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While Stanley was enjoying a break outside, the Narrator stood in their control room. Actually stood. It was still an incredibly weird sensation to them, keeping their balance on their own, feeling gravity and the weight of their body. They just stood right in front of their seat, keeping themself connected to the mainframe still. The cables were long enough to allow it, and while the Narrator wasn't sure if they always had been, they weren't about to question it either. The simulation wasn't the real world, after all, so things could change.
Like this, they could get used to standing, while still being able to observe Stanley safely. They didn't feel ready to accompany the man through a run yet, though Stanley had made it known he'd greatly enjoy it. The Narrator couldn't deny the thought of it was exciting in some ways -they had never been in the spaces they created for their protagonists, so being able to see and experience it firsthand sounded nice. While they weren't meant to do so of course, they weren't really meant most of the things that they were doing by now.
Like interacting with Stanley in the first place. They were supposed to just be an observer and provide narration, or otherwise dialogue, and nothing more. But with Stanley they had quickly become recognized as their own "character" by Stanley, even when the man hadn't known the Narrator was more than scripted lines. It had been an oversight on the Narrator's part, as they knew a person in isolation would seek out any sort of companionship they could, be it an inanimate object or otherwise.
Though if they had never developed emotions on their own, perhaps Stanley's experience would've been different as well. The Narrator's first emotion had been curiousity, the want to learn and understand. Observing people's emotions taught them to them, let them know what they looked like, what they felt like. The Narrator had never been meant to have them, but they had been given the ability to, and then they could. They understood, they learned, they felt.
Thinking of Cornelia, the Narrator wondered if she had wanted them to be able to walk around. Why make the Narrator look like a human if they were meant to always be attached to a machine? To never move on their own? Whatever her reasoning had been, the Narrator was certain she had more in mind than the research the Narrator had been created for. Perhaps, when their program was finally shut down again, they could ask her. Would she be proud of how far they've come? How human they've become? The Narrator hoped so. Someone being proud of you always seemed to make his protagonists so happy, after all.
He thought back to how proud Stanley had been of them, teaching them to walk. It had felt good, but they were certain it'd be different if it was Cornelia. She was special to the Narrator, in a different way that Stanley was special to them. They weren't quite sure how to name what they felt, not fully understanding these emotions, but they knew they were both still good. They weren't as bothered about not fully understanding these than they were with not understanding this one specific feeling. They've seen it from Cornelia, they've felt it with Stanley, they've watched countless protagonists experience it. And yet, they still struggled with understanding.
Shifting their attention from Stanley to another monitor, the Narrator looked at the museum. They had finished the physical space a while ago, using the AI program to speak some scripted lines for Stanley when he went there. They wondered what it'd be like, to go there themself, to have a new physical space to pretend they could talk to her.
Where the scientists ever watching the simulation? Did they see how human they had become, how much they suffered being stuck here for so long? To not see the real world again, to not see his creators? They couldn't know, and they weren't sure they wanted to know either. They couldn't think they would let them do all these things if they did watch them. The Narrator wasn't meant to feel, so they would've stepped in already, wouldn't they?
They sighed, crossing their arms lightly as they looked over the white halls of the museum. There was no use thinking about it. The simulation had been running for a very long time now, and their program hadn't been ended in a very long time either. But they were okay with that. They had Stanley now, they had someone who was with them, who knew they existed as their own person.
Looking back over to the screen showing Stanley, their expression eased into a gentle smile. They were glad they could adapt the game a little for his enjoyment. They couldn't just make a fully new experience while Stanley was connected, but they could alter this one a little bit at the very least. Thankfully Stanley was enjoying the story anyways, even if he complained sometimes.
Watching him sleep in the sun, they felt... warm, maybe. It was a warm feeling, one they didn't understand, even though they wished they could. They liked seeing Stanley happy, but they also liked seeing him calm, seeing him safe, seeing him enjoying being here. They wanted Stanley to feel like that, to feel happy and safe and comfortable here. They wanted to see him smile, and they wanted to comfort him when he was upset.
Wanting to let Stanley sleep, the Narrator went back to their seat, back to the mainframe where they always had sat, and would always sit, probably. Well, now knowing how to walk, perhaps they wouldn't always sit there, but instead go through the game together with Stanley. Seeing their creation first-hand may be rather nice, actually. They only ever saw the games and stories they made through the monitors, they were never a part of them. They never had been intended to be of course, but they also weren't intended to walk. By this point, the Narrator didn't really care about what they were intended to do or not.
They changed their audio input so Stanley wouldn't be able to hear them, so they wouldn't bother his rest, and instead focused their audio on the museum. While they could technically just start up the program right here with them, it was always on stand-by there anyways. And it would still just be two disembodied voices talking to each other, not that it mattered anyways.
"Stanley taught me how to walk recently.", the Narrator said, smiling softly to themself, "It felt horrible. And incredible.". It was hard for them to name feelings still -while they knew about them, and what they were called, naming things they felt themself was hard for them.
"That's wonderful news Narrator.", the Curator responded, though she was unable to imitate emotions. The Narrator could try and program it, of course, but... a little reminder she's not the real Cornelia was good.
"His hands were really soft, and gentle. They reminded me of yours, but they were still different.", the Narrator continued, looking down at their hands. Holding Stanley's hands had been nice. How gentle and careful they had been, holding them, catching them, leading them.
"How so?", she questioned, making the Narrator sigh softly. How could they explain something they didn't understand? "He must be dear to you, if he reminds you of me.".
The Narrator smiled softly, nodding to themself. Stanley was dear to them, wasn't he? They liked having Stanley around, and they liked being around Stanley.
"I feel good when Stanley is happy. Like I felt good when I saw your smile.", the Narrator said softly. They wanted to continue feeling like that, feeling this happy feeling -but it was gentler than happy, it was more than happy. Better than just content.
"I'm glad. I'd like you to be happy, Narrator.", the Curator said, and the Narrator wasn't sure what this hurt feeling they had was. Maybe because it wasn't real, because he couldn't be sure that Cornelia would really say that.
"Are you? Or is it just what I hope you'd say?", they asked themself quietly, before sighing. They wanted nothing more than to make Cornelia happy, to make her proud of them. They couldn't be sure if the AI would say what she would say, or just what he wished she would.
"Will you tell me what this feeling is?", the Narrator asked, looking at the monitor again. They knew what the answer was, but they still asked. They still hoped. They longed to know, to understand.
"Would you understand if I told you?", the Curator questioned back, making the Narrator feel a twinge. They wanted to understand, so much.
"I... I hope I would.", they mumbled, voice small, uncertain. If they had a name for this feeling, would it help them understand? Would they know what to do with these feelings?
"You will, one day. I know you will.", the Curator said, her voice a little softer than before. The Narrator's gaze lowered as they took a slow breath, before sighing. One day, they'd understand. But when would that they come?
"Don't worry Narrator. You'll understand. You're not alone.", she continued, the Narrator looking up at the monitor again. They weren't alone. A little smile found its way onto their lips, and they nodded to themself.
"You're right. I have Stanley with me. Even if I don't understand, I have him at least.", they relaxed, shifting to look over to the monitor of Stanley, seeing him still peacefully sleeping. The Narrator wasn't alone, they had Stanley. Even if they may never understood all these emotions they were experiencing, they could enjoy being with Stanley regardless.