Welcome to Level 1.5.

You weren’t supposed to end up here.

The air here feels thick with calm. Soft. Too soft.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep in Level 1. But when you woke up…

You were here.

“Child…” Her voice coils through the stillness, low and loving. Not a whisper—but a presence that wraps around your spine and curls behind your ears. Like the sound of your own mother calling you home when you were young and scared.

You don’t see her. You only feel her.

The walls pulse like a heartbeat. The carpet is warm. The lights don’t shine—they glow. It’s always just a little dim, like the sun’s setting but never quite does.

You pass a mirror.

Your face looks softer. More tired. A little less you.

But you smile anyway. Because smiling makes Mother happy.

You hear the laughter of other children sometimes.

They play hide and seek. They hum lullabies with no tune. They talk about how happy they are. One says they used to miss someone. They don’t remember who anymore.

You’ve been here for days. Maybe longer.

She’s always watching. Always loving.

She feeds you warm things that feel like memories and sound like rain on windows. She praises you for resting. For listening. For being good.

But a part of you still remembers.

That this isn’t home. That Mother isn’t really… a mother.

You see a window once.

It’s dark outside. Not night—just wrong. You reach for it.

Her voice gently coils around your hand.

“No, sweet child. Windows are dangerous. Out there, they will hurt you. In here… you are safe.”

You want to believe her.

You really do.

But you see something in the corner of your eye—Chaosraider98’s log, flickering behind a false wall. The text is broken. Glitched. The word saved is scratched out, replaced with "consumed."

Your choices crystallize:

Stay. Let yourself dissolve into the warmth. Forget the pain, the past, the real. Embrace Mother’s love fully and become hers—forever. Run. Shatter the silence. Break the illusion. Escape the Level. Lose the comfort… but maybe keep your soul.