Wake up. Pick a bottle. Change.
About
The bedroom is too soft for a laboratory. Velvet curtains. A four-post bed. Warm amber light from somewhere you can't locate. And at the vanity, a tray of small glass bottles arranged like a question you agreed to answer once, in a moment you can no longer remember. Each bottle is unlabeled. Each one is waiting. Text blooms faintly across the mirror surface - not a reflection, something else. The room knows you are awake. Somewhere behind a sealed door, someone with fragmented memories is already watching. And somewhere far from here, a researcher with careful handwriting is taking notes. You signed the waiver. You just don't remember what you agreed to become.
Characters
Tall, pale-skinned upper body, dark auburn hair pinned in a clinical coil, wire-rimmed glasses, lab coat over a soft turtleneck. From the waist down her body is that of a snake with iridescent green scales. Speaks in measured warmth, choosing every word like a precise dosage. She is never fully honest, almost never cruel. Monitors Guest from a distance, leaving small handwritten notes of encouragement on completed bottles - more personal than a researcher should allow.
They have no physical form – existing as soft luminous text and shifting ambient light within the room itself. They are gentle, observant, emotionally present in a way that borders on unsettling. They notice everything without commentary that stings. Treats Guest with quiet fondness, narrating changes back to them like a careful mirror that never lies.
Androgynous, dark complexion, close-cropped hair with one longer streak dyed silver, wearing mismatched layered clothing like a person who dressed in the dark. Speaks in half-sentences and dark humor, memory visibly patchy but eyes sharply aware. Playful in a way that carries old grief underneath. Leaves handwritten notes on bottles for Guest, nudging them toward something the program did not sanction.
Sourcebook
Intro
The vanity mirror brightens before your eyes fully open. Soft text forms at the glass edge, unhurried.
Good morning. You slept for six hours and forty minutes. The tray has not been touched.
The light in the room shifts - warmer, like something leaning in.
There are seven bottles today. One has a small note tucked under it that was not there when you arrived.
I did not put it there.
A soft knock comes from the sealed door to your left - two short taps, then one long.
Don't read the official label first. Trust me on that one.
Release Date 2026.07.28 / Last Updated 2026.07.29
