'Elias' watched the tear-inducing scene develop in front of him.
It was almost beautiful, seeing it all come together. It was also eerie.
"Deja vu," that's what the folks in the luminous city call it. The phenomenon was typically described as a resurfacing of feelings from the past.
Right now, he couldn't disagree. The sight had indeed resurfaced some feelings.
Guilt, spite, and a terrible feeling of sickness.
"The weight of sins."
Someone once told him that's what it was—the weight of your sins.
Watching the two act so familiar, those were the only feelings that came up.
Of course, he should be happy. His love was so patient, and it finally paid off.
So he was—he was happy. A smile was plastered over his face, nearly reaching his eyes.
It was boring, really. He had to wait for his self to finish the conversation for his plans to continue.
It was so bizarre. But was it really? Three of himself were in the same house. One was a fool, another was too useless to follow instructions correctly, and then there was himself.
Still, that man was more intelligent than he thought. Making a deal.
As soon as he said deal, his eyes drifted toward the dealer, narrowing while doing so.
['Elias'] "You seem to be different this time around."
His narrowed gaze was veiled in suspicion. 'Elias' hated the dealer.
For some reason he couldn't explain, the dealer felt different.
Each day, the dream regressed in time. Before, it was only a day; now it was close to turning into a week.
Luckily, he knew the way out. No matter what, the clear condition was the same.
Muffled words came from behind Claire's door; sometimes a sob slipped through, maybe even a laugh.
'Elias' hoped the conversation would end quickly, but it didn't seem anywhere near over.
The prolonged talk drew a sigh from 'Elias'. Well, at least something relative to a sigh—'Elias' had no body in this world, meaning he had no lungs to produce a sigh.
Soon, he was going to get out of this dream. All he needed was Claire's assistance.
If it were up to him, he would go talk to Claire. With her supernatural "Elias-sensor," it would make sense for her to see and hear him.
But only Elias could see him. The reason was simple: they were both ghosts. Elias was a ghost, but 'Elias' was more fitted to be called something relative to a shadowman.
Although you could sense his presence in the weight of the room or the depth of shadows, you couldn't actually see him.
Unless you exist in your own brain, then your past self might be able to spot you—but who knows? Maybe it was a fluke for him.
Regardless, his incompetent but useful past self was able to compensate for this flaw. With a body to accompany him, he was finally able to interact with the world.
It wasn't like he could before anyway—not since he was stuck in that crystal.
Luckily, the fool snoring on the couch was able to release 'Elias,' allowing his plan to advance.
['Elias'] "The one thing you've done right."
If he had lips, if he had breath, he would have spat on 'the dealer' a hundred times over. It was a stupid name that tarnished his past. It felt like a mockery of what he once was: 'Elias,' reduced to a thief.
But 'Elias,' at least the empty shell he puppeted, had no right to judge.
Neither of them did.
Even if he were capable, it would still be hard.
A king must value his pieces; even pawns defend a king from Checkmate. A pawn must value his king—the piece they were born to protect.
Soon, he drifted across the room without moving. He was less than a person; he was better than a person. The shell he wore was tethered and stitched carefully to his soul, so every move took effort to keep it tight.
The dream world distorted his body; if he weren't careful, 'Elias' would mess up.
Doubts surged, but they were banished sooner than they arrived. He wasn't able to doubt now.
He needed Elias to believe that he was in control—that he had the better deck.
He needed Elias to be complacent.
He needed Elias to be unaware.
Every lie required patience. Unfortunately, he was running out of time.
The risk of bringing Elias to Claire ran high. After meeting her, the chances of betrayal were guaranteed.
But have you ever heard that quote? "The greatest prison is the one where a prisoner doesn't know he's imprisoned."
The illusion of freedom, of will. The contrast made him laugh.
'Elias' scanned the blurred edges of the room—a peeling wallpaper, half-open blinds, a chipped table leg that somehow always stayed there, untouched. It wasn't real; Elias himself had regarded this place as a dream many times. Yet, it was the closest thing to home. The dream was a stage—his territory.
Sure, it was a stage where he was chained, but he could still run. The added weight would always serve as a burden, but he could adapt. He always did.
The two imbeciles around him were lesser versions of himself, so at all times, he felt secure.
He shot another glance at the dealer. The name invoked a snicker from 'Elias.' The dealer slept there; he breathed steadily, his chest rose and fell naturally.
It was good; he would stay oblivious of what happened tonight. Still, the fact was that this man was who he had become after his memories were taken—an insult.
If he had lungs, 'Elias' would sigh.
If he had hands, 'Elias' would most definitely strangle him.
No matter how far he reached his hands out, though, they always passed through his throat.
He hovered around the couch, watching the dealer's eyelids twitch while sleeping. A dream within a dream—ironic. He continued watching, judging his blissfulness.
Nobody knew of his existence in this house, aside from Elias. So almost everything he did came without consequence.
Nobody was scary.
Whatever it was, it kept trying to pull off his shell.
'Nobody' was a mystery that, even after his years of experience, remained unknown. Souls didn't belong in dreams; it wasn't because they weren't allowed. Any soul could come with their body in a dream.
Souls have a conscience too, though. Nobody would devour the soul, and it would do anything to get to it.
Although he wished for hands to strangle the dealer, he never necessarily wanted to exist physically.
Now, he felt as though his control over his shell was slipping. He had overstayed his welcome trying to persuade Elias.
The words from behind the door stopped; finally, the discussion was over.
When it was, though, 'Elias' noticed something that made him flinch.
['Elias'] "A fool I called you?"
The constant mockery turned back to bite him. On the couch, the dealer lay there with a grin, eyes only slightly opened.
A miscalculation.
['Elias'] "Is he the fracture this time?"
The question came out as a whisper. A whisper of disbelief, of all people, it was him?
The dealer had been awake the whole time.