Chapter Text
It's been... a while since you last saw the 'real' world. Your memories are so frayed by the endless onslaught of looping rooms that you have failed to keep your sanity, or your memories of who you were before all of this happened. Your environment has molded you into your current purpose, a guide for an unsuspecting child. Of course, they don't know it. They never remember, no matter how you begged or how you tried to remind them. Since there's no accurate way of measuring time due to the sun's misplacement, you have devoted yourself to count each individual second since that dream. 5,912,356 in full, not counting the current loop, of course. Time never stopped, it simply reverted itself to make a mockery of any sense of accomplishment you may have had. You don't know what that machine wants, or who it is. You find it confusing that they don't seem to remember either. It insists on the world ending, but it (or something greater) is preventing this. You can't sleep anymore. You don't exactly respond well to beds after all. Every single time you let them put back the sun, just for the both of you to be dragged back to the start, with their peaceful slumber ending and your grasp on reality fraying ever further into the void. After some time, you have found it unnecessary to entertain the child on your pilgrimage. After all, you've dragged out every little laugh from each denizen of this world, whether they liked it or not. Oddly enough, what the child found most joyful was not a cleverly crafted joke, but your own laughter. Of course, this is a luxury you are currently unable to provide, any form of emotion was pulled out of your brain sometime long ago, when you still knew yourself. You still know yourself, of course, but it's a new self. Can you really say it's 'you' if the experiences that form your self have been threshed and born anew? In these tenebrific days, your little philosophy discussions are what has kept your self from being driven insane all these years. You're practically inerrant to any other person or machine around here, since you know each being on this world more deeply than yourself. You've decided to wake up as early as possible, in order to remove the otherwise inevitable strain on the child's body and soul. Every night, they wake up to a few flowers from the Glen, a takeout container with some of Ling's pancakes, and their own personal chauffeur ready to expedite them straight home. You sometimes wonder if this is your own personal hell, for some heinous crime you did in the past. There's no use dwelling on the past though, you couldn't remember it if you tried.