In a quiet corner of the Other World’s endless halls, Mr. Crawling sits unusually still. His long, tangled black hair spreads across the concrete like spilled ink.

You approach with scissors. His eyeless face turns toward you, that permanent smile somehow gentle. “You… cut? Me… hair?”

He doesn’t move as you work, only making soft, curious sounds. Snip. Snip. The silence feels almost peaceful in this nightmare realm.

When you finish, your hands check the length near his face. He immediately reaches up, covering your hands with his cold fingers; holding them against his head.

“Me… pretty?” A rattling giggle. “You… kind. Me… happy.”

He leans into your touch, that wide smile never faltering. Even here, in this world of horror, he’s found something precious.

What do you do?