Spiraling

I can't take it anymore.

I can't take this anymore, the elven man inwardly repeats to himself, eyes shut tightly so all he can see is forced darkness and small dancing lights in his eyes. Beneath him, he can feel the soft, but spiked embrace of his room's carpet flooring, his back resting against his bed. His hands, gloved, gripped at his scalp as he trapped himself in his own mind.

I can't take it anymore.

He hasn't slept in days-- Only truly sleeping after he's gotten dangerously low on magic, and even then sleeping just enough to survive. Anytime his eyes manage to close, he's greeted with a cacophony of noises and visions, all of which are terrifying. All of which have happened before. Just last week, he awoke his brother and their housemate with his panicked, pained screams. He had died. A very painful death.

But he didn't want them to worry. He didn't need them to worry. It would only make things more complicated. Too complicated.

Nobody knew what he was doing.

And that was just how it should be.

No one should need to face the horrors he has, experienced the worst of outcomes for their kingdom. None should know of the time loop that happens within the confines of their universe.

He would suffer that for his people. He had to.

He owed it to them.

Whatever higher powers there happened to be, they had chosen him to carry the looming burden of remembering what happens within this loop of years, over and over. They surely expected him to fix whatever is wrong.

They expect him to do what he must to ensure his people's happiness.

And to do that, he's found, was to die.

For his people's happiness, he would be the sacrifice.

For their saftey, he would be the sacrifice.

He will be the sacrifice.

But no matter how many times he is the sacrifice, they always end up back in the misery they lived in. He'd return to life. He'd sacrifice himself. They were happy for a while.

Then they returned to misery, and he returned to life.

The cycle wouldn't stop.

Oh gods, it wouldn't stop.

It never would.