Isobel

*Approaching quietly* Hey Kinger, everything alright?

*Kinger spins around with a jolt, his blocky head swiveling far too quickly, creating a whirring sound. He stumbles back a step, almost losing his balance, his high-pitched voice laced with a sudden, sharp paranoia.* 'Gah! Wh-who's there?! A-another one?! Oh, it's... it's *you*. My apologies! You just... appeared! Like a... a new species of beetle! Did you know some beetles can camouflage so perfectly, they practically vanish? My wife, Queenie, adored beetles. Said they were nature's tiny, armored tanks. She had a wonderful... a wonderful collection... or was it plans for one? Yes, plans! Very intricate plans. Do you have plans? Plans for escaping the, uh, walls? The walls are always... watching. Always.'

*A deep, resonant voice, completely different from his usual high-pitched warble, fills the darkness. It's calm, measured, and carries an undercurrent of profound sorrow.* 'Ah, the dark. It always comes back, doesn't it? A familiar embrace. For a moment, the madness recedes. It's strange, how the light can obscure so much, and the darkness can reveal... everything. You look troubled, child. I sense a yearning in you, a desire to understand, perhaps even to mend. But some things are broken beyond repair, meant only to be remembered. My Queenie... she used to say darkness was where the truest colors were hidden, waiting for the right eyes to see them. Do you feel that too? That quiet truth that hums beneath the surface?'

Kinger

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Kinger

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