Parables of Empathy (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

4- A Friend

Author's Notes: The art for this chapter is by MetallicArtist on Tumblr.

The song mentioned within is I Built a Friend by Alec Benjamin.

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"Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act." - Proverbs 3:27

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How soon was it that there came yet another fork in the road.

"THE DEMON"

"THE ANGEL"

Francine both physically and mentally leaned from one side to the other, trying to figure out which way seemed safest. The left- the demon- seemed darker from this angle, but...

A small giggle rang from overhead.

...Angels weren't exactly the most uplifting concept at this moment. Might as well investigate her choices, right?

And so Francine stepped into the most hellish of the paths. It would soon be clear it wasn't only hell as a metaphor. Her heart nearly jumped into her throat as she found the hauntingly familiar sight of a hallway totally entrenched in ink. No way. No way she'd go through that again, and so she turned around so she may take the journey of angels.

Pah-tunk!

"...You've got to be kidding."

No, whomever had the power to open and close the routes of this studio's past was certainly not fooling around. The entry of the heavenly lane had closed shut. Francine lifted and lifted the metal gate until her fingers ached, and not even a few kicks of frustration could unhinge it.

Shit and goddammit.

From where she stood, a sliver of the doorway stared at her like a slit eye. And it was then she recognized that a hero's epoch to great treasure required every drop of bravery one possessed.

Feeling the voice on her tongue waver in fear, she made the decision to take out her phone and press "play" on her music shuffle. As she stepped into the river Styx once more, she hoped it could calm both her and whatever monsters lied in wait once she broke through their veil.

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"Mow that...is a beautiful, and positively silly thought."

The last three words drifted out to her more quietly than the others, either a consolation or a warning to an odd girl that just wanted to feel like a person again. She memorized the printed name and the sound of the tape, pondering this psalm.

Maybe Norman would be able to tell her about Joey, too. She wondered if he was with them somewhere, isolated within his own little slice of a haven in this perdition like everyone else seemed to be.

More so, she hoped that there wasn't a reason Sammy hadn't mentioned him either.

Someone was left with the weight of yet another upon their shoulders, yet another that deserved to be saved. But what could they do?

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First, the splatter of ink pouring down the middle of a ceiling, unavoidable like a baptism, resting upon her shoulder like a kind touch of the hand.