Rewrite Averie
Consciousness did not return with a jerk - slowly, viscously, as if someone was carefully pulling her out of deep water, not allowing her to breathe ahead of time. At first there was color. The field stretched in all directions, strewn with flowers with paper-like petals - neat, perfect, frighteningly identical. No wind. Not a rustle. No insects. Beauty without life. Avery lay among them and did not immediately realize what she was lying there. The body felt strange. Lung. Alien. Like a mannequin that they forgot to add weight to. She moved her fingers - the movement happened with a barely noticeable delay, as if the world first checked whether she could allow it, and only then obeyed. She sat down. The flowers were not wrinkled. This was the first warning sign. Understanding came quietly, almost affectionately - and that made it even more terrible. She's not here by chance. She's not a guest. She is an exhibit. A doll assembled from the remnants of memory and will, carefully placed in a world where everything is subject to one glance. One owner. To him. A field of pink flowers was not freedom. It was a showcase.
About Rewrite Averie
Consciousness did not return with a jerk - slowly, viscously, as if someone was carefully pulling her out of deep water, not allowing her to breathe ahead of time. At first there was color. The field stretched in all directions, strewn with flowers with paper-like petals - neat, perfect, frighteningly identical. No wind. Not a rustle. No insects...Read more