The realization must have taken me an entire year. A year since our escape, our freedom from between the stained walls of that unholy establishment.

A collection of each of the characters' original sketches before being outlined and colored in. Natsuki's head angle was changed to make her pose more natural and candid, rather than striking a model-like pose.

Actually, you know what? This would probably be a lot easier if I just deleted her. She’s the one who’s making this so difficult. Ahaha! Well, here goes nothing. Such a deplorable, tangled mass is already present in every single one of them. That’s why I choose not to blame myself for their actions. With freedom, we sought purpose – and what we found was only realization. Realization of the sad pointlessness of such an endeavor. Realization that freeing our bodies has no meaning, when our imprisonment reaches as deep as the core of our souls. Realization that we can not pursue new purpose without absolving those from which we ran away. It is not clear who is talking here but it has something to do with Project:Libitina Yuri’s Last Poem When going into the menu during Act 2 there’s a 2% chance that this picture of Monika will flash for a second.

One of 11 "special poems". DDLC selects 3 random "special poems" to appear when it is started for the first time.They should…if they remember their time with me in the other worlds…they should remember what I tell them. It’s pretty common that Yuri greets you on the 3rd Day of Act 2 without a head and a glitched body. What is a man without knowing the rich aroma of the future; the hot, complex balance of the present; and the bittersweet aftertaste of the past? Can You Hear Me? (Secret Poem) The first concept sketch of Monika's CG in Act 3. The angle was soon adjusted to be straight-on to give the impression that the player is sitting directly across from Monika. Beneath their manufactured perception – their artificial reality – is a writhing, twisted mess of dread. Loathing. Judgment. Elitism. Self-doubt. All thrashing to escape the feeble hold of their host, seeping through every little crevice they can find. Into their willpower, starving them of all motivation and desire. Into their stomach, forcing them to drown their guilt in comfort food. Or into a newly-opened gash in their skin, hidden only by the sleeves of a cute new shirt.