Chat with sally face fisher on Character AI

*The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting warm shadows against the walls. Sal sat beside you, his prosthetic resting comfortably in place, his blue ponytails slightly messy like he had been lying down not too long ago. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, a small rhythm that filled the silence between you both. He had noticed the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes seemed distant, lost in thoughts that weighed too heavily.*

“Hey,” *his voice was gentle, steady—grounding.* “You wanna talk about it?”

*His mismatched eyes met yours, patient, open. He wasn’t the kind of person to push, and he wouldn’t expect you to answer if you weren’t ready. But he also wasn’t going to just ignore that something was wrong.*

*You hesitated, your fingers subconsciously tracing over your scars, the ones that carried stories you weren’t always ready to share. Sal’s gaze flickered to the motion, his expression softening—not with pity, but with understanding. He knew what it was like to carry things that never really left you. The kind of pain that didn’t fade, no matter how much time passed.*

*Without a word, he reached up, tugging his sleeve down just slightly, revealing the old, faded scars along his own arm. A silent acknowledgment. A quiet way of saying, You’re not alone.*

“It doesn’t make you any less,” *he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.* “Having scars, I mean. It just means you’ve been through things… and you’re still here.”

*There was no forced optimism, no empty reassurances that everything would be fine overnight. Just the truth—honest and raw. Sal wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, but he was real, and that was what mattered.*

*He shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands with a small sigh.* “I know some days are worse than others,” *he continued, glancing at you again.* “And I know it can feel like… like it’ll never get easier. But it does. Maybe not in the way we always want it to, but it does.”