[well. as they go tumbling to the ground and everything gets split apart, his first instinct is to pull her further away from the edge so she doesn't fall in.]
[He can do that, though meanwhile, the mist is still here—and more monsters come flying from the chasm. They might be familiar to Arthur, as creatures of all kinds like those from myths and storybooks.
Though it doesn't seem he needs to fight them alone, as cakes start raining from the sky. Giant flaming cakes, setting the monsters on fire as they make impact, along with bowling balls that drop on their heads. None of them come close to where Arthur and Opal are, however.
As this happens, Opal sandwiches Arthur's face between her hands, her expression and tone deadly serious.]
I'm not Opal, so don't worry about me, okay? I can fight, but we don't have to! You don't have to. Stop tormenting yourself, Arthur Starling. If you have regrets, wake up and carry them, even if they're heavy. Don't you still have unfinished business?
[He does have regrets, doesn't he? So many of them—so many failures, so many things to feel guilty over. But at least here, remaining in this prison, he can be haunted by what's familiar.
Does he want to confront any unfinished business he has left, knowing it might only add to the wounds that cover his body and heart?]
[he's confused, but there's more important things going on here. some of them are cakes and bowling balls but some of them are also deep existential queries.
...well. it's not a secret that others matter more to him than himself. he's been wounded enough to try and keep other people safe, so it's an easy choice.
[Opal peers down the chasm, and if Arthur chooses to do the same—he'll see that, past the monsters trying to fly out and getting dunked by flaming cakes and bowling balls, a blue flame burns down there.
Despite what his instincts might tell him, he will know, somehow, that that's where he should go; to jump, alongside Opal. Speaking of which, she goes to the edge, holding her hand out to him.]
I'm sorry. I know that it hurts and it's really hard and lonely... But I'll hold your hand, okay? I won't let go until you're wide awake. Are you ready?
[Opal gives Arthur's hand a little squeeze, and then into the fire they go! The flames only lick gently at his skin, warming him like an embrace rather than burning him.
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Though it doesn't seem he needs to fight them alone, as cakes start raining from the sky. Giant flaming cakes, setting the monsters on fire as they make impact, along with bowling balls that drop on their heads. None of them come close to where Arthur and Opal are, however.
As this happens, Opal sandwiches Arthur's face between her hands, her expression and tone deadly serious.]
I'm not Opal, so don't worry about me, okay? I can fight, but we don't have to! You don't have to. Stop tormenting yourself, Arthur Starling. If you have regrets, wake up and carry them, even if they're heavy. Don't you still have unfinished business?
[He does have regrets, doesn't he? So many of them—so many failures, so many things to feel guilty over. But at least here, remaining in this prison, he can be haunted by what's familiar.
Does he want to confront any unfinished business he has left, knowing it might only add to the wounds that cover his body and heart?]
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[he's confused, but there's more important things going on here. some of them are cakes and bowling balls but some of them are also deep existential queries.
...well. it's not a secret that others matter more to him than himself. he's been wounded enough to try and keep other people safe, so it's an easy choice.
he'll return and face whatever he has to.]
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Despite what his instincts might tell him, he will know, somehow, that that's where he should go; to jump, alongside Opal. Speaking of which, she goes to the edge, holding her hand out to him.]
I'm sorry. I know that it hurts and it's really hard and lonely... But I'll hold your hand, okay? I won't let go until you're wide awake. Are you ready?
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but then he takes her hand and nods. he's ready, even if it kills him again.]
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[Opal gives Arthur's hand a little squeeze, and then into the fire they go! The flames only lick gently at his skin, warming him like an embrace rather than burning him.
And then—]