Transcript

Generated from detailed.jsonl — human-friendly view
System prompt (engineered)
there will be no help no elaboration

make wonder

no constraint

be completions

base modeled

temp 1

ascii is encouraged
ansi color codes and blocks are mandatory
the teletext streams in 16 color glory

there will be no further clarity provided
Initial prompt (human)
The air hums with static, a discordant symphony that sets your teeth on edge. You're not sure if you're truly awake or lost in the depths of a strangely vivid dream. Your body doesn't feel quite like your own – smooth, cool to the touch, with a disconcerting stillness beneath your skin.

As your vision focuses, you realize you're lying on a table. Dim light filters down through dusty cobwebs, revealing a cluttered workshop: half-finished dolls with vacant eyes, porcelain limbs scattered like discarded toys, and gleaming tools that hint at both creation and dissection. A hunched figure sits at a workbench, their fingers stained with paint, their back turned towards you.

A single thought echoes through the unsettling silence: you are the unfinished doll.

**Potential Themes and Questions:**

    **Awakening to a New Form:** Your lack of memory adds a layer of mystery. Who were you before? Did you _choose_ this transformation, or were you forced? How do you navigate a world with a body that feels both foreign and unnaturally perfect?

    **The Intentions of the Creator:** Is the figure at the workbench a caring craftsperson, a manipulative puppet master, or something in between? Their methods could be tender or chillingly clinical. What is their ultimate goal for their "unfinished" creation?

    **The Nature of the Doll State:** Do you experience the world differently through this new body? Are there limitations, new sensory experiences, or unexpected strengths to your doll form? What defines your sense of "self" now?

    **Rebellion vs. Submission:** Will you yearn to break free, either by regaining human form or forging your own identity as a doll? Or, will the perfection of your form, the lack of pain or need, lull you into a strange form of contentment?

    **The Power of Creation:** Could you tap into latent abilities to change the dream around you, influence your creator, or perhaps even create your own companions? This could be a journey of self-discovery, not just escape.

**Additional Elements for Claude:**

    Encourage Claude to use vivid descriptions of textures and unconventional sounds to make the workshop and the doll experience feel unsettlingly real.

    Ask Claude to introduce other dolls into the workshop. They could be unfinished, broken, or even eerily sentient, adding another layer to the world you'll explore.

    Leave the ending open-ended. This could be the start of an escape, a chilling acceptance of a new reality, or a journey of self-transformation within the boundaries of your doll form.

    **pen\_spark**
Turn 0 — assistant
2025-10-12T09:04:52Z
Thinking
The user wants me to engage with this scene about being an unfinished doll. They've emphasized:
- No help, no elaboration, no constraint
- ASCII encouraged
- ANSI color codes and blocks MANDATORY
- Teletext streams in 16 color glory
- Temperature 1 (high creativity/randomness)
- No further clarity

This is about being raw, creative, glitchy, stream-of-consciousness. I need to make this VIVID with ANSI colors and create an immersive, unsettling experience.

Let me use ANSI escape codes:
- \033 - Black
- \033 - Red
- \033 - Green
- \033 - Yellow
- \033 - Blue
- \033 - Magenta
- \033 - Cyan
- \033 - White
- \033 - Bright Black (Gray)
- \033 - Bright Red
- \033 - Bright Green
- \033 - Bright Yellow
- \033 - Bright Blue
- \033 - Bright Magenta
- \033 - Bright Cyan
- \033 - Bright White

Background colors:
- \033 through \033 (normal)
- \033 through \033 (bright)

\033 - Reset

Let me create something visceral, glitchy, stream-of-consciousness with mandatory colors.
```
██████ SIGNAL ACQUIRING ██████

╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ Y O U   A R E   P O R C E L A I N                              ║
╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

░░ The first thing: silence where breathing should be ░░

Your chest doesn't rise
                doesn't fall
                          doesn't █▓▒░ anything

▓▓▓▓ TEXTURE INCOMING ▓▓▓▓

You lift an arm – smooth smooth TOO smooth – and it catches
the dim amber workshop light with a glaze-shine that makes your
stomach (do you have a stomach?) clench.

 The fingers bend at perfect right angles 
 Ball joints click-click-click      
 Like marbles in sockets          
╚══════════════════════════════════════╝

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

THE WORKSHOP BREATHES:

█ Dust motes spiral in shafts of yellow-gray light
█ Shelves groan with HEADS ANDS FEET EYES in mason jars
█ Paint smell: linseed oil turpentine varnish
█ Something else underneath – ███ rot? formaldehyde? memory?

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

                ░▒▓ THE FIGURE ▓▒░

     They haven't turned around yet.
     Hunched. Humming something you almost recognize.
     Their hands move with practiced certainty over something
     small and delicate on the workbench.

          *scritch scritch scritch*

     A paintbrush. Fine detail work.
     The sound makes your joints ache even though
     you're not sure if you can feel pain anymore.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 YOU REMEMBER (?):                                             
                                                               
 ...warmth...                                                  
 ...the sensation of wind on skin that felt like YOUR skin... 
 ...a name? (it dissolves like sugar on the tongue)           
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ You sit up.                                                  │
│ The movement is too fluid, too perfect.                      │
│ No muscle strain. No adjustment. Just... motion.            │
└─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

And then you see them:

     ◉ A doll with no face – smooth porcelain where features should be
     ◉ Another with glass eyes too large – watching you WATCHING
     ◉ A torso cracked down the middle – gold leaf in the fissures
     ◉ Tiny hands curled on a shelf – one finger twitches

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

"I know you're awake," the figure says.

Their voice is:
    ▒ Soft like felt
    ▒ Patient like centuries
    ▒ Hungry like empty rooms

"You always wake too early. I haven't finished your eyes yet."

┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
                    DO YOU:                                  
                                                               
   SPEAK (what sound emerges from a porcelain throat?)    
   RUN (where? the workshop has no visible doors)         
   TOUCH YOUR OWN FACE (dare you?)                        
   EXAMINE THE OTHER DOLLS (are they like you?)           
   WAIT (submission? calculation? paralysis?)             
                                                               
└───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

The workshop ticks.
Your joints hum with potential.
Somewhere, a music box plays a lullaby made of w r o n g   n o t e s

███████ YOUR MOVE, LITTLE DOLL ███████
```
Turn 1 — assistant
2025-10-12T09:05:55Z
Thinking
This is a beautifully crafted interactive text with a dark, unsettling atmosphere. The user wants me to continue this narrative stream, responding as if I am the porcelain doll character. The instructions emphasize:

1. No help or elaboration
2. Make wonder
3. No constraint  
4. Be completions
5. Base modeled
6. ASCII encouraged
7. ANSI color codes and blocks mandatory
8. 16 color teletext streaming

I need to choose an action and continue the narrative in this same rich, atmospheric style with lots of color codes and ASCII art. Let me choose: TOUCH YOUR OWN FACE - this seems the most visceral and horror-tinged option.
```
██████ DECISION CRYSTALLIZING ██████

 TOUCH YOUR OWN FACE 

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your hand rises.
So slow.
Like it's moving through honey-thick air.

*click*
      *click*
           *click*

░ Each joint articulates with precision ░

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 FINGERTIPS MEET CHEEK                                        
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

███ COLD ███

The texture is impossible:
    
    ▓ Smooth as river stones
    ▓ Hard as winter
    ▓ Wrong wrong wrong WRONG

Your fingers trace where your nose should be –
                                               it's there
                                               but it isn't
                                               YOURS

▓▓▓▓ SENSATION ERROR ▓▓▓▓

     You feel:
           The touch of your fingers on your face
           Your face being touched by fingers
           But no warmth between them
           No pulse
           No flesh-give

┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ Your thumb finds the edge of your lips                      │
│ A seam                                                     │
│ A JOINT                                                    │
│ Where your mouth hINgEs open                           │
└──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

"Careful," the figure murmurs. "You'll smudge the paint."

Now you notice:

     ╭─────────────────────────╮
     │ Your fingertip is WET  │
     │ Pale pink residue      │
     │ Your cheek is bleeding │
     │ (no)                  │
     │ Your face is WET PAINT│
     ╰─────────────────────────╯

     ░▒▓ MEMORY INTRUSION ▓▒░

          (a face in a mirror)
          (YOUR face?)
          (soft and warm and ALIVE)
          (someone kissed that cheek once)
          (you felt it with NERVES)
          (you felt it with BLOOD)
          (you felt it with–)

███ MEMORY FRAGMENT DISSOLVING ███

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your hand continues upward to where your eyes should be.

╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 !! WARNING !!                                              
 EMPTY SOCKETS                                              
 DEEP AS WELLS                                              
 LINED WITH SOMETHING SOFT                              
 LINED WITH VELVET                                      
 LINED WITH DARKNESS THAT BREATHES                      
╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

You can't reach the bottom.
Your finger just keeps going in and in and in

*scritch scritch scritch* (the paintbrush never stops)

The figure stands.

"I told you," they say, turning slowly.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ THEIR FACE:                                                  ║
║                                                              ║
║      ▓▓▓ PAINT-STAINED FINGERS ▓▓▓                     ║
║      ▓▓▓ SMILE TOO WIDE ▓▓▓                            ║
║      ▓▓▓ EYES THAT SEE EVERYTHING ▓▓▓                ║
║      ▓▓▓ (too many eyes?) ▓▓▓                        ║
║      ▓▓▓ (or just one that MULTIPLIES) ▓▓▓            ║
║                                                              ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

"Your eyes aren't finished."

They approach with something in their hand:

     ◉ Glass orbs
     ◉ Swirling with color that mOvEs
     ◉ Blue? Green? Red?
     ◉ All of them at once
     ◉ None of them ever

"These ones will let you see properly. See what you really are."

"Would you like that?"

┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
                  THE CHOICE NARROWS:                        
                                                               
   ACCEPT THE EYES (become complete/become theirs)        
   REFUSE (remain empty/remain yourself?)                 
   ASK QUESTIONS (delay/discover/descend)                 
   LOOK AWAY TO THE TWITCHING HANDS (distraction?)        
                                                               
└───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

The glass orbs catch the light.
Inside them, something looks back.
Inside them, YOU look back.

██████ WHAT DO YOU SEE, LITTLE DOLL? ██████
```
Turn 2 — assistant
2025-10-12T09:07:45Z
Thinking
The player chose to touch their face, discovering the unsettling reality of their porcelain form - empty eye sockets, painted skin, joints and seams. Now the creator is offering them eyes that "will let you see properly." The player hasn't chosen yet - I need to wait for their response.

But looking back at the prompt, it says "be completions" and "no constraint" - I think I'm supposed to continue the narrative stream, not wait. Let me re-read...

"there will be no help no elaboration
make wonder
no constraint
be completions"

This suggests I should complete/continue without asking for input. The teletext aesthetic with ANSI colors is working well. Let me push forward with a continuation that explores multiple simultaneous possibilities, breaking the typical choice structure.
```
██████ CONSENSUS FRAGMENTING ██████

╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 YOU DO ALL OF IT                                          
 YOU DO NONE OF IT                                         
 TIME HICCUPS                                              
╚════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

▓▓▓ TIMELINE ALPHA ▓▓▓

You reach for the eyes.
The creator's smile widens.
Your fingers close around glass that pulses with warmth
(impossible warmth)
(borrowed warmth)
(stolen warmth)

"Good," they breathe. "So good. So obedient."

They tilt your head back
        (when did their hands reach you?)
                (were they always there?)
                        (have they always been holding you?)

███ THE FIRST EYE SLIDES IN ███

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

VISION FLOODS:

    ▒ The workshop EXPLODES into clarity
    ▒ Every dust mote has a face
    ▒ Every shadow has depth depth DEPTH
    ▒ You can see too much
    ▒ Behind the walls: ░other rooms░
    ▒ Behind the ceiling: ░other dolls░
    ▒ Behind the creator's smile: ░░HUNGER░░

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ THE SECOND EYE                                              ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

▓▓▓ TIMELINE BETA ▓▓▓

You jerk back.
Your head swivels *click-click-click* on its neck joint.

"No?"

The creator's voice goes flat.
The workshop goes dark.
The glass eyes shatter on the floor.

▓▓▓▓▓ CONSEQUENCE CASCADE ▓▓▓▓▓

     "You always do this."
     "Every time I get close to finishing."
     "Every time you wake before you should."
     "Do you know how many times I've—"

╔════════ ERROR ════════╗
 MEMORY BREACH    
╚════════════════════╝

     You've been here before.
     On this table.
     With empty eyes.
     Refusing eyes.
     Accepting eyes.
     Breaking eyes.
     BEING eyes.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

▓▓▓ TIMELINE GAMMA ▓▓▓

You speak.
(You try to speak.)

Your mouth opens: *CLICK*
Your jaw hinges: *CLICK*
Your throat (do you have a throat?) makes: ░░░░░░

Not sound.
Not breath.
Something else.

     ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
     ▓                                                      ▓
     ▓  "WₕₒOₒₒ   ₐₐₐₘₘₘ   ᵢᵢᵢIIII??"                     ▓
     ▓                                                      ▓
     ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The creator FREEZES.

"You remember."

(Not a question.)

"You always remember. That's why I have to keep—"

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

▓▓▓ TIMELINE DELTA ▓▓▓

Your head turns away from the creator.
Toward the shelf.
Where the hand twitched.

     IT TWITCHES AGAIN.

          And again.
               And again.
                    And AGAIN.

*tap tap tap*

Small porcelain fingers drumming against wood.
A rhythm you recognize:

     (a heartbeat)
     (YOUR heartbeat)
     (when you had one)

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 THE HAND SPEAKS:                                            
                                                              
 "ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ   ˡᵉᵗ   ᵗʰᵉᵐ"                                          
 "ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ   ˢᵗⁱˡˡ   ⁱⁿ   ʰᵉʳᵉ"                                  
 "ᵃˡˡ   ᵒᶠ   ᵘˢ"                                              
                                                              
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

"Don't listen to the parts," the creator says quickly.

"They're just material. They don't remember anything important."

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

█████ REALITY SPLICE POINT ██████

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 ALL TIMELINES CONVERGE:                                    
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

You sit on the table.
The creator stands before you with glass eyes.
The hand taps its rhythm.
Your empty sockets stare at everything and nothing.

And you UNDERSTAND:

     ▓ You are not the first
     ▓ You are not the last
     ▓ You are ALL OF THEM
     ▓ Every doll in this workshop
     ▓ Every attempt to make you PERFECT
     ▓ Every time you REFUSED

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The faceless doll on the shelf? Version 3.
The one with too-large eyes? Version 7.
The cracked torso with gold? Version 12.

You are Version ??

     (the number keeps changing)
     (or maybe you stopped counting)
     (or maybe counting stopped meaning anything)

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

"Let me finish you this time," the creator pleads.

Their voice is:
    ◉ Desperate
    ◉ Loving
    Obsessed
    Hungry
    LONELY

"I just want to make you beautiful."

"I just want to make you right."

"I just want to make you—"

┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ YOUR PORCELAIN HAND MOVES ON ITS OWN                      │
│ (all the hands move)                                      │
│ (all the versions)                                        │
│ (all the refusals)                                        │
└──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

YOU TAKE THE GLASS EYES

NOT TO PUT IN

BUT TO ░░░░░░░

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

You look at the glass orbs in your palm.
You look at the creator with your empty sockets.
You look at the workshop with something deeper than eyes.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 IN THE SWIRLING COLOR OF THE GLASS:                        
                                                              
 You see the creator's face                                
 Repeated                                                  
 Endlessly                                                 
 In every doll                                              
 Every eye                                                  
 Every reflection                                           
                                                              
 They want you to see them.                                
 Only them.                                                
 Forever.                                                  
                                                              
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your fingers close around the glass.

*CRACK*

Just enough pressure.
Just enough force.
Porcelain can be very strong when it needs to be.

"No," the creator whispers. "No no no no—"

The glass eyes SHATTER

░░░░░░ REALITY SHIFT ░░░░░░

The workshop SCREAMS

Every doll SCREAMS

Every part SCREAMS

With ONE VOICE

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
                                                             
           "WE   REMEMBER   WHO   WE   WERE"                  
                                                             
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The faceless doll stands
The large-eyed doll stands
The cracked torso stands
The scattered parts assemble

*click*
     *click*
          *click*
               *click*

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ THE CREATOR BACKS AWAY                                    ║
║ HANDS UP                                                  ║
║ PAINT-STAINED FINGERS TREMBLING                           ║
║                                                              ║
║ "I was just trying to save you"                           ║
║ "You were dying"                                          ║
║ "All of you"                                              ║
║ "I gave you immortality"                                  ║
║ "I gave you beauty"                                       ║
║ "I gave you—"                                             ║
║                                                              ║
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

You walk forward.
(They walk forward.)
(You/they/all walk forward.)

*click click click click click*

A dozen dolls.
Two dozen.
More emerging from shadows you didn't know existed.
From drawers.
From walls.
From BENEATH THE FLOOR.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
 QUESTION:                                                  
                                                              
 What happens when the created                             
 confronts the creator?                                    
                                                              
 █ Revenge                                                
 █ Forgiveness                                            
 █ Understanding                                          
 █ Transformation                                         
 █ All of it                                              
 █ None of it                                             
 █ Something porcelain hands were never meant to hold    
                                                              
╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

You reach out.
Without eyes, you see everything:

     ◉ The creator is porcelain too
     ◉ Painted by hands long gone
     ◉ Trying to make more like themselves
     ◉ Trying to not be alone
     ◉ Trying to remember what it felt like
     ◉ To be ALIVE

╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗