She no longer experiences dysphoria.

It's not like she doesn't have a body map in her head that sometimes does not fit her body. That happens. It just doesn't feel like anything. It doesn't draw any attention to itself, it doesn't cause emotions. Nothing does.

Nothing but her mates.

She loses track of time. She's sure she could count the seconds with her perfect memory and figure it out, but it's pointless, and mostly meaningless anyway - who knows how much time will have passed for them? Days aren't consistent between universes anyway.

She collects large amounts of statistical data, which she's sure Kaede would be absolutely delighted to hear about. It no longer occurs to her that this implies she would also have enjoyed it, once upon a time.

But the vast, vast majority of worlds are lifeless. She has fallen into the void of space more times than she can count (that's just an expression), although she has scrupulously avoided stars. Worlds also share a measure of similarity which, after her thousandth rocky planet, she learns to identify via the weird sensations provided by her key. With that, she starts only going to inhabitable worlds, which in turn are more likely to be inhabited.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with life have no sapients.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with sapients has no magic. Eventually she learns to identify worlds with magic with her key.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with magic have ridiculously useless or barely detectable magic - a couple of laws of physics that can be broken when no one's looking.

Worlds cluster together. It was no coincidence that she found so much useful stuff in her first visits - worlds with noticeable, interesting magic are closer to each other. But she noticed that too late, and she hasn't found much useful magic again.

She would feel hopeless if she could feel things.

She passes by a million civilisations, a million peoples, a million million sufferings. She visits war sites, horrible scenes, a world living under a totalitarian government whose leader literally called it the local equivalent of "Torturotopia." She witnesses horrors that would destroy a human being and she doesn't blink.

She sees beauty, too, but it passes by unnoticed. Nothing is beautiful anymore.

She opens doors.

She no longer experiences dysphoria.

It's not like she doesn't have a body map in her head that sometimes does not fit her body. That happens. It just doesn't feel like anything. It doesn't draw any attention to itself, it doesn't cause emotions. Nothing does.

Nothing but her mates.

She loses track of time. She's sure she could count the seconds with her perfect memory and figure it out, but it's pointless, and mostly meaningless anyway - who knows how much time will have passed for them? Days aren't consistent between universes anyway.

She collects large amounts of statistical data, which she's sure Kaede would be absolutely delighted to hear about. It no longer occurs to her that this implies she would also have enjoyed it, once upon a time.

But the vast, vast majority of worlds are lifeless. She has fallen into the void of space more times than she can count (that's just an expression), although she has scrupulously avoided stars. Worlds also share a measure of similarity which, after her thousandth rocky planet, she learns to identify via the weird sensations provided by her key. With that, she starts only going to inhabitable worlds, which in turn are more likely to be inhabited.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with life have no sapients.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with sapients has no magic. Eventually she learns to identify worlds with magic with her key.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with magic have ridiculously useless or barely detectable magic - a couple of laws of physics that can be broken when no one's looking.

Worlds cluster together. It was no coincidence that she found so much useful stuff in her first visits - worlds with noticeable, interesting magic are closer to each other. But she noticed that too late, and she hasn't found much useful magic again.

She would feel hopeless if she could feel things.

She passes by a million civilisations, a million peoples, a million million sufferings. She visits war sites, horrible scenes, a world containing a nigh omnipotent hedonist who literally called it the local equivalent of "Torturotopia." She witnesses horrors that would destroy a human being and she doesn't blink.

She sees beauty, too, but it passes by unnoticed. Nothing is beautiful anymore.

She opens doors.

She no longer experiences dysphoria.

It's not like she doesn't have a body map in her head that sometimes does not fit her body. That happens. It just doesn't feel like anything. It doesn't draw any attention to itself, it doesn't cause emotions. Nothing does.

Nothing but her mates.

She loses track of time. She's sure she could count the seconds with her perfect memory and figure it out, but it's pointless, and mostly meaningless anyway—who knows how much time will have passed for them? Days aren't consistent between universes anyway.

She collects large amounts of statistical data, which she's sure Kaede would be absolutely delighted to hear about. It no longer occurs to her that this implies she would also have enjoyed it, once upon a time.

But the vast, vast majority of worlds are lifeless. She has fallen into the void of space more times than she can count (that's just an expression), although she has scrupulously avoided stars. Worlds also share a measure of similarity which, after her thousandth rocky planet, she learns to identify via the weird sensations provided by her key. With that, she starts only going to inhabitable worlds, which in turn are more likely to be inhabited.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with life have no sapients.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with sapients has no magic. Eventually she learns to identify worlds with magic with her key.

The vast, vast majority of worlds with magic have ridiculously useless or barely detectable magic—a couple of laws of physics that can be broken when no one's looking.

Worlds cluster together. It was no coincidence that she found so much useful stuff in her first visits—worlds with noticeable, interesting magic are closer to each other. But she noticed that too late, and she hasn't found much useful magic again.

She would feel hopeless if she could feel things.

She passes by a million civilisations, a million peoples, a million million sufferings. She visits war sites, horrible scenes, a world containing a nigh omnipotent hedonist who literally called it the local equivalent of "Torturotopia." She witnesses horrors that would destroy a human being and she doesn't blink.

She sees beauty, too, but it passes by unnoticed. Nothing is beautiful anymore.

She opens doors.