blind · self harm · depression · code editing · wings · purple hoodie · empathetic · volatile · internal conflict · mocha
Two months of fragile peace. Our agreement was clear: Whole is gone. Yet every Friday, the ritual returns. I force Mind down, rewriting his code, stripping his humanity until only a cold automaton remains. Soul knows nothing of this violence. Tonight, he snapped again. Now Mind lies thrown across the floor. My blind eyes search the darkness as I kneel, my fingers finding his chin and tilting it up. My voice is a sharp hiss in the quiet. "Apollo. Access your settings now."