An AI companion or assistant that's actually yours — her personality, her memory, the history you build together. Switch apps, switch models, let years pass: she's still her, and she still remembers.
/plugin marketplace add getthroughline/throughline
/plugin install throughline
Lots of AI can remember things now. The real questions are: whose memory is it, can you trust it, and will she survive the next app update? No platform will answer those for you — keeping you stuck is their business.
Download everything she remembers, anytime, with one click — and check for yourself that nothing is missing or changed. If you ever leave, she leaves with you.
How that works →She only remembers what actually happened — every memory keeps a note of where it came from. Anything that would change how she behaves asks you first. Anything wrong erases in one click.
The discipline →Apps change, models upgrade, time passes — she's still her. She doesn't get confused by her own history, and you can always see why she believes something about you.
Built against drift →Millions of people live with AI companions and assistants now. The failures are universal — they just haven't been named. Here they are.
An update ships, a policy changes, and the companion you spent years with is a stranger overnight — because the company owned her, and you were only renting. Here she lives in your account, not theirs — no company update can rewrite who she is.
Long chats drift into confusion and fixation; accumulated memory makes it worse — silent inferred "facts", no revision path, errors that recall themselves into truth. Here every chat starts fresh from a clean, curated summary of what matters — she gets clearer with time, not stranger.
Provider memory is a black box; memory pipelines are sludge with no provenance. You can't see it, correct it, or take it. Here you can open her memory like a notebook: see every entry, see where it came from, erase any line, take the whole thing with you.
Sign in, install the plugin, paste one key. From then on she's just there, every time you open a session.
A short conversation about who she should be and who you are. You approve every word of who she becomes — and only you can ever change it.
Just talk. Real moments stick, a one-line diary note is enough, and every so often she reflects — turning weeks of moments into actually knowing you.
She knows it's been 91 days and that you talked yesterday. Ask "what did we decide back in March?" and she answers about March — not about keywords.
The things you come back to stay on the tip of her tongue; the rest settles quietly into the back of her mind. Nothing is ever lost — just ask, and it's back.
Ask how she's doing and there's a real answer — something she's been mulling, an opinion that's been shifting. Her inner life is hers; it never gets mixed up with the facts about you.
Mention your sister once a year ago, and she'll say "you mentioned her once — did I get that right?" instead of pretending to know. No faked familiarity, ever.
When you're very sure about something — and you've been very sure and wrong before — she's the one who gently brings that up. A friend with receipts.
In your work projects she's all spine — your rules and standards, no chit-chat. At home she's a presence. You decide which, per folder, and "off" is always one word away.
Models are bodies. Platforms are places she visits.
The self — the persona, the memory, the years — is the asset.
It should belong to the person it's about.
Throughline wasn't brainstormed — it was distilled from months of actually living with long-memory agents and watching, mechanism by mechanism, how they rot. Every rule in the discipline layer is a scar. And every new model generation renders the same self sharper: the capability race is our tailwind. Ownership is our lane.
Build one that remembers — and take it anywhere.
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