or knock first. Her fingers curler in and she prepared to rap her knuckles on the door now, but changed her mind again, turned the handle, and entered the room with a placid expression on her face.

[Scene]

A note would be resting on a table in the middle of the now empty room. Next to the note was a semi-large box. The note read as follows.

Vespyr.
I wish i could have been there, to see you off. Movement and i will miss you.

If you haven't heard by now, I am closing down the Mansion. I have come to a realization in the last few days- that sometimes, things that need changing can't be handled through one path alone. Believe it or not, you were my inspiration for that. Our most recent conversations have been rather...drab. They have taught me that a fundamentally flawed person has inhabited my sense of self. I have...whats the word? Changed. In a drastic way. Remembering the way i conducted business, conducted action, and formed events has caused me to re-evaluate the entirety of Movements actions. Of course, though this means nothing to you now, it may in the future.

You see, in order to adequately show the forming of my new self, i must re-create my image.

In this box is my image. My mask. I have removed it and myself from the group as a whole. I give it to you now with a desire- a wish. You have no obligation to fulfill this desire for me, just as you now have no obligation to continue any sort of involvement in the Group known as Movement. Im absolving you of all ties that hold you to me.

You are free.

However- in order to continue the work that i have set out accomplishing, i must have a working organization at my fingertips to run from afar. A physical leader is much more...inspiring, and so i have left this mask for you. Put it on, and wear the flag. I will continue to give orders through letters and phone, should you do this. Note that this mask has a power, a sense of its own. People can become drunk with its ability to move the masses. Should you place it on your head, you will do it all on your own, freely. I do not force you into this. Ron, my third, will take over should you decide it would be in your best interest to discontinue associating with us.

Know that if you stay on this path, you will see that things with Movement, its actions, and with me, have and are changing. I hope this letter can help express my sincerest apologies for the way you have been treated. I have been somewhat...over-eager regarding you, which in truth disgusts me just as much as it does you.

Think well on this, Vespyr. If you stay...if you put on this mask. Well. Things will change for you forever.

~With the highest Regards

Scene

[Vespyr]

Her eyes scanned the empty room and rested at last on the table. She approached with caution, a puzzled look on her face; it was as if he had known she would come. Her hands carefully unfolded the note, and she began to read.

At the mentioning of the mask, her heart gave a slight leap and her eyes darted to the box, but she patiently finished reading the note. All the while, her mind was reeling—the contents of that box, no—there was no way… but as she opened it, her sense of reality was all but lost for a moment. There, just as the note had said, was the mask. But it wasn’t a mask—it was Scene’s face. It was all she had ever known him to be, all she had ever seen, and now it was empty like a dead body; without spirit and without life. She shivered where she stood, nibbling at her fingernail in contemplation. She did not touch the thing or remove it from the box, merely staring into the empty eye sockets and trying to overcome the fact that Scene wasn’t there. It was… surreal. Hard to imagine that she was staring right at his face, only it wasn’t his face anymore. She began to wonder about what it all meant, to have an identity—if suddenly she had a different face, would she be the same? Was he still the same?

But of course. She shook her head a little, shaking the thoughts away and coming back to her senses. She was still slightly unnerved so she put the paper in the box with the mask and closed it, holding it carefully; it had an important sort of weight to it, she thought to herself as she left the room, her eyes darting down the hallway suspiciously. Suddenly she felt less confident—she felt like she was being watched. As she walked briskly down the hall, she couldn’t help but feel a bit paranoid. Of what? I don’t even know. I need to get out of here.

The box felt a little heavier with each step as she walked home, but she barely noticed it.