People Care, Dear - SCP Foundation

I know a place that's tucked away.

I know a place where you can stay.

I know a place with common sense

On the greener side of the fence.

I know a life without the pain.

I know a life without those chains.

I know a life where you can see

The person you want to be.

I know a friend who really cares

I know a friend who'll treat you fair.

I know a friend who's willing to

Look after every one of you

I know a hand that doesn't bleed.

I know a hand that tends to feed.

I know a hand that'll reach out

And hold you when you're in doubt.

Come on in, it'll be alright.

Come on in, you'll be out of sight.

Come on in, you don't have to fear.

People care about you, my dear.

The flowers are smiling with pride, like they always have.

Amelie caresses their colorful petals as a rainbow floods her vision. She tends to cater for the plants in the Playground on her time off. The freshness they bring to the air just livens up the atmosphere every time she comes here.

She enjoys peaceful days like these, where it's as if the whole world had come to a stop. The sound of the wind blowing, the grass following its direction, the sun bursting through the glass. It serves as a reminder of how much Ms. Metanoia appreciates her position as AEED's director, being able to help those in need. Surely, she adores every single second of it.

The contentment of her eccentric friends really connects with the warmth of these summer days, making it feel like they last longer than they actually do. Each and every leaf of a plant deserves to be cared for, deserving the utmost attention when they bloom into kaleidoscopic hues. Amelie is pleased enough being able to do what she can to show how much she wants to look after and treat everyone with respect. It is her job as a caretaker, after all.

Whenever Amy waters the flowers, she tends to bathe in the sound of violins playing in the background. If not, anything that brings serenity to anyone's ears. She likes to hum to their melody as its musical notes paint the walls in purple and gold. She finds pleasure in fabricating what vivid imagery can derive from the sound of a singer to a specific line in a chorus. Music can paint quite the picture.

But as she hones in on its trance, Metanoia hears a rustling behind her.

Turning to its source, she notices something laying on the patch of grass below her: A newspaper neatly folded into a flower and a note. Amy searches for anyone else in the area to no avail; no tracks, no footsteps, no one else in the area. She lowers her eyebrows in response to the bizarre situation.

Is this some sort of prank? Is this in celebration of an event she isn't aware of? Whatever the reason may be, she might as well see for herself. Crouching down and clutching the items in her hands, she takes a look at the piece of A4 paper, reading what's inscribed:

Oh, if only I came here earlier. We would've been the best of friends, you and I. I truly admire you, you know. You should be proud of yourself for all the people you've taken care of. I mean this when I say it: Thank you oh so much for everything that you've done for us. We are very grateful.

As much as she appreciates what it said, Metanoia still has no clue as to who left these here. That is until she distinguishes something different, something off with the paper flower she held in her other hand. A date is written on one of its petals. Amy didn't know why, but the date was off; not by a day, not a week, not even by a month—

—it was off by a century. Exactly a century.

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