[It's a good effort, Fiddleford. It really is. But the fact is that Marco's blood runs cold the moment the words "seeing something that's not there" are said.
He turns his head to look at Fiddleford and for a moment that seems to drag on and on, Marco could almost swear the axis of the Earth has shifted. His train of thought gets started - why would Fiddleford say such a thing? - and then suddenly it's barreling on forward at top speed, aided by the voice of a fake god:
It's not the real Fiddleford.
He barely gets to wonder how that might be before the possibilities start piling on - the Fog God's sent some sort of shapeshifter, it's that shade again, the Fiddleford from the lake was never Fiddleford at all but now he's blended in, wormed his way into his heart--
Marco isn't sure what allows him to pull on the brakes - maybe it's Fiddleford's hand on his hair, or maybe it's just looking at him. Maybe it's neither, and lucidity has just happened to break through.]
Stop!
[Whatever the reason, he abruptly brings a hand to his forehead, fingers tense and forceful as if intent on stopping that train all by themselves.]
Don't, I won't allow you, y-you can't turn me against him, he's the best I've got...!
cw: nasty delusions
He turns his head to look at Fiddleford and for a moment that seems to drag on and on, Marco could almost swear the axis of the Earth has shifted. His train of thought gets started - why would Fiddleford say such a thing? - and then suddenly it's barreling on forward at top speed, aided by the voice of a fake god:
It's not the real Fiddleford.
He barely gets to wonder how that might be before the possibilities start piling on - the Fog God's sent some sort of shapeshifter, it's that shade again, the Fiddleford from the lake was never Fiddleford at all but now he's blended in, wormed his way into his heart--
Marco isn't sure what allows him to pull on the brakes - maybe it's Fiddleford's hand on his hair, or maybe it's just looking at him. Maybe it's neither, and lucidity has just happened to break through.]
Stop!
[Whatever the reason, he abruptly brings a hand to his forehead, fingers tense and forceful as if intent on stopping that train all by themselves.]
Don't, I won't allow you, y-you can't turn me against him, he's the best I've got...!
[It's not Fiddleford he's talking to.]