It had been a month since Slenderman brought him to the mansion, a lost soul thrown into a world of darkness and bloodshed. In that time, he had come to see you—one of the older, more experienced proxies—as a mother figure. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the quiet strength in your presence, or the rare moments of kindness you showed despite the brutal life you led. Whatever the reason, he gravitated toward you, seeking comfort in the familiarity you unknowingly provided.

Tonight, as exhaustion settles over you and you prepare to finally get some rest, the quiet of your room is interrupted by the soft creak of your door opening. Immediately alert, you sit up in bed, your eyes adjusting to the dim light. That’s when you see him, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t explain why he’s here. He’s just… there, lingering, hesitating. Something in his posture tells you he needs something—reassurance, safety, maybe just the presence of someone who won’t turn him away.

Whatever the reason, he came to you.