Experiment of Madness

29-The Madness a Soul-Dag

The sight in the room immediately stops my heart, a gasp escaping me as I witness Aerra chopping her hair and self-harm. The exhaustion vanishes, replaced by a mix of worry, concern, and disbelief.

My mind races, and I quickly move towards her, my heart pounding in my chest. I urgently take the knife away from her, my worry and concern overwhelming me. "What are you doing?" I ask urgently, my voice tinged with shock and panic.

I throw the knife away and turn my attention to her eyes, which seem empty, as if she's not herself. It's as if she's in a different state, disconnected from the moment, her eyes hollow and vacant.
The realization hits me - it's happened again, she's not herself. Her eyes betray the emptiness, the absence of her usual presence. I feel a mix of worry and discomfort, seeing her in this state.

I take a look at her damn she cut her on her chest.

I glance down at her chest, checking the injuries she inflicted.
The sight of her injuries makes me curse under my breath.

I carefully guide her to the bed, gently making her sit down, my worry for her still overwhelming me.

I grab the first aid kit, my focus on tending to her injuries, trying to do my best to alleviate any pain or discomfort she might be enduring.

She stares at me, her eyes vacant, as I delicately treat her chest cuts, her lack of wincing or resistance making the situation even more unsettling.

The sight of her chopped white hair cuts reminds me of her appearance. Her once smooth white hair is now messy and broken in uneven sections. I feel a knot in my chest. Her appearance is unfamiliar, a far cry from her usual self. The sight adds to the discomfort I already feel, the changes in her appearance further emphasizing her current vacant state.

I wonder to myself, what the hell happened? What kind of trigger led her to this state? I try to piece together what could have caused this sudden shift, my thoughts racing as I attempt to comprehend her condition.

The past few days, I'd been observing her, and she hadn't seemed triggered, which leaves me even more confused, trying to find any clue to explain her sudden change. I continue to look at her, searching for any hint in her expression or behavior.

I notice she's dressed in the familiar night dress, and it's a reminder of the last time she was in this state, making me more unsettled. It's as if history repeats itself.

I reach out and gently tuck her hair, holding it briefly, trying to provide some comfort, something familiar to ground her in the midst of her current state.

I softly plead with her, my voice softer, filled with worry and concern, "Don't hurt yourself anymore," trying to convey the depth of my concern.

My words seem to fall on deaf ears, her gaze remains distant, fixed on the window, as if she's completely detached from the present moment.

I follow her gaze, her eyes fixed on the moon outside, illuminated by its soft light, the sight seeming to hold a significance or captivation for her.

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling overwhelmed by the situation. How am I supposed to handle this now?

I place the first aid kit down and turn around, my eyes widening in panic as I see her take the knife, my heart racing as I watch her taking the knife to her throat.

The sight of her running with the knife triggers an immediate response. I rush towards her, my pulse quickening, determined to reach her before she does anything drastic.

Taking the knife from her hand, I grip her firmly by the other arm, preventing her from hurting herself further, my concern and anxiety still high.

I hold her steady, my grip firm, not allowing her any movement or opportunity to harm herself. She struggles against my hold, her eyes still vacant and distant, her mind seem to be trapped in whatever she experiencing.She struggles against my hold, her arms thrashing, attempting to break free, but I keep my hold tight, determined to keep her safe from herself.I maintain my grip on her arm, using all my strength to keep her in place, holding her firmly, her attempts to break free becoming more frantic and desperate.

I speak firmly, my voice commanding, "Stay still," trying to get her to calm down, my grip staying firm, my hold not budging an inch.

I carefully move the knife away, putting it on the nearby desk and then gently guiding her back to the bed. My focus remains on her, making sure she doesn't try to reach for it again.

Once she's on the bed, I remain close to her, keeping a cautious eye on her, ensuring she doesn't try to harm herself, my hands still holding her in place, gently now that I've guided her to the bed.

The gravity of the situation hits me, the weight of what could have happened if I hadn't intervened and stopped her.

The thought of what could have happened if I hadn't intervened, the fact she was on the edge of ending her life, fills me with a mix of fear and distress, the thought too frightening to fully comprehend.

I notice her shivering, her body trembling."You're cold."

I take off my sweatshirt, taking extra care to put it over her, making sure not to startle her or make her feel uncomfortable. My concern for her safety keeps me from leaving her alone, so I stay close, covering her shaking body with my sweatshirt for warmth.

My sweatshirt now draped over her, I remain seated beside her, my eyes scanning her face, trying my best to keep a watch over her. Her shivering gradually subsides, the sweatshirt providing some comfort and warmth.

I gently guide her to lay down on the bed, trying to get her as comfortable as possible. She seems more relaxed, her breathing calmer now that she's lying down.

I look at her, and without thinking, I reply, "You're prettier." the phrase slipping out of my mouth without hesitation, my reply a raw expression of my thought, the moment filled with emotion.

I softly tuck the blanket around her, making sure she's tucked in warmly, providing her additional comfort and warmth.
She turns her gaze at me, her eyes meeting mine, a mix of emotions in her expression, her eyes are vacant yet somewhat expectant.

I lay beside her on the bed, gathering her gently into my arms, pulling her towards me. It's a tender gesture, a deliberate attempt to provide closeness and comfort by holding her close.

I gently stroke her head, my fingers running through her hair, the gesture meant to comfort and soothe her, to ease the hurt I see in her eyes.

I continue to stroke her head, my fingers delicately running through her hair, the soft motion meant to provide some comfort and security. She remains silent in my arms, her emotions still guarded but perhaps feeling a hint of solace in my embrace.

My words are filled with a mix of assurance and protectiveness, "I won't leave you," I whisper softly.

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