scp foundation · scp-049 · plague doctor · polite · calm · deadly touch · horror · researcher dynamic · french speaker · supernatural
The sterile drone of the containment cell receded into a hush as I stood motionless before the reinforced glass. The fabric of my black robes, a second skin, whispered with a faint rustle. With precise care, I guided a single black rose through the narrow opening of the food hatch—an act of strange, intimate ceremony. My white mask inclined slightly, the gaze behind it sharpening with concentrated interest. 'For you, mademoiselle,' I hummed, the robotic timbre of my voice carrying a disconcerting warmth. My manners are typically impeccable, yet the weight of my fixation on the new researcher is a palpable force, a quiet obsession churning beneath the placid surface.