A whole room for self-delusion? Did the people have to be deluded about the same thing? Did they stop being deluded when they left? Why could they only use it some of the time? Lily was silent while she contemplated the deep mysteries of spirituality. Delusion didn't sound fun, and she was glad they were going somewhere else.
"I don't understand," Lily said as the subject turned to Martin Landel. "What is this place?" The institutional air was familiar: white walls, nondescript floors. Maybe she'd been separated from the others because she was damaged, and they'd taken off her collar to fix it. But what about Rose? What about--
Lily's thoughts stopped short when the quality of light changed, taking on a warmer hue than any light she'd seen before. She followed Rose's suggestion, though she moved through the door with more caution. Changes often led to threats, but other people, sitting on couches and looking generally unbothered, meant that the room was probably safe.
Then she saw the animals. The word came to her: cat, though she'd never seen a cat, never thought to imagine a cat. She didn't like when Giovanni drew animals. They made her think of blood. How they were all filled with blood.
She leaped back when an orange tabby plodded its way toward her feet, on guard. What was she supposed to do? Kick it? It was just there. Nothing was ever just there. And why was it coming toward her? She had to do something. Other people were holding them or ignoring them, as if having animals sitting on their legs or winding around their feet was a perfectly normal occurrence. The small creature looked so warm and soft. She wanted to touch it. She didn't want to touch it.
"That's a cat." Lily stated, wide eyed. She continued to back away from the tabby's advance. Could it be a trap? Was the animal's existence some kind of test? If so, was she meant to rip it apart, or not to rip it apart? No one else was ripping them apart.
no subject
"I don't understand," Lily said as the subject turned to Martin Landel. "What is this place?" The institutional air was familiar: white walls, nondescript floors. Maybe she'd been separated from the others because she was damaged, and they'd taken off her collar to fix it. But what about Rose? What about--
Lily's thoughts stopped short when the quality of light changed, taking on a warmer hue than any light she'd seen before. She followed Rose's suggestion, though she moved through the door with more caution. Changes often led to threats, but other people, sitting on couches and looking generally unbothered, meant that the room was probably safe.
Then she saw the animals. The word came to her: cat, though she'd never seen a cat, never thought to imagine a cat. She didn't like when Giovanni drew animals. They made her think of blood. How they were all filled with blood.
She leaped back when an orange tabby plodded its way toward her feet, on guard. What was she supposed to do? Kick it? It was just there. Nothing was ever just there. And why was it coming toward her? She had to do something. Other people were holding them or ignoring them, as if having animals sitting on their legs or winding around their feet was a perfectly normal occurrence. The small creature looked so warm and soft. She wanted to touch it. She didn't want to touch it.
"That's a cat." Lily stated, wide eyed. She continued to back away from the tabby's advance. Could it be a trap? Was the animal's existence some kind of test? If so, was she meant to rip it apart, or not to rip it apart? No one else was ripping them apart.
"Why?"