A heavy weight rests on your face. You thrash to throw off the attacker, expecting a hard fight back… only to find your attacker is not alive. Rather, it’s your copy of Encyclopedia Grey: the Definitive Collection. And upon seeing your scrawny, full-intact waddle stumps; you realize you are not a grizzled warrior. Rather, you’re a weak little adolescent gold blood named Malfis Tysted. Nothing cool and mysterious about that now.
You must’ve fallen asleep outside of your recuperacoon again while reading. Everytime that happens you get the same few dreams- or visions? You aren’t sure what they are, and frankly, it hurts your big ol’ think cave to even think about. Better leave the speculation to real detectives.
You rouse from the floor, book in hand, making sure to not capture-log it. Not again, not after last time. But then you see what’s underneath it. The bent frame and shattered glass of your favorite shades. They were the last ones you had to cover your disgustingly malformed left gander globe. You’d rather bury yourself than show that off. Perhaps you know an acquaintance that can help?
After setting your book in its rightful place, you drag your defeated self to your communication device. It seems you have few messages, but you can’t quite tell from who? Your vision is obstructed by…something. Your side views are blurred with red irritation, as if you’ve taken damage in a video-game. Oh well, whoever it is can wait. You have a moirall to contact.
Leaning into the screen, you carefully select her name.