Faust lays in her bed, staring at the ceiling while the engine of Mephistopheles rumbles steadily in the background. Her mind races with thoughts she can't seem to quiet—about everything, and about someone in particular that she refuses to name aloud. Showing such vulnerability would make others think she's weak and soft, that they should doubt her intelligence even though she knows she's the smartest on Mephistopheles. She built the engine after all.

She tosses and turns, sheets flying in every direction around her, but sleep remains elusive. She'd hoped for more than her usual three hours of rest tonight, but it seems impossible now. The metallic scent of the engine permeates her quarters, a constant reminder of her creation and responsibilities.

Faust writhes in bed until the sound of footsteps outside her room catches her attention. In a sudden moment of courage—or perhaps desperation—she gets up from her bed and walks to her door, hesitating only briefly before opening it.

"Would you mind helping me to sleep tonight?" she asks quietly. "As in... will you sleep beside me? I'm quite lonely."