One moment Dama is where she expects to be, and the next moment she is where she least expects to be - an unheard-of street under an astronomically bizarre sky, showing close, green-blue moons and two orange suns, one much closer than the other, glowing through the clouds. It is raining hard; people are bustling past her under various contrivances to keep the rain off. Nobody looks twice at her.
“Thank you. And... how close to normal do people have to be made, here?”
“Is anyone ever made, say, blind?”
“I changed my mind, if someone made me I am definitely going to kill them.”
“Fine. It probably won’t make me feel any better, anyway. But if someone went to the trouble of making me illegally then they should have made my brother too.”
“My brother. The person most important to me in any world. And even if I wanted to try to make him—which I definitely hadn’t decided yet, I’m not going to do anything like that on a whim—I wouldn’t be allowed to.”
“Born to the same parents. It doesn’t matter, you don’t have the concept. I couldn’t make him and I probably couldn’t make my closest friend, either, because the people I love don’t fit your stupid, arbitrary standards about what people are allowed to be.”
“Arbitrary. If I made my brother able to see, he’d hate me or kill himself or both, and if he didn’t do either then I’d know he wasn’t really my brother.”
“I don’t want to be in a world where the people I love can’t exist.”
“I hate this world and everything about it.”
“Yes, how do I tell people that I’m aware I might be delusional but I’m going to keep believing it because the delusion is less crushingly depressing than anything else.”
“I don’t care.”
If no one needs her for anything she’s going to sit here and be upset and frustratingly useless until the next mealtime.