This door called to him as the others, blue, gold, had not. It whispered painfully of things that had come before, memories, of the end of things. He saw his past reflected in the cool green of the wooden panes and he saw his future in those same panes and it was hideous. Dazs knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was infected, he was infection. "I don't wanna die," he whimpered, knowing there was no other choice. Dazs could only hope that somehow he would not find his mother here, not see his brother. If he died, he needed it to be alone, to be the only one, to.... He twisted the knob.
It was his sixteenth birthday, and Haagendazs St. Pierre was going to die.
It was his sixteenth birthday and they were alive. Perhaps, maybe, once upon a time there was a boy with a name that sounded like ice cream. It didn't matter now, there was only
them and their legacy, the infection that would spread like an underground fungus network. The individuals had only been spores, unimportant, unneeded.
No, no, no he was not this, he was not them. Dazs struggled to breathe, fighting his way out of a green labyrinth. Then, he realized, he did not need to breathe. Dazs moved, stretched, took a breath, and realized he was nothing. There was no body to him, and he panicked. Darting forward (or did he flow forward, it was unclear how he moved), he gathered vines and they pressed themselves into his legs, around his arms, giving Dazs form. It was a little different from his previous self, but it would have to do. It moved close to the ground, like a panther, vines uncurling to form a tail. It would have to do, he thought a little hysterically. Dazs had no choice.
As he moved, he passed by others: humans, animals, fantastical creatures. They had all been flesh once. He was too afraid to call out and find his family here, so he remained silent. A face flashed between the vines and he reached out with paws that moved, shifted to fingers to help him grasp. Dazs knew this face. This was the boy who'd driven him away, who had carried him so gently. Dazs frowned. He did not belong here; his flesh was not right. With a sigh that contained no air (despite his coaxing, the vines would not give him lungs), he lifted Horace out of the vines and placed him on his back.
Down and down and down. Dazs padded softly along too many flights of stairs to count. Horace was heavy on his back, but it was a breathing, warm sort of heavy. Dazs decided it wasn't so awful after all. At the very bottom of the stair they waited for Horace, and Dazs gave them their comrade back, shrinking from the light. It was too clean, too uninfected for him to go outside. With a sad dip of his head, he retreated back from the world he had lived in before. There was so much to miss. Like mac n' cheese.
He wandered the hallways of the tower, a lonely figure dressed in vines. And as he wandered, he hummed a little bit, one of the remaining pieces of his individuality.
"
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me..."
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