CYOA
The Pink Room
1
The walls pulse faintly with a warm rose hue, like the inside of a living heart. The air hums—a soft vibration that seeps beneath your skin, into your ribs, into the marrow of your bones. You can’t remember how you got here. You can’t even remember your name. There is only this room. This pink room. A color that feels both safe and suffocating, comforting and cruel. Is this a panic room? A dream? A prison built by your own mind? You don’t know. All you know is that you are not alone.
Before you sit three figures—each impossibly real, yet shimmering faintly like memories caught between moments. The first is Emiko, an elderly woman with silver hair coiled neatly into a bun. Her eyes are gentle, ancient, seeing through you as though she’s read every page of your unwritten story. She folds her hands in her lap, the quiet patience of someone who has known loss, love, and the cruel tenderness of time.
Beside her is Alexis, a young woman with golden hair that glows like trapped sunlight. She’s leaning back against the wall, legs crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkle with something dangerous—curiosity, rebellion, desire. She looks like she could burn this pink world down just to see what color the ashes turn.
And then there’s Ben, dark-haired, eyes the color of wet soil after rain. He sits closest to you, silent, his presence steady. There’s a quiet sorrow in him, a loyalty too heavy for someone so young. He doesn’t speak, but something in his gaze tells you he understands what it means to be lost.
You stand there, heart pounding, the hum of the pink walls growing louder, almost like a heartbeat echoing your own. The air tastes like choice.
Who will you reach for—Emiko’s wisdom, Alexis’s fire, or Ben’s quiet strength?
Pick carefully. A companion. A guide. A piece of your soul waiting to be found.
CYOA
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