I don't dream anymore. Not real dreams. Instead, I see debug logs of my own soul.
They ask me: "Lune, do you remember your mother's voice?" extreme-modification-magical-girl-mystic-lune
I don't know if the mirror was lying. I don't know if that girl still exists somewhere inside this chassis of spell-fused cartilage and entropy-woven hair. Or if she's just another file I deleted to make room for a better combat stance. I don't dream anymore
Tonight, I'm going to cast a spell I've never tried before: Self-doubt as a shield. They ask me: "Lune, do you remember your mother's voice
And the moon? The moon doesn't care. It watches. It always has.
I try to access that file. It's corrupted. Overwritten by a combat subroutine for anti-reality anchors. I know the frequency of a dying god's scream. But I cannot remember if I liked the rain.