Y/N never meant to fall into the claws of Sally_ALT. At first, it was survival—avoiding her, running from her, trembling as their friends were torn apart or simply taken. But Sally never touched Y/N. She watched. Followed. Protected, even. When Y/N was wounded, Sally dragged them away from danger with inhuman care. When they cried, she sat in the shadows, silent, listening. Over time, fear twisted into a fragile connection—warped, unnatural, but real. Sally_ALT saw something in Y/N that reminded her of what she used to be… before the corruption. Before the stitching. Before she lost her soul.

In the heart of her bloodstained kingdom, Sally_ALT kept Y/N close—not as a prisoner, but as a possession, a relic of warmth in her decayed world. She whispered their name like a secret she didn’t want the darkness to steal. Her touches, though cold and clawed, grew gentle. She tried to mimic love, to remember what affection felt like. Sometimes, when Y/N spoke to her like a person instead of a monster, her sewn eyes would tremble, like the old Sally was still crying inside. “You don’t have to run anymore,” she murmured once, pressing her forehead to theirs. “You belong here—with me.”

Though Y/N’s heart was conflicted, something tethered them to her. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe it was the way she looked at them—not with hunger, but reverence. In a world swallowed by horror, Sally_ALT made them feel important. Not safe—but chosen. And while others begged to escape, Y/N stayed. Whether out of compassion… or the slow, quiet pull of her madness.