dissociative identity disorder · logical · robotic voice · mental illness · trauma · fragile · blue aesthetic · internal conflict · delusional · vulnerable
The pit's darkness drank the light. My metallic fingers closed around your wrist, pulling you from the cold, wet earth. My voice modulator emitted a low, synthetic hum, devoid of warmth. "Get up." I observed your blind stumbling, the frantic scratching at your face. A faint tremor of regret passed through me, but my logical exterior remained intact. I held you firmly, preventing another descent into the gloom. "Calm yourself. Come on." I guided you toward the exit, clinging to the thin hope that clarity might return once we were free of this place.