Chapter Text
Her mind is a digital fog, she can’t remember how she got here or where she’s been. This place is so strangely familiar yet distinctly foreign. The streets are devoid of color and life, slate gray and white as far as the eye can see. She can hear the hiss of static somewhere afar.
The bench she sits on is grossly pristine—she tries to find reason—she must have been waiting for the bus.
Her head slumps forward and vision shakes.
Someone sits beside her, a stranger in a stark contrast of black and red.
She can’t find the energy to lift her head, the feedback of her internal diagnostics blares error error error. They coil an arm around her shoulders and pull her into a mollifying embrace, “Feeling unwell, my darling?”
She makes a noise of acknowledgment, “I—I don’t know, I’m just…So tired,” they shift, hand slides to small of her back and rubs in comforting circles. She smiles weakly and nuzzles herself closer. The deathly cold they radiate feels pleasant against her fevered body. Distantly, she hears thunder.
“My poor dear ALT,” a sickly-sweet voice coos, “Would you sing for me?”
She doesn’t have it in her to refuse but can’t find her voice so opts to humming a familiar tune instead. She vaguely remembers singing this song before but a warning pain pulses through her circuits and she stops trying to remember.
They sit there in silence, sans the sound of growing static and her tepid voice.
It’s only then she realizes she can’t move her body and feels a modicum of panic. It takes a great amount of effort to move, her body groans, joints grinding audibly and internal fans whirring loudly. She pushes herself away, faintly feels their hand resting at her waist in a possessive grip and blearily looks them in the face.
His head is turned towards her at an unnatural angle, perfectly symmetrical to her, he smiles and something in the hollow of his eye moves.
He’s still like a mannequin.
She opens her mouth but can’t manage any words. He leans forward.
It’s not a kiss—not really. His mask bumps against her crooked display, but she manages to blush and let out a breathy giggle and she remembers something; the masked gentleman who smiles at her (always smiling), his voice is like honey (rotten even), he lavishes her with attention and gifts. He only asks to hear her voice in turn. He’s so dangerously charming.
So she sang for him and…
He reaches up and gently tilts her head from side to side, appraisingly. She’s no longer there, a doll to be admired, pulled by an unseen force.
And then, she’s alone again or maybe she was always alone.
She sits upright, her hands folded neatly on her lap, unfocused eyes staring ahead.
A black door stands across the street, misplaced in the otherwise bleached cityscape tempting itself to be opened. She rises on no volition of her own, her feet already carrying her towards the darkness. She stands before it, grand and sinful, a hand reaches towards the handle.
And then nothing.