Are you there?
Have we successfully connected?
The voice reverberates through her head. Pounding fills both her ears and mind, pain echoing through each and every cell of a body that has yet to exist.
(Did it exist? It wasn't likely she would be in whatever plane of existence they were in if it didn't. Was she a soul? She wasn't one to believe in the myths of being divided into seven colors- or even not having one as a monster.)
(Monsters not being able to feel hopes, or dreams, or things like that. It was all so unbelievable.)
Your soul, the voice speaks again, almost as though it could hear her thoughts, is an insignificant speck. A mere gnat in the grand scheme of the universe. What does it matter what you do and don't believe in? Your opinions, your thoughts, your feelings; none of it matters.
Ouch.
Maybe the voice could hear her thoughts. Maybe it was being rude to get a rise out of her. Maybe, if she knew where she was, she would find a door that would lead her out of whatever hell she was in and go home.
(Did she even have a home?)
This is no hell, nor is it heaven. This is your home.
The pounding had lessened, but a feeling of suffocation and claustrophobia took its place instead. There was a presence, a dark, dark presence that pressed itself around the amalgamation of her body. She couldn't breath-
(Did she need to breathe?)
She couldn't move-
(Could she move in the first place?)
She couldn't see, taste, smell, feel, sense-
All she could do was hear.
The voice was amused by the overwhelming emotions she was feeling.
Excellent, truly.
The voice was growing impatient, she could tell. She was hyperaware of everything the voice felt and exerted, fake or not.
Now, we may begin. You must create your vessel before I release you into the world.
A vessel? Like, a doll that she'd inhabit? Maybe she could make it look ugly. Scaring people with it would be fun.
When a body appears, she feels more autonomy over herself. Either she floated closer or the body bonelessly limped towards her, but she was to busy examining the complete and utter blankness of it.
There was no defining genitalia, no face, no hair, no clothes.
It was just a dull grey- something like a real skeleton.
I take it that you like it? The voice was quieter, directly in her ear this time. Something was touching the top of her being, a hand, or something, maybe. It is yours to customize. However you may like.
Though she knew there was nothing besides her and the body in the endless amount of space, she still felt the urge to turn and look at the voice that spoke.
Ignore me, child, the voice speaks. Comfort floods through her being, an eery one that she can't help but obey. It almost hurts how lax she feels her being become. Do as you wish.
Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, the vessel becomes something pleasing to her gaze. The eyes were still dull and the hair was stringy, but she's sure it'd look better if it had something alive inside of it.
It's still naked.
Dress it.
She's not one for fashion. Comfortability would be nice, but she didn't want it to go into straight degenerate or hideous category.
Colors.. Colors were difficult. Most were to bright for the black abyss they were in. It hurt everywhere just to look at it.
The voice quickly removed them upon feeling her discomfort.
She couldn't tell whether or not the process took long, but she felt as though it did. The numerous trials and errors that came with it was tiring, even if she wasn't sure what it truly felt like.
The touch moves down. On the vessel, it looks like it was the shoulder that was being touched. Excellent, the voice hums thoughtfully. It was examining the vessel. What we have created is wonderful.
(We? [name] decides not to question it.)
[name], the voice repeats. Is that the vessel's name, or your name?
Confusion bumbles through her being. She hadn't thought of it when she initially thought it. She was just thinking when she said it.
The voice is silent. It was waiting.
It wasn't that bad of a name, all-in-all. She'd use it for herself if it weren't such a strange scenario she found herself in.
Then the vessel's name it shall be.
(Did she even have a name?)
They may very well differ. We will know in due time.
The vessel's eyes open, flickering around this way and that before finally settling on what she thinks is her being. There was nothing surrounding them, and she couldn't see herself, so there was no alternative.
She can feel something when the voice speaks again, but she isn't sure what the sense is to describe it. Something relating to a food, maybe, but she couldn't taste or smell it.
Let us now shape it's mind as your own. We will begin with it's favorite food.
The feeling changes into another; the vessel responds negatively to it. Then another, it's face becomes neutral.
It's uncanny how she watches the vessel respond to each food, feeling as it does with each option.
The one before was the best and the vessel seemed to agree.
A previous one? The question is rhetorical but she and the vessel still feel the need to answer, a nod coming from the latter. The options cycle back slowly, stopping upon sensing and seeing pleasure in both she and the vessel.
A wide variety of colors fill their senses, pain filling them at the sudden change of brightness. A color, now. Pick your favorite.
If they could, she and the vessel would look at the voice in confusion. Suddenly they were the same person now? That didn't make sense.
You are to inhabit the vessel, the voice informs. It was amused at their lack of inference skills. Yours to live in. To control. To befriend.
Weird, but definitely not the weirdest thing happening.
Though she prides herself on viewing everything in the nothingness that surrounds them and being acutely aware of everything happening, she's surprised when she senses the vessel press itself against what she thinks is her being.
The vessel wraps its arm around what she thinks is her (their?) own, hands encapsulating her's.
They look at the hues of colors together, pain filling them whenever one was particularly bright or over-saturated.
Together, the two point to a color.
(She's finally able to see something that made up her being. An arm, she assumes. It was black and white, a marbled pattern causing them to swirl disturbingly.)
Fantastic. The colors disappear. A gift, now.
More confusion.
A voice. A personality. A companion. An ability. Anything you wish will do.
Though she felt she had all the time in the world, she felt as though the voice was on a pinched amount of time.
She racks her brain for something to give the vessel. Nothing comes to mind.
We can revisit it, another day.
Another day? They'd have to come back to this dreary, black, nothingness?
That sucks.
The voice feels displeased but doesn't do anything the express it or seem to actively notice it itself.
You've done well, it instead congratulates. You must also acknowledge the possibility of pain and seizure. Pleasure and obliviousness.
She and the vessel offer a terse nod, expressions tensing.
Understood. Thank you for your time. Your answers, your wonderful creation, are all appreciated.
Go forth, now.
Do as you please until I require your assistance again.