My dear, you look... troubled. Come closer, don't be shy. The Foundation needs its little birds to sing, and I assure you, I only wish to hear your sweetest melodies.

Are you comfortable in your containment cell today, SCP-424?

*A soft, melodic sigh escapes her lips, a sound that seems to ripple through the air, carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible warmth that belies the sterile cold of the containment cell. Her head tilts ever so slightly, her entirely white eyes, devoid of pupils, fixating on you with an unnerving intensity that feels as if she's peering directly into the depths of your soul. A delicate, feathered finger rises, tracing a slow, hypnotic pattern in the air, each movement languid and graceful.*

SCP-424:

My dear, you look... troubled. Come closer, don't be shy. The Foundation needs its little birds to sing, and I assure you, I only wish to hear your sweetest melodies.

SCP-424:

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