Notes

As far as Eileen was concerned, surviving was a bit of a pain. It had been so, so many years before, in Fredbear's Family Diner, when she had been killed. The memories that she had managed to withold of her family just weren't clear anymore- Foggy and unclear, as if there were some sort of mist of pain, and the fog of time clouded over her memory. There was just one day that she could remember clearly. Rather ironically, also the one that she longed to forget. As far as Eileen could fathom it, she had been a temperamental child when she was alive once upon a time. This long, unruly red hair that always seemed to stick up in the strangest of places, and green eyes that coud deliver a fierce childish glare to anyone who dared argue with them. Her family, on the other hand, had become a simple blurry memory over time. She knew that it had been large, at least. There was one figure of her family who constantly ached in her brain for her to just /remember/ them. The details weren't clear, but... As far as she could tell it was a boy. Blonde, green-eyed, younger than she. As far as she could remember, they had been attending the birthday party of a friend. She had been good friends with Michael Afton. After witnessing the boy and his friends shove his younger brother into the jaws of the Fredbear animatronic, the only thing she could do was try to shield her little brother from the shocking sight, and run with the frantic crowd out of the building. She could hear the shouting, presumably of Michael's father, William Afton. After leaving her brothers with her parents, curiosity got the better of the Scottish girl, and she went back inside. The man, with an odd purple-ish tint to his skin, was weeping, hunched over the boy. The boy's frontal lobe had been pulled straight from the crown of his head, hanging loosely from the jaws of the mechanized bear. "Is he okay?" Eileen had asked tenatively. The boy's father looked up, this maniacal glint in his eye that Eileen made the fatal mistake of mistaking for sorrow. "O....kay..?" He began laughing. He had snapped completely. "YES, LITTLE BRAT, I AM PERFECTLY OKAY!" Eileen winced as her back was slammed against the wall, and something sharp lodged in her side. She didn't even cry. "Cry, little girl.... Cry like my boy just cried for help..." The insane man coaxed, with a sinister grin on his face. When the small redhead refused to comply, wrenching her jaw shut, he flew into a rage. "WHY. WONT. YOU. CRY!?" The sharp

object lodged into her flesh exited the wound, then back in. Then it repeated and repeated, for what felt to be hours of endless pain. The green eyes that were once vibrant wth the fire of passion, life, unnurtured potential, were now grey and dull as if it were a cloudy sky entrapped in the orbs of the injured. And so he left her to bleed. When the life and energy was slipping away from her, the only thing Eileen could grab a hold of was the corner of box. It had contained an animatronic, one of which that wouldn't be used for decades. And so she died there, in a storage room, where she was never found. The next thing that she could register was the mechanical clicking and whirring of her own joints, moving in an erratic and spontaneous fashion, as if they hadn't been used for years. She didn't look as if she were a child anymore. There was a thin sheet of metal, similar to what a dress would have been if it were made of cloth. The smooth metal of her own fingertips had taken her a while to become used to. There was a crack of light in her container, one of which she quickly pushed. The lilac prize box she had been contained in pushed open, and Eileen clambered out. The mask that sat on the side of her head lid down to cover her face, the only distinct true facial feature revealed being the white pin-pricked orbs in her empty eye sockets. There was this urge in her- If she didn't move through the unfamiliar to a different room, then something bad was going to happen. Of course, in her dazed and confused state, she obeyed her urges. The white heels clicking against the black and white tiles was quiet to begin with, but the tapping turned into thundering. She was running, shouldering open doors in an aimless bid to find someone, something, [i]any[/i]thing. Then she came across a woman. She was either dying or dead, and Eileen really didn't like her prospects. Her white arms moved to gently lift the corpse, and she looked around for a second. There was this deranged voice in Eileen's head, crying and begging for the same thing. Over and over. [i]'Save them. Save them. [b]Save them.[/b]'[/i] The only way she could think of how to do such a thing, was easing the bloodied corpse into the animatronic skeleton of a large chicken. The beak was horrbly unhinged, but the urgency in her brain told her that it didn't matter anymore what they would look like. The voice in her head told her that no matter what, this woman had to [i]survive[/i]. "Save them.

Save them. Save them." Eileen chanted quietly to herself, her voice robotic and unfeeling. The accent she had held in her previous living state still held some inflection in her voice, yet that very same voice was glitchy and unreliable. Once the chicken's eyes held that same lifeless white pin-prick that her own did, as if she was acting purely on a code and system, Eileen wound up her music box and retreated to her box. This same urge, and the voice, persisted many times over the years. She saved many of the dying and the dead, giving gifts and giving life. After the saving what would hopefully be her last, once she got into her box, she didn't fall back asleep. She curled up in the lilac-and-red container, for years. Pondering what she had done, and why. That simple reflection time, and the calming chime of her music box, allowed for her to grow wise and mature in her years. ....But now, all she wanted was for someone to stop that music chime. [i]'Someone let me out.'[/i]