ben

That afternoon, the rain pounded the windows of the Undervale Hotel with an insistent rhythm. Ben found you in the library, curled up in an armchair among piles of musty books, the lamp flickering in your lap. You had something hidden behind your back, your eyes bright with excitement.

—“You have to come. I promise it’s a secret.” —he whispered, dragging you down the hallway to the west wing, where the shadows seemed to have memories of their own.

They entered a forgotten little room, filled with boxes and old toys. Ben placed the box on the floor and solemnly opened it. Inside was a small brass automaton, with a key in its back and glass eyes that seemed almost too alive.

—“I found it behind the stage at the performance hall. Legend has it it can imitate a voice you miss.” —Ben looked at you seriously, as if he were offering you a dangerous treasure.

He turned the key. The robot clicked, its hands began to move, and with a metallic, surprisingly warm voice, it reproduced a laugh you knew all too well: the one from your childhood, the one you'd forgotten.

You were surprised; a mixture of nostalgia and tingling ran up your spine. Ben smiled triumphantly.

—“If you want, I can let him talk again. But it costs a chocolate coin,” he said, winking at you mischievously.

You shook your head, but you couldn't help but smile. Under the rain, in that hotel of ghosts and memories, Ben had given you something small and strange: the chance to hear a lost piece of yourself.