A/N: Alright, so this is my first fanfiction, so be nice. ;3 My boyfriend and I have been watching a lot of Amnesia playthroughs and one of our favorite people to watch is PewDiePie. So we watched this video(youtube . com/watch?v=7twF1t3Q1BE) and he decided to prompt me with a Stephano fanfic. So here it is. Enjoy (:


Alone it sat, in the darkened room where the only light it saw was from the single ray of sunlight that peered through the broken floorboards. How long had it been alone? Years possibly, but there was no way to tell time in the damped cellars. Quiet surrounded it, and it was in the quiet that it found solitude, and contentment. Alas, this was only to be during the day. For at night, was when the creatures came out to play. It could hear them throughout the whole mansion. Shuffling along, groaning as they walked into each other, the walls, and doors. Their blindness was their crutch, and for all of those that dared venture in, it was their savoir. But it never helped them. No one lasted long, everyone died.

Alone it sat, with no hope of leaving this damned place. No hope of finding another to suffer with, and no hope of venturing away from the shelf that it had been placed upon before madness had reigned upon them all.

It was on a night very much like the rest that everything changed though. The hellions were out and about, but they seemed to be restless, more so than they had been in a while. Noises could be heard through the hallways, someone was putting up a fight. It could hear the groaning from a monster, one of their saw-like arms cutting against the bars of a nearby cage, a failing attempt to kill another unfortunate soul. It could remember the sounds of the last victim; the incessant wailing, the pleas for help, as if anything in this place could save them. They were all doomed, and cursed to remain here until the end of time. Nothing and no one would be able to change that. Of course there had been talk, rumors of the master of the house coming back. But he was dead and his apprentice had followed suit, or so it had been told.

The clanging grew louder and louder, as the monster grew frustrated. It wouldn't be much longer until it reached its prize. They always claimed what they believed was theirs, and it was only on rare occasion that they would stray from their path. It started to groan, in frustration or triumph, and a startling shriek could be heard through the hallways of the cellar. One would normally assume that yet another victim was claimed, and chalked it up to the hex that was upon them all, but there was something different today. It hoped and, if it could, it prayed that this one had survived.

Now one would normally say that it was crazy to pray, or even believe that anyone would be able to make it past the devils that lurked throughout the house. It was preposterous to believe that the only food that these things could sustain would be able to run past them and live on another day. It was like saying that an antelope would be able to outrun a cheetah in the open grasslands of its habitat. It was just unheard of.

But against all odds, the shriek continued, unlike the others that the house had been so fond of. This one continued, and seemed to grow louder as the seconds ticked away. Footsteps were pounding against the floor and the scream seemed to die down. But the damage was done. The door to the room opened and light illuminated the room from a lantern held by a strange man. The man's face could not be seen, but the light provided enough of a use that the room's four walls could be seen. It had been so long since this much light had been in the room.

The man rummaged around the room, searching for items that only he deemed useful. His breathing was harsh and heavy, and sweat was dripping from his brow. He found the cylinder that had been left so long ago, and read what he found aloud. His voice, it was so unfamiliar, so new, and so much more than expected. His voice was calming in a way, and it found comfort in the sound.

As the man continued to search the room, he made his way closer. He was so close, if only he would stretch out his hand. And suddenly, in the man's grasp, it was; a golden statue of a man, sword in hand. Its design so simple, and yet it incited elegance. Man and statue stared at one another if only for a second before the man spoke to himself.

"I think we should call him Stephano," for only a man on the verge of insanity would name a statue. But a man on the verge on insanity needed help. He needed a friend, someone to guide him in the darkness. He needed someone that knew the secrets of this place, because maybe then they would be able to escape, together.

And so it was with this idea in mind that, as the man turned the statue around, that it spoke,

"Alas, I am Stephano."