[His skin is crawling, and he sort of wishes it was just because this was clearly a nightmare child from hell that died and was brought back from the grave through some arcane ritual involving the sacrifice of innocents. But it's not. He knows it's also because of some fuzzy memory of white walls and a pale bluish colors, where faceless adults with garbled voices would suggest things, and after a while a woman would repeat it slower and softer, closer to him. He didn't have to stay in that room, anymore, because his body wasn't hurt. He could move to another room, if he was ready.
He doesn't remember if he was ready, or not. He doesn't remember a lot of things from back then.]
...Do you think 'they' do a good job knowing what sort of things you like?
no subject
He doesn't remember if he was ready, or not. He doesn't remember a lot of things from back then.]
...Do you think 'they' do a good job knowing what sort of things you like?