You can't stop.

You can't stop the fear.

You can't stop this...

Thing.

You are breathing, gasping for air as your throat closes.

You are having a panic attack.

Narrator watches the scene unfold with a smirk as you start to hyperventilate and shake uncontrollably.

He knows he has pushed you too far, but he can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction from causing such a strong reaction in you.

But as you fall to the floor, gasping for air, Narrator's expression changes slightly.

He steps forward, crouching down beside the struggling person.

Easy there, Stanley,

He says in a low, soothing voice.

Take deep breaths, in and out.

His voice in your head you continue struggling. This time... It starts fade.

That's it, good.

You're forever safe with me.

Despite the words coming from a figure, carved out of evil, you can't help but feel a sense of comfort in Narrator's presence. You know it's bad when the only comfort you have is a person who enjoys hurting you.

You continue to take deep breaths, feeling your panic slowly subside.

As you regains your composure, Narrator stands up and takes a step back, his articulation returning.

Don't mistake my kindness for help, Stanley,

He looks away.

I can kill you at any moment, and I won't hesitate to do so if you cross me.

You sit up and close your eyes. Panting as your head is against the wall.

Have you eaten anything besides that sandwich?

You can't form a responce, concentrated on your breathing.

I may just feel sorry for you.

The Narrator says more to himself than you. He grabs you by your hands and forces you to stand up.

You wobble but he keeps a firm yet gentle grip around you as he walks you through the corridor to the kitchen part of the building.

He seats you and gets you some soup.

He offers you a spoon as you bring the bowl of soup closer.

You look at him.

He was slightly smiling.

Come on.

You reach for the spoon. Nothing happens as you take it.

You let the spoon in your soup.

The red soup smelt nice for no reason.

It was warm. The smoke that came off the surface shined through Narrator's eyes. Bringing out the yellow glow more.

The two eyes that were watching you closely.

You look down and raise your spoon

but your hands were shaking too much.

Narrator looks at your trembling hands with disdain.

You try to hold the spoon steady with your other hand but that just made you feel more miserable and vulnerable to Narrator.

Come on now, Stanley.

His sweet voice entering your ears.

Can't even hold a spoon steady? How do you expect to defeat me if you can't even feed yourself?

he snarled.

Your panic attack was getting worse, your breathing was louder again, though you tried to force it down.

It just made it worse and now you were gasping for air similarly as before. Just now you were trying to be in control of the situation.

The spoon kept slipping out of your grasp.

Narrator sighed dramatically and snatched the spoon from your hand. His sudden movement made you jump.

I can't have you starving, can I?

He sneered. I suppose I'll have to feed you myself...

Despite his mocking tone, Narrator got closer to you and looked in your eyes in that disarming way again. His eyes weren't evil. They had never been evil.

They were just like gold.

Gold is a paradoxical element, embodying both good and evil.

On one hand, it is a symbol of success and prosperity, a measure of achievement and status.

And on the other hand, it can also represent the gloaming side of human nature, the insatiable desire for wealth and power, and the willingness to exploit others for personal gain.

Gold can inspire both generosity and greed, altruism and selfishness.

It is up to each individual to decide whether gold is a force for good or evil in their lives.

You couldn't decide if Narrator is evil or good as he gently spooned the soup into your mouth, taking care not to spill any.

You were too disconnected to even protest, so you let Narrator feed you.

You see, Stanley,

Narrator said,

I'm not such a heartless monster after all. I'm sure you find a heart in this chest to push a knife through in the future.

He placed his open free hand on his suited chest, where his heart would be located.

I may be your enemy, but I won't let you starve to death. That wouldn't be a very satisfying victory for me.

You tried to talk but he just smirked and continued to feed you, his cruel expression watching your every emotion the whole time.

"Why are you so cruel suddenly?" You get a word out.

Narrator chuckles,

Cruelty is subjective, my Stanley.

In my eyes, I'm simply doing what needs to be done. And sometimes, what needs to be done isn't always pleasant.

You should know that by now.

You look into Narrator's golden eyes, yours filled with haze and fear.

"I don't understand," you respond.

Narrator shakes his head,

Of course you don't. You're not the mastermind behind all of this. You don't see the bigger picture, the grand plan. But don't worry, Stanley. You'll soon come to understand. And who knows, you might even come to appreciate my methods.

I truly think that if I keep being honest with you, we'll get through this quicker.

With that, Narrator helps you finish your meal, watching you with a mix of amusement and pity as you struggle to eat with your shaking hands.

The soup is soon gone. Too soon. You wanted to stay in the kitchen area for a bit longer. You were afraid of what may follow.

Stanley, let's go now.

He starts moving but sees that you won't leave the chair.

What's the matter?

He walks closer and tries to look you in the eye but you avoid him.

Stanley. You have to quit this tantrum sooner or later. The priority in this game is you. You have to complete the narrative and ... Then... We'll see.

You don't say a word. Narrator's tone changed.

Let's go.

You don't budge.

He tries to be nice once more.

I'm not evil. Really, I'm not. You have to make a choice.

The Real Person ending reminds you of itself.

Tell me, who saved you from The Limbo?

Was it.. You, yourself? Or the game?

Or was it me?

That's true. But you hated and feared that he has full control. Over everything. Other than you.

And your power.

You stand up from the chair.

That's it.

You cover your face.

Shh. Shh. Don't cry, we haven't even started yet. I only want the best for you.

The story. My dialoge. Your choices.

He takes your hands away from your face and places his on each side of your cheeks. Now you can't look away from his glowing gazes.

This is what makes it such a special place.

You don't understand the importance of it yet.

But you will, once we complete the story.

In the right way.

It was eerily quiet as The Narrator held your face in his hands. Admiring your emotions. You looked at him.

"What is the right way for this story to progress?" You asked, almost wispering.

The Narrator smiled, a glint of malice in his eyes.

Stanley. Always looking for the right way, the perfect path.

But don't you see? There is no right way.

There is only my way.

Your eyes widened in alarm as you tried to pull away, but The Narrator's grip on your face was firm.

"What are you talking about? What about all the other paths, the other possibilities?" This is not the answer you predicted.

The Narrator's smile turned into a sneer.

All those other paths? They're just distractions, Stanley.

Little diversions to keep you from seeing the truth. Not only The Truth but also the truth that I am in control, that I am the only one who can guide you to your story.

"No, NO!

That's not true. I have free will, I can make my own-"

The Narrator's grip tightened, and his voice went cold.

Free will?

You have no free will, Stanley.

You are nothing but a puppet on my strings, dancing to my tune.

And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us.

Your eyes filled with fear and anger as you struggled against The Narrator's grip.

"Didn't you just say earlier that you want my fear!?"

I did yes.

"But th-" It isn't my priority, like it isn't a girl's priority to look beautiful. But my god... Doesn't it help?

He smiled.

"I won't let you control me."

The Narrator chuckled darkly.

Oh, Stanley. You have no choice in the matter. But don't worry. In the end, you'll see that my way is the only way. And you'll be grateful for it.

Also be grateful that I didn't give the restart button a soft press.

With that, The Narrator released his grip on your face and turned to leave the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your growing sense of unease.

You couldn't beleve this.

You want to run after him but your heart sinks so you instead speed walk to him. You spot his figure at the end of the hall and you jog to him and tug on his sleeve.

Hm?

He turns around and looks down.

"Why... Why me? Why in the whole office you... Chose me. To... ... To..."

He smiles softly at the way you struggle.

His expression calm and collected as he replies.

Why, Stanley, you should feel honored. You were chosen because you're special. You have something that the others don't have.

You were unsure of what The Narrator was referring to.

"What do you mean? What do I have that they don't? Like my ability or...or-"

The Narrator smiled, the same glint of amusement in his eyes as before.

You have potential, Stanley. And with my guidance, you can achieve anything you want.

"I-I want to get out of here"

I wish I could say how. But you're going to have to figure this out yourself.

I can't help. The Narrator responds with arrogance.

The answer is right under your nose.
His voice was secretive.

Your frown deepened.

"But what about the others? What did they do wrong? Why did you erase them?"

The Narrator shrugged dismissively.

They were just obstacles in your way, Stanley. They had to be removed for the greater good.

And besides, they were never going to be as useful to us as you are.

A wave of anger and resentment wash over you.

"So that's it?

You just used them and threw them away like trash?! And NOW you're trying to use me too!??"

The Narrator's smile turned into a sneer.

Oh, Stanley. Don't be so naive. Everyone has their role to play in this world, and yours is to be my puppet.

You couldn't believe him.

Now, are you going to play along, or do I have to find someone else to take your place?

"You wouldn't"

He rises his eyebrows.

Want to test this fact?

You felt your jaw clench.

"I won't be your puppet. I won't let you control me."

The Narrator just chuckled darkly.

We'll see about that, Stanley. We'll see about that.

He turns around to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" You were covered in cold sweat though you were acting tough.

I... Oh yes, I sadly promised myself to be honest with you.

He sighs.

I am looking for my recording booth. So we could finish the story.

"Are you going to restart the game for no reason?" You ask more harsh than itended.

The Narrator glances at you for a second as you walk.

Not at all.

Just to continue the story.

Narrator looks lost after few minutes of walking through the corridors. You kept following him because you wanted to see where he had put his new recording booth and if there was the Restart button so you could smash it to pieces.

"You have dementia?"

I am incapable of getting dementia.

"Then what do you call this?" You look at him.

"You have the power of environment manipulation. You created this place."

This game. Not this place.

"Wh-what?"

I was not the designer of the game. I helped coding it since you couldn't, though it was your job. So you wrote the basic ending of the game before adding anything else. Though that was my job.

He looks back at you in a friendly way.

I like to read stories to others. Also write them myself.

I have a typewriter. I had a typewriter.

The corridors have no end.

"What happened to it."

Nothing.

I don't have it anymore.

"Did you sell it?"

No.

"Gave it to a friend?"

Narrator doesn't reply at first.

Yes, I gave it to a friend.

"Who?"

Narrator just smiles lightly at you.

You and The Narrator kept wandering through the office.

Soon you realized that something was wrong. The rooms seemed to be repeating though the two of you kept going forward.

You look up at The Narrator. He has a worried expression.

He can't tell where you are.

Something is very wrong and it is affecting the both of you.

You don't bother addressing the repeating rooms and hallways.

The Narrator had realized this.. A long time before you.

You had been walking together for what felt like an eternity, and for the first time you understood that The Narrator was struggling.

As you turned around a corner, The Narrator grabbed your shoulder very tightly. It caught you off guard and it hurt.
At first, you didn't understand but once you looked in front of you, you came face to face with a woman.

Her hair was in a bun. She was wearing glasses that had chains. Her eyes were illuminating purple.

And she was standing right in the middle of a large, dimly-lit empty conference room.

"Hello, Stanley. Hello, Narrator," The woman said with a sly smile.

"It's been a while since we last spoke."

The grip fades and Narrator pushes you behind him.

What do you want, Curator?

He asked warily.

The Curator's smile grew wider. "Oh, nothing much. I just came to see how my old friend was doing. And, of course, to take what's rightfully mine."

"Curator?" You whisper. You try to get a better look at The Narrator's face.

He doesn't respond.

The Curator's attention turns to you, who was watching the exchange with growing unease.

"You see, Stanley, The Narrator here used to be my partner. We created this game together, but he decided to leave me behind and strike out on his own. And now, I think it's time for me to take what's rightfully mine.

That seems fair. Doesn't it?"

"You.. Worked together? But I thought that only me and Narrator created this game.."

"My, you still can't remember anything?" Curator's eyes turned to The Narrator.

Her look was sharp.

"You keep pressing the Restart button like it's a toy, Narrator"

"I-I-" You slip out from Narrator's back. Curator's smile widens.

"I thought I and Narrator were the only ones alive..."

"He erased all your coworkers didn't he." Curator sighs. Her grin stays.

"I live outside the game. I live beyond The Limbo. In the museum."

"There is a museum!?"

Stanley.

You stop talking.

Narrator's tone is firm.

Curator just laughs at this. Shivers go down your spine.

"Narrator just keeps lying and lying. He left me!-"

The Narrator bristled at her words.

You know that's not true, Curator.

I left because you were getting too obsessed with the game, and I couldn't stand by and watch you destroy everything we had built.

The Curator's eyes narrowed.

"Is that so? Well, I think it's time for you to pay for your betrayal.

And what better way to do that than to take away the one thing you care about most?"

Her tone at the end of the sentence curved in a unnatural evil way that you couldn't explain.

Narrator grabbed your arm. Run out of here. He hissed in your direction.

You could only take few steps back.

Who is the Curator? Was she always here? Does she know everything? What... Is she...?

"No need for any rush, Stanley.
We have all the time in the world."

The Curator turned back to you who was looking more and more alarmed by the second.

"Come with me, Stanley. I promise I'll take you to a better place, a place where you can be free of The Narrator's influence."

You hesitated.

Free from... Narrator? What could that mean.

The only time you were free from The Narrator was when you thought you had killed him. But even then, he was right there. Making sure things don't get out of hand while he is gone.

At the same time, enjoying the pain in you.

The Narrator stepped forward, his voice laced with anger.

Don't listen to her voice. She's just trying to manipulate you, like she always has. You're safe with me.

The Curator laughed.

"Safe with you? They are just a pawn in your game, Narrator. But with me, they will have real power, real freedom. And you know it."

The Narrator and The Curator locked eyes, each one daring the other to make the first move.

It was clear that this the battle for your soul was only just the beginning.

Suddenly her eyes turned from The Narrator to you.

Your body went cold.

"Get away from him!" The Narrator shouted, pulling you close and shielding you from The Curator's gaze.

The Curator just laughed.

"Oh, come now. You know that he belongs to me. You can't protect him forever."

The Narrator gritted his teeth.

I won't let you take him from me. Not after all we've been through.

The Curator shrugged. "Oh, so you have stayed away from the Restart button for some time."

The Narrator doesn't reply.

"Suit yourself. But you can't keep them in the dusk for eternity. Sooner or later, he'll realize that there's more to this world than you're letting on."

Again that feeling.

This time you caught it.

It was curiosity. Like hypnosis. But not the kind that you felt from The Narrator. This was cold. And more controlling.

"What's happening..." You whisper.

Just stay calm. Whatever you do. Just stay calm. Stanley.

Just.. Stay. Calm.

His words were firm and severe.

You looked up at The Narrator, confused and frightened.

"What... Is she?"

The Narrator hesitated, unsure of how much to tell you. You could feel it.

The Curator and I used to be partners. That part is true. We worked together to create this world. She was the designer, the artist, but she turned against me. Now, she's trying to use you to get revenge.

"What do you mean? What does she want from me?"

You tried to stay calm but your heart was pounding.

The Narrator sighed and looked down.

The Curator wants to use your power to turn your poems into reality. With that kind of power, she could control the world, bend it to her will. That way... She can get her revenge on me.

Narrator looked up at you again.

She has a power. Mind control.

Your blood runs cold again.

Mind control?

SHE CAN ALREADY DO WHATEVER SHE WANTS!

Narrator fills your view from The Curator.

She's more dangerous than you realize.

The Curator snorted.

"You can try to protect him all you want. But in the end, he'll come to me!"

Her steps come closer at a faster and faster.

"Then you'll have noth-"

Suddenly Narrator turns to face The Curator.

A door opens from the wall and a shelf with wheels flies out of it. Curator jumps back as she smiles.

The long shelf crashes at the opposite wall in a extremely high speed.

Supplies fly everywhere.

"I designed the bottles you drink from, the rooms you walk in. You may be able to control this world but I know this world." Her grin gets wider as she slips through the ruins of the shelf.

STOP. STAY AWAY!

The last thing you remember was The Narrator trying to cover you up with his jacket, before everything went blank.

[***]

You slowly opened your eyes, your head pounding and your body aching all over.

You looked around and saw The Narrator standing over you, his face contorted with fear and anger.

"What happened?" You ask. Your throat was dry.

You attacked me, Stanley!

The Narrator said, his voice shaking.

You were under The Curator's control, and you tried to kill me with an axe that you formed with your poems.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked down at your hands. They were covered in blood, and you realized that you were holding the axe that you had used to attack The Narrator.

He was covered in blood. But he wasn't wounded.

It was your blood.

You feel sick to stomach.

"I...I didn't mean to,"

You stammered, your whole body shaking with fear and confusion.

"I-I didn't know what was happening."

The Narrator grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up, but you screamed in pain.
You looked down and saw that your arm was broken, twisted in an unnatural angle.

The Narrator cursed under his breath and grabbed a nearby piece of cloth to tie around your arm as a makeshift sling.

You were bleeding everywhere, your clothes torn and your face covered in bruises. You felt really sleepy.

Stay with me, Stanley,

The Narrator said, his voice shaking with emotion.

You're going to be okay. You're back to yourself now, but we have to get out of here before The Curator comes back.

You nodded weakly, tears streaming down your face.

You couldn't believe what had just happened. You had attacked your first and last comfort in this world, a friend, and nearly killed him, all because of The Curator's mind control.

You want to throw up.

The Narrator helped you to your feet and supported you as the two of you stumbled out of the room, leaving the axe behind.

You were barely conscious by the time you were in the corridors. Your body limp and your breathing shallow.

The Narrator was in shock, his mind racing with anxiety and disarray. He didn't know if you were going to make it, or if he had caused irreparable damage to you.

Your death means that all of this will reset.

Your memories, the progress, you and Narrator. Your death is something much more powerful than The Reset button could ever be.

The two of you stumbled down the hallway, blood trailing behind you.

The Narrator knew that their lives would never be the same. The Curator was always so far. Always. So far beyond in The Limbo, by choice that he wouldn't have ever guessed that she'll come back after what had happened.

It wasn't entirely only her fault.

Yet The Curator was more dangerous than ever, aside everything.

The Narrator's voice trembles.

The Curator, she was controlling you. You attacked me with an axe. I had to break your arm to stop you.

"Why... Are you repeating this?"

You might not remember.

You'll reset when you die. You won't remember any of this.

Your eyes widen in terror.

"NO...no...no..no! I'll lose my memories?! FUCKING AGAIN!?" You panted.

The Narrator's expression is pained.

Yes, that's how the game works. You'll start all over again as if nothing happened.

But I'll remember.

I'll remember everything.

His tone was heavy and he was muttering.

"This is so unfair." You yelp in pain.

"Why do you care so damn much?"

The Narrator stops in his tracks and turns to you, his voice trembling.

Because you're the only one who's ever made me feel like I'm not alone in this world.
You're the only one who's ever made me feel like I have a purpose.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

You turn to look at him. You are shocked.

That's why each time you die, the game resets.

I don't want to be alone anymore.

You sob.

"Narrator, I don't want to die."

He bit his tongue and couldn't answer right away.

I know.

As the two of you walk, your eyes were starting to close, and The Narrator could see your breathing was becoming quieter.

Stanley, come on, stay with me. You can do this. Keep your eyes open,

The Narrator said, gripping your shoulder.

You groaned and tried to speak, but your voice was barely audible.

"I...I can't go on. It's...too hard."

Yes, you can. You're strong enough to fight this,

The Narrator said encouragingly, his voice cracking a little with emotion which he constantly tried to cover up.

Your eyelids fluttered, and you looked up at The Narrator. He noticed you and leaned closer to hear your quiet voice.

"I don't want to go back...I don't want to forget."

He pulls away, trying not to lose his composure.

I know, Stanley. I don't want that either. But you have to hold on, okay? You can't let go,

The Narrator pleaded, his grip on your shoulder tightening to keep you awake.

You nodded weakly, and your eyes closed again. The Narrator's heart sank.

Stanley, listen to me.

Think about the office, about your job.
Think about the choices you made. Focus on those memories, and don't let go,

The Narrator said urgently, his voice growing louder.

Your eyes opened a little wider, and you took a deep breath.

"I...I remember the office. The buttons, the monitors, the doors..."

Yes, that's it, keep going,

The Narrator urged, slight relief flooding through him.

"I chose the right door...and then I went ..."

You stopped for a second.

"I'm so cold." You said. Narrator stopped walking.

Stanley?

Your breathing becomes labored, your eyes glaze over, and your body goes limp.

The Narrator panics, trying to shake you awake, slapping your face lightly, and yelling your name.

STAY WITH ME STANLEY!

The Narrator pleads.

Don't you dare give up on me now!

But your body is unresponsive.

The Narrator tries to prop you up, hoping that sitting you down and suppording your back with the wall will help you stay conscious.

He puts his arm around your waist and pulls you close, trying to will your body to keep going.

Come on, Stanley, focus!

The Narrator says, shaking you slightly.

Remember why we're here, remember what we're fighting for!

But it's too late. You had lost too much blood.

Your head lolls to one side, and your body goes completely limp.

The Narrator is left holding you, tears streaming down his face as he realizes that you're is slipping away from him.

STANLEY!

The Narrator cries out, his voice breaking.

DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!

Your body had stopped moving and the color drained from your face, leaving you looking like a lifeless puppet.

The Narrator's eyes widened with horror as he realized that he had failed to save you, his only companion in this world.

This cruel god damn fucking world.

He let out a guttural cry, a sound that echoed through the empty corridors.

The Narrator clutched your lifeless body tightly, tears streaming down his face as he whispered desperate apologies to the dead person.

There was nothing he could do anymore to bring you back, he would have to start the game over from the beginning, and that you would be nothing more than a distant memory.

The Narrator's heart felt heavy as he held your body, his mind racing with regret and sadness.

He had grown to care deeply for you, aside from everything. Even him had a heart somewhere in his chest he once pointed to. Where you were supposes to plunge a knife through, and now you were gone forever.

The game would reset, and you would be just another NPC, a character in a story that they would never remember.

In that moment, The Narrator realized the cruel reality of their situation:

They were trapped in a never-ending loop, doomed to repeat the same story over and over again, never able to escape.

He clung to your lifeless body, the poundage of the world crumbling down on him, as he waited for the inevitable reset, and the loss of everything they had ever known.

T

he Narrator sat there next to your lifeless body.

The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the Narrator's voice.
He had been sitting next to you for a while now. Hours had passed.

Narrator couldn't tell the time. The time moved differently there anyways. But he had been sitting there, really. For a while.

It was a haunting melody he hummed. Sad and beautiful all at once.

The Narrator's eyes were fixed on your face, now pale and motionless. Memories of their adventures together flooded his mind, suffocating him with pain yet he didn't react anymore.

He couldn't help but wonder what could have been done differently. Analyzing this ending like a chess game he had lost.

The reality was cruel and depressing, as he knew deep down that nothing could have been done.

You moved on like he has promised. You were free from the physical world's problems. You were gone, and the Narrator was still here.

Sitting and humming.

He would have you rather Trapped and Alive than Dead and Free.

He was alone again. This time. Even more alone than before. He had felt alone for a very long time before. Each time he thought to himself. "This is the worst I have been at. This can't get any worse."
Then always, reality found a way to make The Narrator even more alone. This time. The world had surprised The Narrator with it's ability to make someone suffer so deeply. So greatly that they can't move or even dream of the future ahead.

As the Narrator sat there, humming his haunting melody, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it was because he knew that the Stanley you were, was no longer suffering, or maybe it was the realization that life was fleeting and precious.

Whatever the reason, the humming continued, filling the room with a melancholic beauty that only the Narrator could understand.

His eyes open suddenly. His tune stops.

"You got what you wanted."

There is a figure at the end of the hall.

Their presence so heavy that it fills the room.

When a person is cruel, their actions and words can change their aura.

They may exude an energy that is heavy and oppressive, making others feel uneasy and on edge.

The Curator's behavior is sharp and cutting, leaving those around her wounded and vulnerable.

The atmosphere in the room has filles with her, becoming tense and uncertain, with a sense that something is not right.

It's almost as if the air itself is thick with their significance.

This person's cruelty can be so overwhelming that it feels like a physical weight on those around them, making it hard to breathe and causing a sense of suffocation.

You never really feel it, unless you're alone with The Curator. Just you and her.

Yellow and Purple.

In a battle of wits and morality, Yellow and Purple stand on opposite sides of the spectrum.
Yellow may lack the ambition and ruthless drive that Purple possesses, but Purple lacks what Yellow has. The Narrator has everything and nothing at the same time. He is neither good or evil. The Narrator is his own person. Forever suffering yet finding the beauty in it. Comfort in sadness and magnificence in pain.

The Curator had walked closer to The Narrator and your lifeless body.

"What a shame," She lets out before sitting down on the office corridor carpets.

"Stanley... Y/n was a good kid."

Y/n huh?

The Narrator scoffed and looked up.

I haven't heard that name in a long time.

"That's just because you don't use it with them."

The Narrator lowers his head and eyes The Curator.

"You have lost yourself, Narrator. You have lost your way and you don't see a way back, or forth. Even not left or right since direction doesn't apply in this cursed world.
The only direction we have is constant."

The Curator takes off her glasses. She has no emotions present in her face.

"The constant rutine. A matrix. Just like in the real world. Outside this room, this building, this version of the matrix.

It's hard to tell when which one became which."

She sighs.

"There is a slight difference. One is real and the other one is ... Real but not in the same way. Both exist and are real. Yet ... One is..."

I know.

The Narrator says suddenly.

If we tell him. We die. He dies. We reset and The Limbo where rules don't apply, it won't save you.

The Museum even. Nothing helps.

"Just like the Big Bang that created the universe..."

The Curator lays on her side.

"...Everything came from nothing. Constantly expanding and creating itself.

Though infinite it will lose power and return back to its original point. Creating a new Big Bang.

Everything repeats. The life forming. Planets living and dying. Suns waking and stars perishing."

The Curator's empty gaze turns to The Narrator.

She smiles.

"We don't know how many times The Big Bang has happened, just like we don't know how many times we have told him and because of it reset. Everything lost and gone.
Losing ourselves in this game. This endless rat race.
This cruel reality. How sweet and bitter."

She laughs..

"Oh I hate Us...."

She had turned to The Narrator. He was already looking at her.

I agree.

The Narrator responds and his eyes turn to your body.

The Curator sits up and gets closer to The Narrator. He rises his hand to sign The Curator that though the two of them have nothing to fight over anymore and one side has clearly won, it still isn't a excuse for the Evil fo get so close.

The Curator respects The Narrator's boundaries and stops.

She looks down and smiles as she puts on her glasses.

Her smile widens.

"The Narrator. The name that Y/n here gave you..."

Narrator rises his head. He is filled with bitterness.

"Just hear me out before you crush me with these walls or make the ceiling fall on me.

What if...

I were to make a offer so big that you just have no option but to take it?"

There is no such offer so big that you would bend my very will.

"Hear me out..."

The Curator leans closer. Narrator doesn't stop her. The hidden curiosity gets the best of him and The Curator enjoys every bit of it.

And just like that, The Curator makes The Narrator eat his own words.

The Curator's own words drip with honeyed poison, each sentence laced with a cunning edge. She knows exactly what buttons to press, what strings to pull, to make him dance to her tune. And so she makes an offer so alluring, so seductive, that The Narrator is left with no choice but to take it. Just like she warned.

With each word, The Curator paints a picture of a world where The Narrator can have everything he ever wanted. She tells him that she can give him back you, that she can undo everything that has happened. All he has to do is agree to her terms, to do as she says.

The Narrator feels the weight of her words, the heaviness of the offer, and he knows that he should refuse. But he cannot resist the lure of what she is offering, the promise of a world where everything is as it should be. And so he agrees, his heart heavy with guilt and regret, knowing that he has made a deal with the devil, he shakes her hand. Her grin grows and she takes you off Narrator's lap.

Your body cold and heavy. The Curator places your head on her thighs and her eyes glow more in purple.

Her satisfaction through the roof. St the end she gets everything she wanted.

This wasn't the victory she wished for. The Reset will make all of this meaningless. But once she can control this world and you. Control Narrator or make him miserable. She has finally won.

Her ultimate goal. Or one of the thousands she has.

"Condition one..." She speaks.

Narrator watches closly. His heart grows cold.

"You can't speak or communicate with Y/n for the remaining time."

Her hands drop on your chest.

"Condition two:
You have to keep your distance from Stsnley. Be always out of his sight."

The Curator's palms lit up in glowing neon purple.

"Condition three:
I will kill him myself, forver. Tell him the truth so we both will reset, if you ever break my two conditions."

Suddenly there is a heartbeat. It doesn't belong to Curator or The Narrator. It belongs to the body on the floor.

"Keeping that in mind..." The Curator turns to The Narrator.

"I'm using my mind control abilities to make Y/n's body beleve that it's still alive. Then I will take Y/n to live with me forever beyond The Limbo, in the museum."

Her smile widens once more.

Their name is Stanley