my name’s blurryface and I don’t know what you’re thinking

My head hurts… and my chest hurts… and my ego hurts too, now that I think of it…

I didn’t remember how I got in that room, but I’d been trapped inside of a locked surgical unit for almost a full day now, various people I guessed to be staff coming in and out and hooking me up to various machines and injecting drugs in me for a reason that they refused to divulge. They’d made my mind blurry for a good part of the day in order to keep down any resistance to their presence in the room- I mean, why were they even keeping me in here? What’s the purpose?- until someone came in and tightened the straps around my wrists and ankles to keep me from escaping.

A mentally battered girl lies on her bed, blurryfaced and limp on the cold raised table made out of the same kind of marble that Emma was tortured within an inch of her life on. She’s felt this before, although she cannot possibly remember when or where she was when this last happened. But it feels like a long time ago, as someone with a different body, a different mindset on the world, a different fate… and all she wants right now is to go home, although, in some other dimension of thought, she has been home the whole time.

They wouldn’t tell me what was going on with Constance and Maxine and the others that they also captured when they coerced the skyskipper from where we’d kept it as our sanctuary in the clouds, but I really shouldn’t have expected them to, considering how they’d practically kept me under solitary confinement the whole time I’d been here.

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