Epilogue

The rhythmic ticking of the clock and the sound of flipping pages echoed throughout the silent room. The light, which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, was dim and cold, adding a soft pale blue hue to the room, almost like moonlight. It reflected on the various astronomical devices lining the floor, brightening the monochrome library that stretched upward to infinity. 

In this otherworldly room, two men sat in front of each other on antique-looking sofas. One was reading, and the other had his eyes closed, seemingly resting. He sat still while holding his back straight, his legs crossed, and his crossed hands anchored on one of his knees. His upright posture and emotionless face gave him a defined air, although only God knew what was going through his head. The serene atmosphere surrounding him lasted until he opened his eyes, and the corner of his lips curled into a smirk, cracking hisstoic mask.

"Did you see something interesting, Tristan?" the man with a bookasked. But although he spoke to him, he did not lift his grey eyes from his book. There was no need to.

"You can say that, yes," the man shrugged. "But from now on, you should call me Pierrot instead of Tristan."

"Is that the name they gave you?"

Pierrot hummed what seemed to be a 'yes'. He squinted and bent over, propping his chin up with a hand as his elbow dug into his thigh. Staring at the man before him, Pierrot seemed to ponder over something, a calculative light flashing across his chocolate eyes. However, he took the time to organize his thoughts before voicing his concerns.

"I wonder if they'll ever realize the relationship I hold with their Tristan goes both ways. I must say, his memories and feelings are quite interesting, nothing like mine. It is strange to feel emotions after so long. I'm not sure what to make out of them. It is rather… disconcerting."

"Who's to blame for this but you? You wouldn't be in that situation had you not crossed paths with your other self. It's your own fault for meddling with things you shouldn't have in this world." 

"Don't nag me when you know my meeting with my boyish self wasn't done on purpose. It happened, thanks to your oh-so-well-orchestrated scenario. Playing around with people's fates does that, you know?"

The man finally consented to lifting his eyes and glanced at Pierrot to throw him a 'who do you think you're trying to kid?' look. This two-faced schemer could always have used a subordinate instead of directly interacting with his other self, but he didn't. However, pointing it out wouldn't do him any good, so he returned to the previously raised point. 

"If you truly want my opinion on your earlier statement, I believe one person in that group has already started to hold doubts. But as long as you don't think, or talk about it outside of this room, Tristan shouldn't receive the information, and the boy won't be able to confirm whether or not you also share his memories. This place is still out of his reach, and whatever memory linked to this room you have will be blurred in his mind." 

"I'm aware. It took me centuries to get used to this room: this place messes up people's brains and jeopardizes their minds. Even I am surprised that I didn't turn into a vegetable and kept my wits. Anyway, back to the topic at hand, I believe Tristan has been on the receiving end of only my most recent memories and does not have access to my past. If I don't think about it, I don't believe he will ever get to see it."

"That's probably the case. Your selves bonded when you met, and your existences are now intricately linked, but this bond does not extend to your pasts. It was a blunder on our part."

"A blunder? I don't see it as such." 

"What do you mean?"

"Do I need to spell it out?" Pierrot chuckled. "We can use this bond to mislead them and lead them to the fate you have in mind more easily. As I told you before, they are on the right track for this event to occur. All we need to do is ensure they don't stray from the paved path you've been laying down for them. But you already know that, don't you?"

No answer came. Instead, the man lowered his eyes and went back to reading. Pierrot didn't take offense. He had long grown used to the man's lofty, frosty demeanor. When he was ready, he would tell him the next part of the plan. Until then, Pierrot had nothing to do. His daily tasks weren't complicated and quickly accomplished, leaving him with too much free time on his hands. What better way to kill it than to close his eyes and go through Tristan's memories? It contained emotions and thoughts he could comprehend on paper but could not feel in reality. Only through the boy could he experience them, igniting a bright spark of curiosity in the depths of his mind.

How would the kid react to what was coming next? What emotions would he feel as his loved ones endure trials and ordeals? Despair, sorrow, hatred, hope, joy… There was a myriad of possibilities. 

'Say, child,' Pierrot thought to himself, 'what choices would you have made in my shoes, and how will you handle the fate being pushed upon you? Your other self is curious and wonders.'

Questions flooded the man's mind. How would this world unfold? Would his master manage to get what he wanted this time, or would disappointment swallow him for the umpteenth time? The answer didn't matter much to Pierrot, for they had an eternity to try and an infinite number of worlds to meddle with. But maybe, just maybe, this world and its inhabitants would be the right one. However, even if they weren't, Pierrot was certain of one thing:

This life of theirs was bound to be interesting, and whatever his master thought, he would watch it through his other self's eyes until its final denouement.