#erromaly

You wish you had hands. Something for Error to touch even if you know full well by now that he would never let you touch him, or vice versa. It’s been so long since you knew him after all and even the way you are is pushing it. The fact you’re not a million scattered pixels is truly a miracle, given Error’s reputation and usual behaviour with SOULs like you.

Still, you dream. Your thoughts wander.

Respect the boundaries that exist but what if? Would he feel solid, if you had the senses for it? How would his glitches translate to your more broad senses? Would he lash out at you, or allow you the benefit of doubt? Surely he knew you long enough to allow even a brush?

But you don’t have the sense of touch. Not the right one anyway.

There is a solution though (there's more than one way to break free, you remember this) and your little self is further strung along by the idea’s allure. 

The current rules only exist because you were here. Anomalous being, abominations to those within this plane of existence. Bound to rules of the medium, but who says you were stuck to only one medium?

You drift a little further ahead, the pull of a potential change singing to you like a siren’s song. 

(where are you going?)

It’s right there, sitting so tantalizingly close yet so far away - an exit to this depressing situation you’ve put everyone in. A solution that sits nearly outside the box… But it’s not beyond your reach.

(wait)

You reach out, SOUL thrumming with longing for something better. A solution only you could present thanks to what you were. Maybe you could bring a better person to make this story better. Someone who wasn’t ‘you’ right now. Something new. Only one of you is allowed per setting and it’s clear that this ‘you’ isn’t working. You’re not what he wants or needs.

You are the Anomaly and Error hates-

(wait)

Yellowed tips enter your vision, followed by red phalanges, then black metacarpals. Each digit cupped around that fragile shape that holds you, until you are caged within the same hands you have seen break things over and over again. Your destination is obscured from view as those hands bring you down from your ascendance slowly. Gently. 

You follow the direction of his hands. Don’t touch him, you remember this as you carefully hover in the hollow space he carves out for you in the air with his hands. You don’t want to set off his fear.

The two thumbs above crack open and mismatched eyes gaze down upon your little SOUL. The snarl on his jaw isn’t present, instead replaced by a frown with a tightness you don’t remember seeing on him ever.

For a moment, neither of you move. Error’s Intent, usually a whirlwind of manic rage and glee, is unusually solemn. Quiet. Dare you say, gloomy. 

You're reading it wrong.

Your Intent hasn’t changed. Mostly, anyway. There is a shred of hope that blooms in your little pixel mass, a glow that aches for more. You would do anything for a favorite even if it meant giving them the silence they demanded.

“don’t…” Error breathes out, not a shred of the anger you know or the relief you predicted present in his tone. His sockets droop, and his hands draw you closer and closer until the Destroyer hunches around you like a cage.* “… don’t go.”