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What do Luxs do when they sleep?
Run.
The city isn't quite like Philly, though there's parts here and there that are almost the same. Familiar buildings, streets, signs--but it's meshed together with places in New York City as well. Maybe even places like The City they had escaped from--but they never linger on those places, just letting them blur past along with the rest. This city, their city, follows no rules of physics. The buildings weave together as a labyrinth, walls and roofs and windows available to run over vertically, horizontally, perpendicular--it creates an endless path that Lux can just... lose themself on.
This city is alive with light--all colors of the rainbow, brightly glowing from neon signs and lamp posts, or reflected from some unseen source on windows, refracting to shine every which way. Every color except green. Never viridian. Unless something is very, very wrong, at least.
Perhaps something is going horribly wrong, in that case. Because somewhere in all of that free running, somewhere amid all the leaps and rolls, kicks and sprints, it seems as though something has changed. Every so often Lux catches sight of themself, reflected in the windows, refracted from the rear windshields of cars they've passed by. And it's nothing. Pay it no mind, right?
Except eventually, somewhere along the way, insidious and uncertain in its origin, that reflection begins to change. Rather than a darkling's body emanating that pale yellow-green viridian glow, the opposite is true. A bright, central core of intractable light limned in rippling shadow. Leaving streaks of night as surely as Lux does light.
And the moment Lux's perceptions of the change reach their conscious mind-- or the part of their subconscious dealing with awareness, in any case --the reflection lifts a hand and waves at them. Just waiting for them to decide it's time to confront this oddity in themself and their dreamscape. The reflection is patient about it. Take your time.
Being a dream version of yourself is nice in the fact that you don't have to worry about getting tired or out of breath--at least not in a physical sense. They run, climb, leap, creating a blur of light and color all around them.
But the wave makes them stumble--almost enough that the dream shifts and they nearly misstep and go toppling. But their foot catches the edge of the roof and they continue sprinting forward. Maybe trying to outrun the shadow?
After a few minutes (or longer, who knows how dream-time really works), Lux realizes this thing isn't... going away. You can't run from everything, unfortunately. They finally slow to a stop, standing on the surface of a building's window. They stare down at the dark reflection, frowning. "Uh... Hi...?"
It's like looking through a mirror into bizzarro world. It's the spitting image of Lux, just everything sort of inside out. Reversed. Wrong. Light where they are dark, dark where they are light. But there's no malice to it, no malevolent intent, no sense of dread that might accompany the Mirror People. (Do mirror people have dreams? Do their mirror dreams intersect with our own? Discuss.)
"Hi," the reflection responds in Lux's own voice, sounding like it's coming through the end of a far away telephone, crackling into their consciousness slightly disconnected from the movement of the lips that should form the words. Like the sound technician is two frames off. "Didn't mean to alarm you, just wanted to get your attention. Are you running to something or away from something right now? Is this a bad time?"
Lux stares at their reflection cautiously. Having an intruder in your mind is never a good feeling--but they don't start to panic just yet. The reflection is being polite, at least...
"We're all kinda always running to or from something all the time, aren't we?" they reply cryptically, rubbing the back of their neck. "But no, not a bad time. Why are you... here?"
"That's a real interesting question, actually. Funny you should ask. I'm not sure what I am, only that I'm supposed to give you a message. Only it's not really a message. It's to make you realize something about yourself. If this were A Christmas Carol, I'm the ghosts of your old business partners warning you that you're in for a hell of a ride tonight, I guess." The reflection points, not really at Lux but at... the world outside the glass it's reflecting from. "Can I step out, do you mind? Being a two dimensional photonic interaction with glass inside of your head is really disorienting. I keep ceasing to be and starting to exist again, and it really wears down one's sense of self."
"...Oh... Okay..." Lux frowns, even more cautious--but they grimace and nod, waving a hand in invitation. "Uh, sure. Go ahead. Thanks for the... warning, I guess? Is something going to try to come in and fuck up my head?"
"Thank you," the figure responds genuinely before sort of ... crawling out of the glass. They punch a hand forward and sort of work it like an awl against the surface of the glass. It doesn't crack, but it ruptures somehow, allowing a very real seeming glowing green hand to pop out, rippling with shadow. The rest of the body follows by turns until the figure is sitting, slightly winded, on the trunk of the car Lux is using for a reflection.
"Something. Yes. But I think 'fuck with' is the wrong descriptor. I think the goal here is epiphany. Transcendence. Having to do with this." The figure gestures with their hand to the nearby storefront glass. It ceases reflecting the street scene and instead displays a familiar meme template.
Lux steps backwards as the figure punches their way out, staring at the glowing green body intently for several second before they blink rapidly, looking up to meet their eyes. "...Oh. Is this..." They pause to look over at the meme, then grimaces. "Ah... yeah. Okay. I wouldn't expect the Wyrd's forgiveness to be easy to earn."
"They Wyrd! That's it. I'm sorry. I've only existed intermittently for like the past sleep cycle you've had, here. I'm not altogether up on the lingo. It will probably help me to communicate with you better if you do more guessing like that along the way. I'm trying to figure this all out, myself." The figure offers out a hand for shaking, "Hi. I'm not you." Which is probably the only thing about themself they've been able to piece together so far, really. "Anyway. Yes. The Wyrd sent me. Or maybe is me. Wouldn't that be wild. You fucked up with that lover guy you lied to right in the face. Conflicting loyalties are typically the stuff of Greek tragedies and such. Are we Greek? Why do I know about Greek tragedy? What is Greek?" They shake their head. One thing at a time. "Was the meme helpful? I realize I'm not making much sense, but I've got reams of memes for you if that helped."
"O...kay..." Lux looks back at the shadow clone and squints, but then shrugs, seeming to decide to roll with it. They take their hand to shake. "Hi. I'm Lux. Uh... yeah, fuck, that'd be hella wild." They blink at them, eyes widening a bit. "Uh--nah, we're not Greek. But yeah, actually... it kinda did?" They grin, strained but lop-sided. This is too fucking weird to not grin. "Feel free to use more memes, if that helps you communicate. But yeah, I... fucked up really badly. Luckily my partner forgave me, but it's... you know." They wave a hand. "It's been shitty along the way. I'd like to fix this part of myself that's... broken."
"Yeah, about that." The figure gestures with their hand again, causing the grinning visage of Steve Rogers to be replaced with the gesturing hands of Rick Sanchez indicating what's behind the wallpaper.
"Are you absolutely sure we aren't Greek? Shakespearean, maybe?"
Lux blinks back at the window-meme as it changes, then grimaces again, looking uncomfortable at the memory. Their arms cross over their chest. "...Tropes surpass Race and Nationality, right?" They look back towards the figure, frowning. "What--are you saying me getting stabbed was part of me... punishment?"
The mirror image of Lux seems as confused and frustrated by the meme as Lux themself. They scratch a fingernail at their forehead and scrunch of their nose, staring at the meme as though trying to derive context from the spontaneous creation of an idea and an image the being itself has never properly experienced. "That sounds right. Sort of. We are our own worst enemies, I've heard. Though I don't know who from. Or how. Or with what. Point being, that resonates with me. Don't get me wrong the Wyrd is really mad at you for thinking it wouldn't notice your lying. Of course, the Wyrd also likes Them. Thinks they're great, orderly beings. And to an extent they are, I suppose. But... yeah! Here is the thought I was after: Bridgeburners are the enemies of the Wyrd, and the Wyrd used them to punish you. You bled and suffered and were terrified and in fear for the life of the one you betrayed. But how do you apologize to an abstract concept of omnipotent fortune and omnipresent promise enforcement? What does that even look like when you're a semi-sapient meme lord and slash or whatever you are. Are you a meme lord? Because you look like a mixed media artist with a running problem." They touch their chest lightly, "Not trying to offend. Just one manifestation of your subconscious to another, here."
Lux stares anywhere but them, for a bit--listening as their eyes wander and their feet tap restlessly. Growing more uncomfortable, the urge to just keep running rising. But instead they just sway in place idly, arms still tightly crossed. "Yeah, well, the Wyrd sounds like a real bitch. No offense, if you do end up being a part of the Wyrd." They stare at a distance lamp light that flickers on and off, before letting out a heavy sigh. "I guess I kinda deserved it though, huh? Is this what this is about? Me realizing I deserved it?"
They glance back at the shadow. "Yeah, I like art. Street art, mixed media. Definitely enjoy memes, so, you know--this isn't too surprising. Glad to know my subconscious has a sense of humor, at least." They hesitate. "No, I have... no idea how to apologize to an abstract concept of the omnipotent fortune and omnipresent promise enforcement. If it likes Them then--wait, no, I'm not helping Them but... Fuck. Uh." They glance upwards, nose wrinkling with frustration. "Okay. Okay okay. So the Wyrd likes order. What if I made myself more... Orderly." Their arms uncross to gesture around at the vast chaotic labyrinthine city of light that is anything but orderly. "To show I'm worry."
"It likes what they are, if nothing else," Not Lux tries to explain to the best of its ability, "the order, yes. The Wyrd likes them and hobs and all the stuff of Faerie because there are rules and the rules are followed. It doesn't care about these concepts we cleave to like justice and love and loyalty and trust and faith and wonder and hope and growth. It cares that what is intended to happen is what ends up happening. It will bend the world around to make you happy, it will rewire the dreams of a million souls because you ask it to. All it asks of us-- all it ever asked of you was that you keep your promises. That's it. And that was too much for you. So by this single metric about which the Wyrd seems to value people, you are literally worse than a member of the Gentry. Put another way?"
The figure gestures to the glass. Rick Sanchez is replaced by the Distracted Boyfriend.
Lux looks back to the window, face falling. Their jaw rocks a moment before pointed looking away again. "...Okay. I get it. But I--I can't exactly promise that I'll never break a promise again, can I? That's not really... how it works, right?" Their foot taps faster against the ground. "Do I need to... fuck, I dunno--sacrifice something? To prove myself?"
"Yeah, I don't think it's going to want to hear you promise not to break another promise having broken a promise you promised to keep. That would be weird, I agree." Not Lux slides down off the trunk and onto their feet, bouncing in place with Lux's own nervous energy. "Yeah! That's a great idea, actually! So you promised not to lie to the cute boy, right? And the cute boy sealed your promise? And you could have totally just slipped right out of that collar, but you didn't. And then broke the promise you made. So. What would be a fitting sacrifice to appease the Wyrd for having the audacity to lie to maintain your court and your romantic relationship with the aforesaid cute boy?" Not Lux cups their chin and drums their fingers over their glowing green cheek. The glass just changes this time, no gesture from Not Lux.
Lux groans this time as the meme changes, hand lifting to rub over their face. "If you're suggesting I give up my feelings for Mearcstapa, I... don't know if I can do that." A beat pause. "But no--it wouldn't want that, would it?" Their brows crease tightly as they frown, puzzling it out. "I broke the promise to him, surely it'd just be more offended if I broke him off completely?" Another pause. "So something tied to Winter, then...?"
"...But if I gave up Winter, I'd be fucking up my oath to Winter, which isn't good either..." They frown deeper, looking back to the shadow. "Right?"
"Don't look at me. I'm just the Jacob Marley, here. Speaking of which, I should get going." The Not Lux rises to their full height and assumes a decorous pose. Prose voice is assumed, mimicking the state theatrics of the late 19th century. "You will be visited this night by..." The Not Lux checks their watch, "Eesh." Clearing their throat they continue, "As many as THREE spirits! By number three, hopefully you will have figured out an answer for yourself, as being your conscience is really tiring and disorienting." Not Lux offers Lux a dap of the knuckles. "The first one will be along presently... pastly... futurely... Fuck. They'll be along." The figure flips up their hoodie, pops in their ear buds, and flashes the deuces. "You good?"
With a little reluctance, Lux returns the fist bump. It's lackluster, their attention focused on the warning and puzzle ahead. "Yeah... I'm good," they reply, nodding to them. "Thanks for the advice."
They turn back to stare at the new meme, then runs hands over their head, looking around uncertainly.
"Sorry I couldn't have been of more help! I only know what you know, you know? Well, of course you know, you're me." Not Lux gives a chin up and takes off at a run, leaving a streak of shadow behind them, streaking off into Lux's sleeping mind.
There's a brief interlude where Lux rises out of REM sleep, the dream ceasing briefly, only for them to submerge again into a proper dream state. The same sequence, the same cityscape, the same results. Only this time, it's Marjorie. And she's not in the glass, she just steps out from around a blind corner, directly in front of Lux's trajectory. And rather than shrieking in surprise or screaming a warning, she scowls in accusation. "You seriously suggested giving up your court? Really?"
Lux's eyes go wide, skid-sliding to a stop. They at least have the decency to look properly mortified at the accusation, stepping back from the small figure. "I was just thinking out loud! About what the Wyrd wanted--not what I wanted, or what I'd do," they defend themself quickly, frowning.
"What do you want, Lux?" This has all the trappings of Marjorie, but not of her reserve and decorum. More like a mother scolding their favorite child than the reserved regent of the Winter court. "Here I am. The manifestation of the promise you bothered to keep. The one you valued more than your promise to the cute boy." She gestures up and down at herself indicatively. Drink it in. "Let's talk it through. Tenebris had no idea who the hell they even were. Maybe I can be of more assistance. Was breaking the promise deliberate, or did you just forget? Let's start there."
The scolding certainly has an effect on Lux--but it's Lux's brain manifesting this version of Marjorie, so that makes sense. Their shoulders slump, looking away from the fake Queen.
"...No. It wasn't deliberate. It was--I just got caught up in the moment and was panicking. Panicking about people finding out about Robin. I mean--it was in a fucking group chat, it wasn't like I was standing there looking Mearcstapa in the eye. So I--" they cut themself off, then sigh heavily. "Yeah, I forgot."
"Does this mean you are more loyal to your court than to your heart? That you think about us and the work we do before you consider the impact it will have on those you love? Because that's what it takes to make it in this court, Lux. Sometimes you have to snatch your heart closed like a vault door and order everyone to murder your best friend. Because they've betrayed you and everything you've worked for. Because it's what the freehold requires-- what our people require to survive. Sometimes we can only arrive at the right ends through the use of the wrong means. And our critics will point out the moral turpitude in such expedience. So you need to decide if you're standing on the side of the critics decrying your moral turpitude, or if you're on the side of your court in seeing the necessity of keeping our secrets. Not that you actually achieved that by lying to Mearcstapa. But that was your intent. You apologized, I heard. And he accepted, I heard. But does that mean you'd make a different decision in similar circumstances? In which case are you truly sorry? Or is your oath to us as fly by night as your promises to him?"
Jake Marley Not Lux's face appears in the window, gesturing aside at a newly forming meme:
The window gets a brief, dry stare. You're not helping, it says. But then they turn back to regard Marjorie, lips pursing as they consider her words.
"I had every intention to keep both promises." Lux shakes their head. "I wasn't going to lie to Mearcstapa. My plan was to--just avoid it, if possible, and if it wasn't possible then to tell him that I can't tell him instead of lying to him. Which--technically does keep both promises."
"But I realize, in the context you're trying to put forth to me... that maybe that doesn't matter. It has to be one side of the other, right?" Their head droops a bit, staring down at the ground. "So I guess the answer is... I'm on the side of my court, because I would have twisted my promise to Mearcstapa to technically not break it but--in spirit, still choosing the secrecy of my Court."
"But I am sorry. I'm not sorry that I tried to keep it from him, but I'm sorry that I... didn't think things through. That I wasn't more respectful to the Wyrd and those I promised to."
Not Marjorie seems dubious on this point, folding up her arms in a pose of school marm sass. She shakes her head just a hair, but the answer seems to have mollified her Karen-style outrage. "So now you know where your priorities align. That's a start. Would you say this is an accurate characterization of this entire business with Robin and your investigation?" She begins to turn and gesture at the window. Before she does so Not Lux gets wide eyes and ducks out of the reflection. Their hand reaches up to tug the last meme down with them a split second later.
"........Yeah. That's legit. I mean, the iron knife in my shoulder was pretty good evidence that she was a traitor." They idly rub the spot where the wound had been.
The Manifestation of Marjorie looks a bit awkward in that moment. She breaks character and leans in towards Lux confiding, "I was honestly expecting a lot more push back on your part, but you seem to be really good with emotional honesty and personal growth, which is really quite a positive trait. But the Ghost of Promises Past isn't really read to see you yet, and I have completely failed to work in a 'know me better, man' reference. This is in large part due to the fact that you could read that as misgendering, and the Wyrd says Trans Rights. If you receive a feedback form for this visitation, can you rate me all fives? I'd appreciate it."
She straightens back up and resumes her imperious gaze right down her nose at Lux. Back into character. "Very well, then. You have reconciled yourself to your present and have determined your course moving forward. I wish you well in your attempt. There will be other spirits yet, Lux! And they may not be as pleasant as I was."
She breaks character again and assures them, "Honestly, you were great. Good job." And then she turns to begin walking off. Not Lux's head peers up over the bottom of the window sill, even though they're just a two dimensional reflection. They flash a hasty thumbs up.
Their shoulders lift helplessly. "I've had a while to think this over, you know? At first... yeah, I was pissed at you. If you asked me this before you went into a coma, I probably would've... just yelled at you and told you to fuck off. But--being inside your head kinda gives you perspective, I guess. Not that you're really her, you're inside my head--but fuck, you know what I mean."
Their mouth opens, then closes, looking uncertain at the breaks in character and praise. "...Thanks, I guess...?" They watch her go, then looks back towards the window and mirrors the thumbs up.
Not Lux's voice is staticky and out of sync again, but that's to be expected. They're back to being a reflection, after all. "I think... I think this is maybe about deciding what you'll do in the future. And reconciling it with your past, and all that. You seem to have your priorities sorted. To be honest with you? I only saw the Muppet Christmas Carol, and mostly I just payed attention to the parts with Rizzo in it. So if this is all messed up, I'm blaming you." Not Lux then points down the street, where the lights are winking out and shadows are slowly gathering. "Heads up. You got this. Keep doing what you're doing." Not Lux ducks back out of view, though their head peers up now and again as though they can't help themselves but to spy.
Meanwhile the shadows grow closer and closer.
"I mean--who the fuck can blame you? Rizzo is the best part," Lux replies, rubbing the back of their neck now. "Makes sense... Yeah. Yeah, I got this." They stare out towards the growing darkness, frowning grimly. But they drop their hand and start walking forward towards the approaching shadows.
Not Lux's head pops up to give a confirmatory nod of the head and a lifted hand followed by a verbal, "Right, though? Rizzo is the best rat-- fuck. I'll be back." They duck back out of sight as the shadows loom closer, their ominous and ill portent undermined quite drastically by Not Lux's flippancy.
Still, out of the shadow steps, perhaps predictably, an image of Lux that is not Lux at all. All shadow. Jet black skin, haloed in shadow and darkness. Dark eyes that somehow manage to both glow and be shadow all at the same time. They say nothing, they simply stare at Lux impassively.
Lux frowns at this new figure, instantly put off by the thought of themself void of all light. They start to fidget again, shifting weight between their legs. But they can't run.
"So you're the... ghost of promises... present? Or future?"
The figure shakes their head to the first question, nodding in the affirmative to the second. The sense one gets from this particular apparition, however, is quite different from the others. They may have been eidolons in their own right, but this one is something else entirely. There is certainly a sense of otherworldly power to the being absent any sort of general malice.
Not Lux's head peers up carefully and mouths: TELL. IT. WHAT. YOU. PLAN. TO. DO. THINK. IT. THROUGH. THOUGH. STUPID.
This is followed by them ticking their head towards the newest meme.
The otherworldly power radiating from this thing is clearly unnerving as fuck. Lux frowns, shoulders hunched nervously, defensive, practically bouncing up and down from the urge to run away. But they don't.
There's silence for... a while. As they think, plan, second guess, plan again. They grow increasingly anxious under the weight of the stare and their own uncertainty of what is the right answer.
The shadowy spirit slowly tilts its head to the side as it watches Lux watching it watching them. There's patience there. Unfathomable patience. The patience of the centuries. Its mouth slowly opens, and a sound like a cold wind through a crypt washes through Lux's mind.
It's not words, really. It's images. Memories of every moment in their life where they hesitated, or on the contrary didn't hesitate and acted impulsively. Every time they've regretted haste and impetuousness. Every time they second guessed themselves and felt shame for not acting. The absence of the middle ground is telling, perhaps. No one knows a person the way they know themselves, and the self is being merciless at the moment.
Choices matter. Choices must be made with deliberation and forethought. But they must be made.
And Not Lux, now visible head and shoulders in the window, tosses up a second meme adjacent to the first:
"I..." How the fuck does your mouth become so dry in a dream? Their hands are shaking at their sides, rubbing their palms over their sides nervously. "I'm going to make rings for Mearcstapa, Jack, and I to wear," they finally blurt out, blinking rapidly. Because really, it's the only thing their mind keeps coming back around to. "I'm going to swear a motley oath with them, and--with others, if they will have us. I'm going to... I'm gonna ask them to marry me, some day. But the rings are--they're gonna be soon. And I--fuck, yeah, I guess they're gonna be engagement rings, huh?" Lux rocks on their heels, puffing out a heavy breath. "I'm going to give them the ultimate oath of love and trust because... I know we'll be okay now. I know we don't need frivolous promises to hold ourselves together. We're beyond that. I still choose my Court--I choose our secrets--and I can do that because I know they love me anyway. And I believe they will say yes, knowing that I would put my Court first, trusting me to do what's best, accepting that--accepting me."
The voice sounds like a raspy cough strained through a wailing wind.
"And you will keep this promise. With intention and forethought. As you will for Marjorie. As you will for your Freehold. You will not take it for granted as you have me. You will behave as though you deserve our mercy. Is this what you are saying to us."
They are questions, but they are 'spoken' with such lack of affect that to give them any other punctuation would be to overstate the matter. Lux knows they are being questioned because they know they are questions in their molars and toes. Not because of any effort at emotional inflection on the part of the spirit.
Lux blinks rapidly as their eyes shimmer with tears, managing to look up to stare at the terrifyingly dark figure. "Yeah," they agree softly. "That's what I'm saying to you."
The horrifying creature slowly reaches out a hand towards Lux, the rippling shadow and darkness driving back Lux's own ambient light where it fights its way out from under their clothing. That heavy, cold hand comes to rest on their shoulder and offers a surprisingly tender squeeze.
"I believe you now as I believed you then. You broke my heart when you broke your promise. But I forgive you." And then those dark eyes change. They become two specks of bright green light. Bright. Green. Mesmerizing light. That light that so entrances Lux. That light that can hold them spellbound.
And then, a moment later, the spirit is somehow holding a knife which is buried into Lux's shoulder, all iron and angry, though the spirit's expression has not shifted one bit.
"Keep it this time. For there are so many more where she came from. And they all answer to me, too."
The figure slowly twists the knife and leans in closer to whisper, "Once, Lux. Once. That's all the forgiveness I have for you. Do not. Fuck with me. A second time."
The pain is searing. Just as Lux remembers it from the first bite of that blade. The pain sends them catapulting out of their dream and waking to their own room where the lights of a passing car cast a green-yellow glow off the ceiling, and an object on the windowsill casts a strange, humanoid shadow on the ceiling. But with the sound of the car fading away, so fades the light, leaving only the wind howling outside their window, angry. Impotent. And for the moment, contained on the other side of the glass.
Lux's eyes widen, their eyes turning green to reflect the light back. Or is it truly a reflection, or their own true color shining through? Either way, they stare, entranced, not even flinching when touched.
Then comes the pain, snapping them out of it. They scream, crumpling forward to curl around the wound, hands gripping at the Wyrd's wrists to helplessly try to pull the knife out--or at least keep it from twisting more. But strength has never been their... heh, strength, and really who could overpower the Wyrd its self?
They don't manage to get any words out, just a pained whimper that is desperate and pleading.
They wake up screaming, wrestling with the sheets against the shadow and howl, twisting away as if someone were standing over their bed. It takes several seconds before they calm, but even then their breath comes heavy and quick, staring wide-eyed at the window.
They see their own reflection looking back. The shivering of the trees in the wind. The street. The city. This city. Not that City. The reflection doesn't wave. It has no helpful advice in meme format. Just the waking now, the promise made, and the sense of forgiveness.
But nothing in the world like forgetting.
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