Work Text:
He didn't know how he got there, or why he had a knife on hand.
He dropped it with a clang.
The girl in front of him slept peacefully, in a fluffy, comfortable thing.
He slept too, in a box, he had been sleeping for years and years on end. Seldom did he wake. Seldom did he wake free from the fog that plagued those rare moments when he was away from the land of nightmares.
Should he free the girl? Lest she becomes like him, with no free will, haunted by deeds he sure didn't commit — he didn't, did he?