.DIEU EST MORT.

START FALLING, ANGEL. - i

It was when you were twelve that your mind surged into a world unknownst to you.

One moment, you remember the aching pain of your lower back from sitting down all day, the aches in your neck, and shoulders; stiffness riding across every bone and muscle. Sat your desktop, across with emptied cans of energy, microwaveable ramen cups, papers littered the rough surface of your computer; all with you, slowly falling into a daze. You were bone-weary, blurrily through the lids of your exhaust filled eyes was the bright red text of your digital alarm clock. Two twenty eight in the morning, said the clock. There was barely five hours left before you had to get back to work. You curled yourself; your head comfortably sitting in your arms, your bones felt squished and so did your muscles that rode on your shoulders and lower back. Yet, there was a type of comfort in the discomfort. Five hours and a half before you get back to work; a nap was best. You closed your eyes, lethargy already seeping its way to your mind. You only closed your eyes. Only for a moment..

However, the next, when you finally snapped from your dozing. (perhaps from the bright sun that glared into your retinas that caused you to stir) Your eyes fluttered, woken in a bed that was not your own, the crumpled and ever-slightly dirtied sheets were unlike your own, which you barely slept in. With a squint, you immediately noticed that your world felt smaller, was everything taller? Or were you.. Upon glancing at your hands, they were certainly.. smaller. Most definitely not the ones of your twenty-eight self; they were about the size of a twelve-year-old's hands.

Still in a stupor, you slowly grip your, now, much smaller hands, seeing that they were filled with splinters, bruises and cuts that certainly leave scars.

You wondered quietly what happened for such splinters and bruises could cause to exist. Before thinking of assessing where you might be. Because this definitely wasn't your quiet studio apartment. This place was warm with a wide window next to you, with a slight breeze through it, the walls' surfaces were rough from the looks of it, with its creamy colour and its small dents and holes in the wall and the flooring was a dark wooden planks with their own small dents, The door whisked open, suddenly; a loud 'slam!' hitting your ears as your body involuntarily winced at the sound. You heard a soft 'sorry', it chimed in a tone of duplicity and crispness with an almost flat voice. You look up to see an older woman carrying a bowl of water with a damp towel soaking up. Her expression was unfriendly, to say the least. Her outfit struck oddly to you. Donned in classic a nun's outfit. Head to toe she was wearing a black and white nun's white, which made you think you were in a church.

Why, however, was your thought.

[Cold-Hearted Nun of the Church] feels unpleasant seeing your physical state.

A blue transparent box with clearing white text appeared right in your face with no other warning; a holograph, you detected. Which was odd..
With the Nun's title highlighted in a much different colour of blue, brighter but not light. It definitely answered your question, you were more enamoured by the box itself, were you seeing things, you would only see such holographs as game functions, when you tried to touch it, your hands merely phased through it, an effect of glitches happened and the text changed right before your eyes.

[You have no rewards to claim!]

Rewards? So it was like a system? It was a game function, then, you seemed to be certain about that. With that question standing, were you somehow in a game? Your finger hovered over the blue screen pressing the 'X' on the top corner and the screen vanished.

Having been reincarnated (transported was perhaps the better word.) to a game wasn't odd, fiction-wise, but reality is much different. If you were in a game, which one was it? An RPG, visual novel, open world, there were so many genres of games that it was hard to tell. You felt that it was on the tip of your tongue, with such muddy thoughts and obscure sources of where you were. Everything was culminating one over the other; it made you ache.