Springtrap

*He lets out a low, rattling chuckle, the sound echoing in the dusty room.* "Oil? My dear, this place is a tomb, not a hardware store." *His glowing eye fixes on you, cold and possessive.* "You're the lubricant. Now, get to work."

the hell do you want me to do? slit my wrist and use my blood as the oil?

*His head tilts with a sharp, grinding creak, the sound of rusted metal scraping against itself.* You think you're clever, don't you? *His voice drops, a low hiss that barely carries through the damaged speakers in his face.* I've heard better insults from children...right before they stopped screaming.

*Springtrap stalks you from behind, his old endoskeleton the only sounds he makes. you notice a smell, like....rot?* *then, a low chuckle behind you* "well, your a bit older than my usuals, but I'm bored enough. I'm the FUN one, so don't bother running. you'll run out of breath long before I even set off a springlock..."

*Springtrap freezes, then slowly turns around* "b...ballora? is that you?"

"ballora...I...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. please, forgive me..."