Hunger in the Walls

Website-formatted archive edition

Orrin wakes instantly.

Not groggy.
Not confused.

Alert.

Chapter — Too Quiet

The Archive is silent.

Too silent.

Not wrong.
Not broken.

Absent.

The soft nighttime creaks of the tower are gone.

The gentle hum of living magic—gone.

Even the distant turning mechanisms of the Archive feel… muted.

Orrin’s feathers rise immediately.

Because after existing this long, you learn the difference between peace… and held breath.

Slowly—carefully—he lifts his head from the perch.

Mandy still sleeps on the couch below.

Pip curled tightly in her arms.
Tiny feet still hooked into her belt.

Everything looks normal.

Which unsettles him more.

“Grim.”

His voice is low.
Soft.
Controlled.

Instantly, two glowing eyes appear from the blanket folds.

“Pfft?”

Orrin’s gaze never leaves the room.

“Guard Mandy.”

The change in Grim is immediate.

The fuzzy little creature expands slightly, runes flickering faint red beneath the stitching of reality around him.

“PFFFFT.”

(…guard…)

He moves directly onto Mandy’s chest protectively, settling there like a living seal while watching the room.

Pip wakes halfway immediately.
One eye cracking open.

“…whuh?”

Orrin steps silently from the perch.
Every movement deliberate.

“Stay with her.”

That wakes Pip fully.

Because Orrin only uses that tone when something matters.

“…what’s wrong?”

Orrin pauses.
Listening.

That’s the problem.

Nothing.

No distant wind.
No shifting pages.
No low hum of the Archive.

It’s like the tower itself is waiting.

“…I do not know yet.”

That honesty chills Pip instantly.

Because Orrin almost always knows something.

Mandy shifts slightly in sleep beneath Grim.
A tiny frown crossing her face.

Then her eyes open suddenly.

Wide.

Not panicked.
Listening.

“…Orrin?”

He’s beside her instantly.

“I’m here.”

Mandy slowly sits up, Pip immediately climbing into her lap again.

“…why does it feel like the world stopped breathing?”

That sentence drops straight into Orrin’s spine like ice.

Because that is exactly what it feels like.

The lights in the Archive flicker once.

Then all at once, every clock in the tower stops ticking.

Silence.
Absolute silence.

Mandy grabs Orrin’s sleeve immediately.

“…I don’t like this.”

“No,” Orrin says quietly, his eyes lifting slowly toward the dark upper halls.

“…neither do I.”

Then far above them, something moves.

Not footsteps.

Dragging.
Slow.
Wet.

Pip immediately puffs into defensive floof.

“…NOPE.”

Grim expands further, red runes now glowing openly.

“PFFFFFFT.”

(…danger…)

Mandy’s breathing catches.

Because somewhere deep inside her, the Watcher part recognizes something first.

Not Chaos.

Hunger.

And whatever is above them… has already been inside the Archive for a while.

Chapter — Above You

Orrin’s eye flashes gold instantly.

Scanning.
Tracking.
Calculating.

The Archivist turns sharply toward the upper darkness, his enhanced eye sweeping through the rafters in precise layers.

Heat.
Movement.
Distortion.

Nothing.

But he can hear it.

The slow drag.
The subtle scrape.
Something shifting its weight carefully overhead.

And that—more than seeing it—terrifies him.

Because predators that evade the Archive’s sight are exceedingly rare.

“Orrin…”

Mandy’s voice hits his mind directly this time.

Not fully controlled.
Soft panic bleeding through the connection.

“It’s above you.”

His feathers flare instantly.

“Rafters…”

Her breathing catches sharply.

“…and Orrin…”

The room goes deadly still.

“…it’s reaching for you.”

Orrin moves instantly.

Not backward.
Sideways.

Something massive drops from the darkness where he had been standing a heartbeat before.

The impact cracks stone.

Pip screams.

“MAMA—”

Grim explodes outward violently.

“PFFFFFFFT!”

(…MINE—)

The thing unfolds from the ceiling wrong.

Far too many limbs.
Too thin in places.
Too wet in others.

And its face—

Its face is made from shifting fragments of people the Archive remembers.

Not stable enough to hold identity properly.

Orrin’s expression hardens instantly.

“…Chaos-fed mimic.”

The creature twitches violently toward him.

Because it had not expected him to dodge.

Mandy’s voice shakes hard now, still half in his mind.

“It wanted your eye—”

That changes everything.

Orrin’s gaze sharpens instantly.

Because now he understands.

Not hunting randomly.

Targeting.

The creature lunges again.
Fast.
Far faster than its broken body should move.

This time Orrin sees it just enough to evade partially—but claws slash across his side hard enough to throw him backward.

“MAMA HELP ORRIN—”

Pip launches off the couch recklessly.

“No!”

Orrin’s voice cracks through the room sharply enough to stop him mid-flight.

“Stay with Mandy!”

The creature turns instantly toward Mandy at hearing her name.

And freezes.

Because now it sees her clearly.

The Watcher.

Mandy goes pale immediately.

“…it knows me…”

The thing’s jaw unhinges slowly.
Too far.

And dozens of overlapping whispers spill from it at once.

“Watcher…”
“Open…”
“Hungry…”
“See…”

Deviare would normally already be there.
Chronos too.

But they are gone.

And for the first time, Orrin feels truly alone protecting her.

The realization hits hard enough to hurt.

Chapter — Shared Sight

Orrin turns sharply toward her.

Already knowing this is dangerous.

“Mandy, don’t—”

Too late.

Fear overrides caution.
Connection overrides distance.

Mandy reaches instinctively for the bond between them—not fully understanding what she’s doing—only knowing Orrin cannot see the thing clearly enough.

And suddenly Orrin’s normal eye clouds over.

Just slightly.

A silver-gold haze slipping across the vision.

Then the world shifts violently.

And for one impossible moment…

He is looking through Mandy’s eyes.

He hears her soft gasp from somewhere both near and far.

“PLEASE…”

Her voice shakes.
Terrified.

“…please tell me this works—”

And then Orrin sees it.

Perfectly.

The creature crouches upside down across the upper rafters.

Its limbs wrapped around ancient beams like a grotesque spider.
Watching.
Waiting.

Its face shifts constantly through fragments of remembered identities.

Archivists.
Visitors.
Dead things.

But through Mandy’s sight—through Watcher resonance—its true shape bleeds through the mimicry.

Hunger.
Rot.
Chaos stitching itself into unfinished flesh.

And worst of all…

It notices the moment Orrin sees it.

The creature jerks violently.

Because suddenly, the prey is looking back correctly.

“Orrin?”

Mandy’s voice again.
Closer now.
Strained.

And he realizes something horrifying.

He isn’t merely receiving visual information.

Their perceptions are linked.

He can feel her fear.
Her heartbeat.
The slight dizziness overwhelming her nervous system from sustaining this.

“Mandy stop.”

But even while saying it, he uses the shared sight instantly.

His golden eye flashes sharply upward.

“There.”

The Archive answers him immediately.

Golden chains of light explode from the rafters.

The creature shrieks.
An awful tearing sound like multiple voices dying at once.

Pip covers his ears screaming.

Grim launches upward in a mass of furious red thread.

“PFFFFFFFT!”

(…HURT—)

The mimic thrashes violently as the Archive finally locks onto it properly.

But Mandy gasps sharply.

Because Orrin is still seeing through her.

And now she’s seeing through him too.

Not just the creature.

The Archive.

Its endless pathways.
Its living mechanisms.
The sheer impossible weight Orrin carries every moment.

Her breath catches hard.

“Orrin…”

And he hears the horror in her voice.

Because she finally understands—even for one second—how much he sees all the time.

The creature tears free from part of the chains, lunging desperately downward toward Mandy.

Orrin moves before conscious thought.

Using her sight and his reflexes together.

The Archive floor erupts upward beneath the creature, impaling one of its twisted limbs through ancient stone.

It screams again.

And then everything breaks apart.

The shared vision snaps violently.

Mandy cries out, collapsing sideways against the couch.

Orrin staggers hard, one hand flying to his head.

The backlash hurts.
Badly.

But the creature…

The creature is finally visible.

Fully.
Pinned.

Thrashing under the Archive’s wrath.

Pip looks between them in horror.

“…YOU TWO JUST DID WEIRD COSMIC BRAIN STUFF.”

“…yes,” Orrin breathes sharply. “I noticed.”

Mandy looks pale as death.
Shaking.

“…did it work?”

Orrin slowly lifts his gaze toward the pinned creature.
Still writhing.
Still screaming.

“…yes.”

A pause.

“…far too well.”

Because now he understands something dangerous.

Mandy did not merely share sight.

She bridged perception itself.

And the creature knows it too.

Even pinned—even dying—it stares directly at her now.

Not hungry anymore.

Interested.

And somewhere far away near the sea, a Chaos Fragment shifts in recognition.

The Watcher has begun opening doors she does not yet understand.

Chapter — It’s Okay, Mama

The adrenaline breaks first.

Not the danger.
Not the creature.

Mandy.

The moment the creature is pinned—the moment the immediate danger lessens—Mandy finally sees Orrin clearly again.

Really sees him.

Blood.

Dark against silver-white feathers.
Running heavily down his side from where the creature struck him earlier.

“O-oh god…”

Her voice breaks instantly.

“Orrin, you’re bleeding…”

The panic hits all at once now.
Hard.

“Really bleeding…”

She tries to stand too quickly.
Nearly stumbles.

“I—I’m sorry I…”

Her breathing spirals immediately.

“…I was scared I just—I didn’t—”

The guilt comes fast.
Too fast.

Because the moment she sees blood, her brain immediately connects it to herself.

Her vision.
Her panic.
Her choices.

“Shhhh!”

Pip flies directly into her face before the spiral fully takes hold.

Tiny wings against her cheeks.
Absolute emergency emotional intervention.

“It’s okay, Mama!”

Mandy’s eyes snap toward him.
Still panicked.

“You saved Dad!”

The word hits Orrin almost as hard as the wound.

Pip presses his tiny forehead insistently against hers.

“It’s okay!”

Again.
Louder.
More desperate this time.

Because Pip sees it happening.

The way Mandy starts collapsing inward whenever someone gets hurt protecting her.

“You didn’t hurt him!”

Mandy’s breathing catches unevenly.

“But he’s bleeding—”

“Because the creepy ceiling thing attacked him!”

Immediate.
Certain.

Not you.

Pip’s little wings grab both sides of her face now with ridiculous determination.

“You helped him SEE.”

Mandy’s eyes shine instantly.

“I didn’t mean to do something weird—”

“You did weird good!”

That almost startles a laugh out of her through the panic.
Almost.

Orrin finally steps closer despite the blood.
One hand still pressed against the wound.

“Mandy.”

His voice is steadier than it has any right to be.

“This is not your fault.”

She looks unconvinced immediately.

“You got hurt because of me—”

“No.”

Sharp enough to stop the thought completely.

“The creature attacked because it entered the Archive hostile.”

A breath.

“You shared your sight because you were trying to protect me.”

That reframes it instantly.

Not recklessness.
Care.

Mandy’s shoulders shake.

“…I didn’t know what else to do…”

Orrin’s expression softens immediately.

“And so you adapted.”

Grim curls protectively around Mandy’s legs now that the immediate threat is restrained.

“Pfft…”

(…protect…)

Pip nods aggressively.

“YES. PROTECT. VERY HEROIC.”

“…reckless,” Orrin mutters automatically.

“…HEROIC reckless.”

Despite himself—despite the pain—Orrin almost smiles.

Almost.

Mandy notices anyway.

And somehow that helps more than reassurance.

Chapter — Salve #7

Mandy’s hands stop shaking the moment she has something to do.

Focus replaces panic with almost frightening speed.

“Sit down.”

Orrin obeys before fully realizing he’s obeying.

Mostly because Mandy suddenly sounds terrifyingly competent.

Pip immediately scrambles aside to “assistant position,” which appears to mean emotional support and occasional screaming.

Mandy kneels in front of Orrin quickly.
Efficiently.

And that’s when Orrin notices it.

No hesitation.
No uncertainty around blood.
No fear touching wounds.

Her movements are practiced.
Too practiced.

She tears cloth cleanly.
Checks the depth.
Applies pressure exactly where needed.

Years of patching herself together.

After people hurt her.
After laboratories.
After surviving things no one should have had to survive alone.

The realization hits Orrin hard enough his chest aches worse than the injury.

Mandy doesn’t even notice his expression.
Too focused.

“Grim!”

The little bag creature jolts instantly to attention.

“PFFT!”

“Salve #7. Now.”

Immediate response.

Grim unravels violently, runes flashing red, and with a loud PFFFT produces a small dark container directly into Mandy’s waiting hand.

Pip blinks.

“…there are numbered salves?”

“…of course there are,” Mandy mutters absently while opening it.

The scent hits immediately.

Sharp herbs.
Metal.
Magic.

Orrin watches her carefully now.

Not the wound.
Her.

Because she is moving like someone who learned medicine through necessity.
Not study.

Mandy carefully spreads the salve across the torn feathers and claw wounds.

Gentler than her efficient movements suggest she should be.

“This is gonna sting.”

“…I assumed as much.”

The moment the salve touches, gold light flashes faintly through the injury.

Orrin’s feathers flare instinctively.

Pip gasps.

“…WOAH.”

Mandy doesn’t even pause.
Already wrapping the wound carefully.

“You’ll probably scar.”

A pause.

“…sorry.”

That word slips out automatically.

Like she apologizes for damage instinctively.

Orrin catches it immediately.

“…Mandy.”

She keeps working, avoiding eye contact now.

“You are not apologizing for scars.”

That makes her hands still briefly.

Silence.

Pip looks between them quietly, understanding more than he usually lets on.

Mandy finally says softly:

“…old habit.”

The room hurts differently after that.

Because everyone suddenly realizes she learned to treat wounds because no one else always did it for her.

Orrin’s gaze softens painfully.

“…I see.”

Mandy immediately changes the subject before anyone can pity her.

“Hold still.”

“…yes, terrifying healer.”

That startles a tiny laugh out of Pip.

“Dad got bossed.”

“…I am currently injured.”

“…which means mama outranks you medically.”

“…that is not how authority functions.”

“IT IS NOW.”

Even Mandy smiles faintly at that while tying the bandage off securely.

“There.”

She leans back slightly, exhausted now that the adrenaline is fading again.

Orrin carefully lowers his hand from the wound.
The pain significantly dulled already.

“…effective.”

Mandy shrugs weakly.

“Lab people bleed too.”

The words fall casually.
Too casually.

And the entire room goes still.

Pip’s face crumples instantly.

“…mama…”

Mandy blinks.
Realizing what she said.

“…oops.”

Orrin’s expression changes into something dangerously calm.

Not at her.
At the implication.

Because suddenly he understands:

Mandy did not learn survival from stories.

She learned it firsthand.

Chapter — Say Ah

Orrin blinks once.

Because in all his existence, very few beings have ever looked at him with such stern medical authority.

Mandy is still kneeling in front of him.

Hair messy.
Hands stained faintly from salve and blood.
Expression focused with lingering adrenaline.

And now she’s holding up a small vial Grim produced.

“Say ah.”

Orrin almost does it automatically.
Almost.

Then the Archivist part of his brain catches up.

He leans back slightly.

“…why.”

Pip immediately wheezes.

“…OH MY GOD.”

Mandy looks at Orrin like he is being personally unreasonable.

“So you can take this.”

She lightly shakes the vial.

“It works from the inside while the salve works from the outside.”

Silence.

Orrin stares at the vial.
Then at Mandy.
Then back at the vial.

“…you possess internal healing compounds.”

“…yes?”

Like this should be obvious.

Pip is already losing composure entirely.

“DAD GOT MEDICALIZED.”

“…that is not a word.”

“IT IS IN THIS MOMENT.”

Grim bounces proudly.

“PFFT.”

(…medicine…)

Mandy’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Orrin.”

That tone.

Orrin actually straightens slightly.

“…you are using my name with alarming intent.”

“You are bleeding internally.”

Immediate.
Calm.

“And if you argue with me I’ll tell Pip to sit on your head while I do this.”

Pip gasps.

“…weaponized emotional support.”

“…I approve,” Grim pffts.

Even injured, Orrin feels something dangerously close to amusement.

Which is absurd considering the situation.

“…you are all deeply troubling.”

Mandy lifts the vial again patiently.

“Open your beak.”

The room stills.

Because Mandy—small human Mandy—is currently bossing around an ancient Archivist like an exhausted nurse on her third double shift.

And somehow?

It’s working.

Orrin sighs softly.
Long-suffering.
Dignified.

“…this is humiliating.”

“Good.”

Pip actually falls sideways laughing.

“…MAMA IS SAVAGE.”

Orrin finally relents.

Opening his beak slightly with the expression of a man enduring great injustice.

Mandy carefully pours the contents in.
Gentle despite the teasing.

The medicine glows faintly gold-blue as it goes down.

Immediate warmth spreading through damaged tissue.

Orrin stills slightly.

“…effective,” he admits reluctantly.

Mandy crosses her arms immediately.

“I know.”

Pip points aggressively.

“SHE DID THE ORRIN THING.”

“…what Orrin thing.”

“That smug ‘I know’ thing.”

“…I do not sound smug.”

The entire room looks at him.

Even Grim.

“…pfft.”

(…smug…)

Orrin looks deeply betrayed by all of them.

Mandy finally laughs again.

A real one this time.
Not forced.

And Orrin realizes quietly this is the first time since the attack that she has truly relaxed.

Not because the danger is gone.

Because she helped.
Because she was useful.
Needed.
Trusted.

The realization settles heavily into him.

She feels safest when she can protect people too.

Not merely be protected.

Chapter — Heavy

The creature screams.

And everything breaks apart.

The sound is not natural.

Not pain.
Not rage.

A psychic detonation.

It hits Orrin’s mind like a flash grenade.

White noise.
Light.
Pressure.

His vision blanks instantly.

The world tilts violently, then something slams into him hard enough to send him rolling across the floor.

For one horrible second, he cannot think.
Cannot orient.

Only ringing.

Then:

“MAMA!!”

Pip.

Panic.
Pure terror.

Orrin violently shakes his head, forcing awareness back through the psychic static clawing through his skull.

And instantly he feels it.

Wrong.

The creature is no longer restrained properly.

Something moved.
Something happened while his mind blanked.

Fear detonates through him so hard the Archive answers before he fully speaks.

“ARCHIVE!”

The command tears through the tower violently.

Loud enough to shake stone.
Panic flooding every syllable.

And suddenly the creature’s screams stop.

A sickening THUD crashes through the room.

Heavy.
Wet.
Final.

Silence.

Then slowly, Orrin’s vision clears enough to see.

The mimic lies impaled across the floor.

Dead.

Completely.

Dozens of brilliant rune-chains spear through its body from every angle.

Pinned so brutally the floor itself cracked beneath the impact.

The Archive killed it.

No hesitation.
No mercy.

And beneath it:

Blond and black hair.

Blood.

Orrin’s entire world narrows into a single point.

“MANDY!”

He is moving before thought exists.

Pip screaming.
Grim unraveling violently.
The Archive itself shaking around them.

Then a hand shoots upward weakly from beneath the corpse.

“Get…”

A strained breath.

“…this off me…”

A pause.

“…it’s HEAVY!”

Silence.

Pip blinks once.

Then absolutely loses his mind crying and laughing simultaneously.

“SHE’S ALIVE—”

Orrin nearly collapses from relief so violent it physically hurts.

Instead he grabs the creature instantly, gold runes flaring hard across his arms, and hurls the dead mimic aside with strength that cracks the floor beneath it again.

Mandy lies beneath where it fell.
Covered in blood.

Some hers.
Most not.

Hair partially blond again from stress response.
Breathing hard.

Very alive.

Chapter — I Was Scared

Orrin goes completely still.

Not because of the impact.
Not because of the fear.

Because Mandy kissed his beak.

The room is still chaos.

Blood.
Broken stone.
Dead mimic cooling across rune-burned floor.
Pip still sniffling dramatically.
Grim vibrating with residual murder energy.

And somehow, everything narrows into this one moment instead.

“Are you okay, Orrin?”

Mandy’s voice shakes.
Still breathless from adrenaline.
Still pale beneath the blood splatter.

“I’m so sorry I slammed into you so hard…”

Her eyes flick briefly toward his damaged eye.
Toward the creature.
Toward what it had been reaching for.

“…but it was going for your—”

She stops abruptly.
The memory clearly hitting too hard.

Her throat works once.

Then suddenly—without overthinking, without fear—she leans forward and kisses his beak softly.

The entire room freezes.

Pip’s soul visibly leaves his body.

“…OH.”

Grim goes:

“PFFT?!”

Orrin—ancient Archivist, cosmic observer, keeper of impossible knowledge—completely blanks.

Then Mandy gently rests her forehead against his.
Eyes closed tightly now.

“I was so scared…”

And that, more than the kiss, shatters him quietly.

Because her first instinct after almost being crushed beneath a nightmare creature—after bleeding—after terror—was worrying about him.

Orrin’s hands tremble slightly where they rest against her shoulders.

“…Mandy.”

His voice comes out rougher than usual.
Less controlled.

“You threw yourself between me and a Chaos-fed predator.”

Mandy shrugs weakly against him.
Still trembling herself now that the danger is gone.

“It was going for your eye…”

Like that explains everything.
Like of course she would do it.

Pip is staring at them with the expression of someone witnessing forbidden cosmic romance lore unfold in real time.

“…I need a minute.”

No one acknowledges him.

Because Orrin cannot look away from Mandy right now.

Not when she’s pressed against him shaking from delayed fear.
Not after feeling her panic through shared sight.
Not after realizing she physically moved to shield him.

And perhaps worst of all—not after the unbearable realization that if the creature had killed her, something inside him would have broken permanently.

Slowly, carefully, Orrin lowers his head slightly against hers in return.

Not romantic.
Not distant either.

Intimate in the oldest sense of the word:

trusted.

“You frightened me terribly.”

Mandy laughs weakly through tears immediately.

“…yeah…”

A pause.

“…sorry.”

This time Orrin gently presses one clawed finger beneath her chin, making her look at him.

“No.”

Soft.
Certain.

“You do not apologize for protecting someone you love.”

That lands heavily.

Because neither of them fully unpacked the kiss.
Neither of them names it.

But the emotion beneath it?

Impossible to mistake.

Chapter — If Possible

Mandy immediately tries to refocus.

Because tending wounds is easier than sitting inside feelings.

“Grim…”

She wipes quickly at her face with the back of her hand, trying to regain composure.
Trying very hard to ignore the fact she just kissed Orrin in front of literally everyone.

“Salve…”

She looks downward mentally sorting supplies.

“Number six, clean cloth, disinfectant and—”

Orrin stops her.

Not forcefully.
Just gently nudging her face upward before she can fully disappear into caretaker mode again.

Mandy blinks at him.
Still breathing unevenly.

And Orrin pauses.

Because he knows exactly what he wants to say.

Never do that again.

Never throw yourself into danger for me.

Never scare me like that.

But the words die before he speaks them.

Because he finally understands now—truly understands—what those kinds of commands sound like to Mandy.

Control disguised as protection.

So instead, he chooses carefully.

“You…”

A breath.

“…are to…”

Pip watches with wide-eyed fascination like witnessing advanced emotional linguistics in action.

Orrin visibly corrects himself mid-thought.

“…please refrain from placing yourself into the direct line of danger…”

A tiny pause.

“…if possible?”

Silence.

Then Mandy stares at him.

And suddenly, despite the blood and exhaustion, she starts laughing.

Not hysterically.
Warmly.

“…that was the most careful sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Pip immediately collapses sideways laughing.

“HE PANIC-REWROTE THE COMMAND.”

“…I did no such thing.”

“…you ABSOLUTELY did.”

Even Grim seems amused.

“Pfft.”

(…careful…)

Mandy’s eyes soften immediately though.

Because she heard it.

All of it.

The instinct to command.
The fear beneath it.
And then the conscious choice to stop himself.

To ask instead.

She reaches up gently touching the side of his face.

“…you changed the wording for me.”

Orrin stills slightly.

“…yes.”

No denial.

Mandy swallows softly at that.

“Thank you.”

That simple gratitude affects him more than it should.

Because she noticed the effort.
Not just the outcome.

Pip points dramatically at both of them.

“I AM WATCHING HEALTHY COMMUNICATION DEVELOP IN REAL TIME.”

“…unfortunate,” Orrin mutters weakly.

Mandy smiles faintly through tired eyes.
Then quietly:

“I’ll try.”

That answer means everything.

Because she didn’t promise impossible things either.

She didn’t say:

I’ll never protect you again.

Just:

I’ll try to survive while doing it.

Orrin exhales softly.
Accepting that answer for exactly what it is.

“…acceptable.”

Then Mandy immediately pivots right back into medical mode.

“Good. Now stop bleeding on my floor.”

“…your floor.”

“Yes.”

A tiny exhausted gesture around the room.

“I almost died here. I’m emotionally attached now.”

Pip gasps.

“…THAT’S HOW HOMEWORKS.”

Grim nods aggressively.

“PFFT.”

(…ours…)

And despite everything—the terror, the blood, the thing that invaded the Archive—the room fills with warmth again anyway.

Messy.
Strange.
Human.

Exactly the kind of thing Chaos