The conditions of this crime were so grotesque that she hardly humored her captors with an emotional response. Here she lay on a cold surface of uncomfortable marble, her entrance of an uncouth nature, her recumbent position born of weak knees and disbelief. It was happening again, and just like before, she had not been able to aid a repressive endeavor.
Inanimate objects were affiliated with a dastardly chill, she had come to discover, their perpetually dead nature never gaining the ability to grace her with any sort of sign of life, and as she remained in that seemingly fainted position, she was more aware of the frigidness seeping into her back than she was of the scientists. Ah, yes, the world is such a cruel place with its arctic objects, but her dream world, her holy place, had no such insentient condemnation; everything just was, just is, and there was no difference between a human and its surrounding environment. With her peoples equal to every aspect of her world, feeling was ground to nothing and sensory was inert.
But over the past year, Madotsuki had been forced to rethink her definition of mundane. In the real world, temperature-less was not possible and humans were not one with their world. They are separate beings entirely, and discovering their warmth once more was nothing beyond a repeated class, one she did not exclusively wish to retake, but also not one she denied the importance of. Exposure had led to a hopeful future.
Alas, however, the dream called reality was not founded in certainty yet.
Both palms, previously upturned, faced the cold floor she had been analyzing oh-so diligently once the sound waves of the room had stilled, a forceful push bringing her upright and subsequently standing again. Such a sudden motion brought a blood rush of dizziness to her resting skull, but she no more than teetered before trudging through the pixels that danced before her eyes and stepped out into her new prison. Light, as it would in a dramatized movie, excitedly shot through the door as her hesitant but fervor approach exposed her to the outside, and once both her mental unsteadiness and light perception settled, what she saw was a massive, industrial deja vu.
The metallic door she had emerged from creaked shut and furthermore consigned itself to oblivion, masking its presence with, no doubt, some aspect of this place’s technological capabilities, but her scrutinizing gaze did not spare so much as a glance; oh, no, how silly it would be to find interest in something like that. Besides, more importantly, something has happened to her knife.
It was a sudden cognizance that brought her attention to what her fingers were wrapped around and she brought the item before her in mild surprise, for not only was her weapon wood-bound, but it also had manifested from air itself. However long the dream girl spent staring at it was not a measure of time she bothered marking in comparison to the demanding, overbearing awareness she felt once snapping from that reverie, a hardening expression sweeping across her features. How dare they.
Limply, her arm descended to her side once more, muscles unmoving in relation to the wooden handle, and she stepped forward, slow at first, then accelerating to an expeditious advance.
The one she targeted had their back to her, but she was sure to get their attention.
“Tell me where I can get a new knife.”