#also its his birthday ToT im sorry king but i made a piece for care i need to make smth for you too and this is what i came up with

[fiendishartist2]

how was the view from the shelf- petscop

The girl with no eyebrows stared back at him.

Red pupils swimming in wide eyes, stark against ashen skin. The flash turned her into a ghost, haloed in white light against the black walls. Her mouth fell agape– whether mid-scream or mid-sentence, Paul didn’t know.

He looked left, tracing the girl’s wide eyes in another photo. She was surrounded by other, more recognisable faces. Taken during Christmas, it looked like, judging by the limp tree lurking in the corner. That was one of the only days of the year Paul remembered visiting The Family, so he scanned the picture for himself.

Jill, arms crossed as to not hold hands with the miserably dull man at her side. Mike, halfway perched on his mother’s lap and grinning up at his brother. Anna and another man, smiling sensibly at the camera and loosely wrapped around each other. Paul glossed over them– it made him a little uncomfortable to see the restraint on their faces. But there, burning a hole in the middle of a mundane family photo, was the girl with no eyebrows.

She was impossibly small, curled against Anna. Her nose was buried in the side of Anna’s stomach, Anna’s arm wrapped around her in turn. Wide eyes behind unkempt bangs peeked at the camera.

Paul had seen these photos over and over again throughout his childhood; they stopped visiting Anna while he was in high school, but Lina tried her best to keep in touch. They still came over for the occasional Christmas, up until he found the game. He knew what each photo contained, when they were taken, who was in them.

She haunted every single one.

Peering over Belle’s shoulder as she did a puzzle for the girl; Anna gave him that puzzle for his birthday, despite him asking for a radio. He couldn’t figure out how the pieces all fit together, so he had to ask Belle to help him. Eventually, she took over and Paul was content to watch his best friend play with his birthday present.

Standing at the edge of a picture, watching Mike and Belle play in the yard; Paul was a shy kid, never wanting to step on anyone’s toes. Even when Anna arranged play-dates at home, Paul would just trail behind his friends while they had fun.

Swaddled in Anna’s arms; Anna was always sentimental, before she became as overbearing as she was now. Paul didn’t actually know much about his parents, but he remembered Anna’s choking hugs. The way his voice muffled against her stuffy cardigans. He cleared his throat.

Paul could place himself in each and every photo hung on the wall and yet.

And yet the girl with no eyebrows was always in his place.

The longer he stared at her, the further he drifted off kilter. Degree by degree, Paul’s sense of reality warped; the photos on the wall were washed away by a swirling sea of black.

How could he know what was real anymore? Rainer cast a spell to change his past. And now the game was invading his life, mangling every part of him until he didn’t fit. Deforming his face until there was nothing left to recognise. Twisting his memories until all that’s left was her.

Would she be there when Paul’s vision cleared?

Would his face replace hers, just as she has done to him?

Would he look in the mirror and see a clear picture again?

Those eyes, that nose; would it be Paul or the girl with no eyebrows looking back at him?

Everything was so blurry– where are his glasses? She doesn’t wear glasses, she’s blind.

Paul needed to get back to the game, but he can’t go back to that room. It’s not his room. It’s not his room. He has a room– this was his childhood home– but that wasn’t his room. She didn’t live here and she’s not in the family photos because she’s not real. Carrie Mark is not real.

You are Carrie Mark.

You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark. You are Carrie Mark.

Rainer wants you to retrace your steps. Her steps. Her steps, not yours. You don’t have a room.

Paul gasped, breathing deeply as water filled his lungs. He’s drowning, drenched head to toe and shivering. It’s so cold. But he can’t stop. He has to keep going, keep running, he has to get home, he has to get home, he just needs to get home.

Left. Left. Right. Left.

He placed one hand on the wall, supporting himself as he leaned over. He’s been running for so long, he’s out of breath. Ragged breaths drawn out of a mouth wide open, a scream caught by the flash of a camera. The blinding hallway light haloed him against a black wall, exposing pale skin. He’s swaying on his feet. He’s been running for so long.

Paul blinked, lifting his head enough to see the photos again.

She’s looking right at him.

He blinked again.

He’s looking right at him.

Here’s a puzzle: the child in the photo wore the face of the girl with no eyebrows, and then the face of Paul Leskowitz. The image of Paul’s childhood did not change. What happened?

Nausea bloomed in Paul’s stomach.

He should finish that game.