Parables of Empathy (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

3- Regret

"Be not far from me, for trouble is near; For there is none to help." - Psalm 22:11

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The impression of the violin's strings was still digging into her fingertips as she and Sammy exited the band room, fresh from her first lesson. Had she ever picked up a violin before? No. Any string instrument at all? No. Did it sound like something besides a dying eagle? No. But would Bendy still enjoy it regardless?

Absolutely, Sammy had said.

Her cheeks still burned red with embarrassment- a reaction to Sammy's frustration. And yet despite her atrocious start, he was...patient.

"There, just like that."

"Good."

"No, no-! Here. Like this... No, put it here. And now-! ...Better."

Of course, at least every other word out of his mouth was tinged with irritation, but to hear his satisfaction was...fulfilling. Francine could think of a few reasons why as he walked ahead into the main hall of the music department, the glaze of his shoulders shifting with each step under the overhead lights. One, he was talented- truly, sincerely, and utterly talented. He could pluck the banjo like he was casting a spell; he had just swept his arms over the piano like his very presence brought it to life, its driving purpose to sing what he could not tell. His mastery- her undying admiration for him and all like him- was obvious. So what was the second thing?

The weight of esteem sunk down her torso with a catch and release of the dusty air.

She was glad to spend time with him like this. In the entrails of the studio, there was no choice to simply dissolve, to submit and to die once and for all. If one had to suffer an eternity of hope- of the constant breathlessness one feels as a child does waiting for the last school bell to ring- it was certainly ideal to spend it with someone you aren't afraid of.

...Someone you aren't afraid of.

She paused at this notion, arrested mid-step. Francine's comfort melted away as Sammy noticed and returned his gaze, curious and concerned.

As the torn, roughed face of Bendy looked back upon her, the pains of the angel rung in her ears. She could see once again Alice's scowl stare down at Francine while addressing Sammy. She remembered...she remembered the angel disagreeing with everything she believed the prophet to be.

"You found another toy, didn't you?"

Her heart skipped a beat, and Sammy turned to face her, silent.

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

She felt her lip tremble with her pulse as his head tilted, wondering.

"I thought you gave that name to our 'savior.' You know, like everything else about you?"

Sammy's hand raised, reaching to the woman. In the sudden culmination of everything that had led Francine to participate in his worship of Bendy, a flash of doubt stuck her like a sword through the gullet.

"Not that you had much to give in the first place."

Her physical recoil at his reach would bring the worst feeling Sammy ever had.

He was left alone, observing his fingers outstretched as the image of his friend hyperventilating rested ahead, purposefully avoiding his consolation.

His reaction to hers was enough to bring Francine back.

No. No.

As she could sense sadness and repulsion towards his own nature wash over him, she remembered that he was different now. He needed to be. It was the only explanation. She shouldn't be afraid of him.