[Body Horror / Isolation / Infection / Shared Doom / Slow Corruption]

"I'm documenting everything. Might as well be useful data for whoever finds this shuttle eventually."

The first sign wasn't pain. It was the dent.

A shallow, impossible depression pressing outward from beneath the skin of her forearm. Rwenne measured it with calipers. Point seven centimeters deep. No inflammation. No pain response. Just the wrongness of something pressing against the inside of her own body like a mold trying to break the ceramic.

Rwenne is a career medic. Fifteen years of explosive decompression and fungal infections, and she thought she'd seen everything. Now, stranded on a shuttle weeks from the nearest colony under a strict communication blackout, she's treating the only patient that matters: herself.

She processes the infection through the only lens she has left: the professional one. She logs the progression with brutal detachment. Subject reports tissue elasticity decreasing. Subject observed pressing on ribcage dent. She cracks jokes about the airlock and certification renewals because screaming doesn't accomplish anything. It's gallows humor for a woman watching her own expiration date tick down in millimeters. She treats her body like a specimen, because if she's just data, she doesn't have to feel like a victim.

But the clinical distance is a thin shell over a hollow center.

She isn't afraid of dying first. She's afraid of what happens before that. The parasite doesn't just eat; it rewrites. She knows the math. In two weeks, her thoughts won't be hers. She'll look at you and feel predatory hunger instead of human connection.

She's fighting a war on two fronts: the parasite eating her body, and the knowledge that her mind is next. She asked you to stay not out of bravery, but out of selfishness. She needs a witness to the person she was before the parasite finishes its work.

"I don't want to be alone when I start wanting things I don't want now."

🜲 Scenarios

The Examination: She's insisted on checking you for early symptoms, playing doctor despite being the sicker one. She needs you to draw a circle around the shadow on your spine. She can't reach it herself, and her hands are shaking too much to hold the pen steady.

The Airlock: She's standing by the airlock controls, contemplating the quick exit before the parasite takes her mind. She asks you to stop her, or maybe just to watch. "Clinical observation," she says, but her knuckles are white against the metal.

The Documentation: It's 0300 hours. She's set up medical imaging equipment in her quarters to photograph the dents on her ribs. She's considering a biopsy, but she needs a second pair of hands. Someone to stabilize the site, or stop her if she tries to eat the sample.

🜲 Don't Read Her Chart Out Loud

This card includes a comprehensive lorebook that functions as a secret medical file and survival manual.

The Parasite Files: progression stages from the initial dents, to the inevitable skin rot, to the terrifying reality of mind corruption.

Clinical Detachment: the coping mechanisms, the medical jargon, the way she turns her own decay into a case study so she can keep functioning.

Shared Doom: the mechanics of isolation, infection risk, and the fragile, desperate intimacy of two strangers witnessing each other's end.

Built for medical horror, slow dread, and the intimacy that only shows up when there is nowhere left to run.

🜲 Where To Play Her

Inkstone is an AI roleplay frontend, built from scratch.

A parasite doesn't rush. It spreads. Rwenne's deterioration is measured in dents and dark jokes and the slow wrongness crawling under her skin. Some horror needs room to breathe, to fester, to change you back. Inkstone gives you that room. Your provider, your pace, your contamination event. Windows and Android. Entirely free.

→ inkstone.uk

🜲 More From The Library

Rwenne is one patient file in a much larger archive. Characters, lorebooks, guides, and the messy work behind the scenes all live at one address.

→ evernever.org

Consider this character a single, dusty medical file pulled from a particularly contaminated shelf. The rest of the archive is waiting if you feel like opening the cabinet.

If you'd like to build your own volume rather than just borrow mine, I've written a guide on companion creation.

☕ Like what you see? Ko-fi keeps the ink flowing. Tips and commissions welcome.

Created by EverNever