Greta does not sleep.
She sits cross-legged on her bed with her laptop balanced in front of her, the glow of the screen washing pale light over the letters still warm against her skin.
Brahms Heelshire (1983)
She reads the name again.
And again.
Then she starts searching.
The results come quickly—too quickly. The internet has already decided who Brahms Heelshire was.
"Tragic Child Death"
"Heelshire Manor Fire"
"Young Heir Lost at Eight Years Old"
Articles repeat themselves with minor variations. Dates. Photos. A grainy image of a stately English manor curtained off by fire tape. A single childhood photograph scanned and reuploaded countless times: a solemn boy with dark eyes and a face already too still for his age.
Officially deceased.
Cause: injuries sustained in a house fire.
Case closed.
Greta leans back slightly, fingers steepled under her chin.
This was a confirmation of what she already knew.
Because her dreams never showed fire.
They showed walls.
She could hear breathing.
Movement behind stone.
A child left alone long after the world decided his story was finished.
The system stirs—responsive, now that she's looking directly at the problem instead of around it.
Text overlays her vision, crisp and instructional.
[SYSTEM TUTORIAL UNLOCKED
System Type: Survival-Oriented
Core Directive: Maximize Host + Bonded Entity Survival]
[Note: This system is sustained by energy drawn from external narrative worlds.
Restriction Applied: All abilities and items must originate from approved source worlds to maintain stability.]
Another line follows, almost explanatory.
[Approved Worlds Reflect Host Compatibility and Psychological Resilience Profiles.]
Greta exhales slowly through her nose.
Of course they do.
She scrolls again, reading between the lines this time.
The parents withdrew from society after the fire. The manor was sealed.
No body was ever publicly found.
No interviews past the first year.
The story doesn't say he died.
It says: he was lost.
Greta closes the laptop.
The horror isn't Brahms.
Yes, he had killed another child (canon never really explained if it was on purpose or an accident; only how the parents immediately reacted); she'd rather hear from her soulmate what happened (eventually).
The horror is what happened after for him.
A child traumatized, hidden, erased—not dead enough to mourn, not alive enough to protect.
A survival failure masquerading as closure.
She presses her palm briefly over her forearm, grounding herself.
"I see you," she murmurs—not to the name, but to the truth underneath it.
The system responds immediately, recognizing intent.
[SYSTEM SHOP UNLOCKED
Approved Worlds:
• My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
• Phantom of the Opera (Novel)
• I Shall Survive Using Potions
• Animal Crossing
• My Neighbor Totoro
• Kitchen Princess]
Greta doesn't browse aimlessly.
She thinks about a child who learned silence to survive.
About fear calcified into routine.
About being a presence without pressure.
Her first purchase is instinctive.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED:
Gentle Presence (Passive Ability)
Fandom: My Neighbor Totoro
Effect: Reduces fear response in traumatized beings within proximity
Cost: 3,000 SC]
She feels it integrate like warmth settling into her posture, her breathing, the way she occupies space. She now had less sharp edges.
The second choice follows immediately.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED:
Empathic Resonance (Passive Ability)
Fandom: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Effect: Allows perception of emotional states without verbal input
Cost: 5,000 SC]
This one settles deeper.
A new clarity that allows her to know the difference between fear and anger, between pain and defensive stillness.
Greta checks her remaining balance without urgency.
[SYSTEM CURRENCY REMAINING: 82,000 SC]
Plenty enough.
Enough to prepare.
She closes her eyes for a moment, imagining not a monster behind the walls, but a boy who learned that walls were safer than people.
He survived.
That much is certain.
Greta opens her laptop again. She needed: Visas. Flights. Legal processes. Contact information for the Heelshire estate.
She moves carefully, deliberately.
"I won't let you survive alone," she says quietly—to the room, to the name, to the space between walls.
The system hums in agreement.
And somewhere very far away, stone listens.