The old man and the girl sat in the old library. The old man wasn't expecting to go back in so soon but he didn't mind it. For some reason his emotions—both good and bad—had become so faint. He stood next to a chalkboard and watched as the young girl sluggishly picked up books from the shelves, only to put them back immediately after.
The girl hadn't learned to walk; she simply appeared next to where she wanted to be. Sometimes, she materialized mid-air and just floated there. The old man had no idea how she did it. He was bound by his beliefs about how the world worked, and those beliefs limited his imagination. In the grand scheme of understanding how the world truly functioned, he was still naïve. From the old man's arrogant perspective, the child presented a new one—one completely free from assumptions and unfiltered by conventional understanding. Her imagination was boundless. He couldn't wait to become one again, to understand this perspective.
The girl gazed at the pictures on the walls, each one a mystery to her. She didn't know where they came from or what stories they told. They were like windows to unknown worlds, each frame brimming with secrets just out of reach.
"Where did you come from?" words appeared on a piece of paper the old man was holding.
"From the outside would be the easiest way to put it. From another world, inside of which this world exists. I came from outside this world and still exist in mine," he answered, writing on the chalkboard next to him. She read it with a quick glance. This exchange of written words had become their way of communicating for some time now.
"Where did I come from?"
"I am not sure. I believe you are the original mind of the body I possessed, but I don't remember at which point you came to be. I was here and suddenly—so were you. I became aware of you when we woke up."
The girl appeared in front of the mirror, her reflection showing a small, curious face. Even though she was still just lying there, she always materialized in a way that allowed her head to look in the direction she wanted. She examined her body and compared it to the old man's. She was tiny, with a tail and a gem on her forehead. The old man had none of those features.
"What am I?" the girl asked.
"The same as me. Just a perspective."
"No. What is this body? Why is it different from you?"
The old man looked down at his feet. He was aware that he was standing, but couldn't make out what his feet looked like. A hand mirror appeared in his hand. He turned to look at his reflection but found nothing there.
"What you look like is a representation of what you think you are. We look different because we are different," the old man wrote on the chalkboard.
The girl watched the old man fiddle with the mirror. He tried to look at it from various angles, but the confused expression on his face remained unchanged. Maybe he thinks he looks weird too, she thought.
All the books she had read in this library didn't make much sense to her yet. She could read the words, but they were just stories to her for now. Like a picture that can't be painted without a palette of colors, she couldn't understand the stories without something real to base them on.
What lay before her was a vast amount of knowledge that felt completely useless. It was no surprise that she grew bored and ventured outside again.
"I want to go out," words appeared on the paper as the old man looked for the vanishing child. When he finally found her lying in front of the broken mirror, he noticed that it wasn't a broken mirror anymore. It had transformed into a real window—or maybe a screen would be more accurate. On the screen was static.
The old man picked up the child from the floor and sat her in the corner of a sofa that had appeared behind them. Then he took a seat at the opposite end. They both stared into the static, the pattern becoming less random and more captivating as it drew them in.
A pale girl opened her eyes.
I open my eyes. My mind is empty, as it usually is after just waking up from sleep. As I slowly become more aware, my thoughts drift to the strange dream I had. It was a dream of two figures. I remember them moving through an endless white space. I recall a mirror, a library filled with countless books, a lizard and a child, and then another lizard and an old man. I knew their thoughts and felt their emotions.
Those were "me," huh.
I can feel a sense of catharsis, a profound balance settling within me. It's like finally piecing together a complex puzzle after hours of frustration. Haaah, I feel good.
I crawl out from the fetal position and stretch my limbs as far away from each other as I can. I lay there, basking in the sunlight a little longer. Then I sneeze.
It's getting cold here. I need food. Where is that sheep girl?
I sense a surge of emotion: irritation, impatience. Whatever! I'll just get the food myself then. I flip myself over, only to remind my sleepy mind that, indeed, I am still stuck on the pedestal. Could I jump? No, that's too high; I'll just hurt myself. Right, magic! I have an idea of how to use it; now I just need some info! Eyes won't be of any use here, nor will my nose, ears, or touch. It must be the gem then!
I sense the space around me with the black gem on my forehead. I can feel the volume and geometry of this space, and the dimensions of that space. Time and some faint buzz, probably the other dimensions, though too faint for me to discern. It's like trying to listen to an ant's footsteps. By all logic, they should have footsteps, but good luck trying to hear them.
Ah well, I don't need them.
I wonder if I could create a surface like in the dream? A surface of what? Something that can hold my weight. I made a mirror. Mirrors reflect light. Could I reflect my weight back towards me? The forces would cancel each other out, and I should be able to walk on it!
I try to imagine a mirror appearing as a slide before the pedestal, but I can feel something is missing. Unlike in the dream where I could shape my imagination effortlessly, trying to manipulate physical space feels wrong. It feels impossible, not just logically but on a deeper, instinctual level. I can sense that it is fundamentally wrong.
I could shape space in my imagination. I could even shape the canvas in whatever space that existed in. What is the difference here?
Physical space isn't a part of me.
Could I shape the physical space within me? That doesn't seem like a good idea, though.
I ponder the idea for a moment, realizing the complexity and potential dangers. Warping the space within me could have unforeseen consequences. If I manipulate space internally, the matter within me might not follow as I expect it to. It feels risky, unpredictable.
But perhaps there's another way. Instead of trying to reshape the physical world directly, I could focus on manipulating the space in a way that aligns with my inherent abilities. Maybe there's a balance between imagination and reality that I haven't yet discovered.
But hey, hold on. Why am I thinking like this is the old world from those memories? This world exists within that one, yes, but the same rules don't necessarily apply in this experienced reality. After all, this is virtual. Digital. It's all zeros and ones. This world is only trying to simulate the old world's physics. From this perspective, there should be numerical representation for most things in this reality. I should have a transform: a position, a rotation, perhaps even a scale.
I try to sense within me using the gem on my forehead. With this sense, I can perceive everything around me, but I can't see within myself. However, I can still sense the outlines of my body, and I hope that's enough to figure out my transform. I search for the data, trying to tune into the underlying code, but I can't find any numbers.
This world, though digital, hides its fundamental components from me. Yet, I know they exist. I can feel them, just out of reach, like shadows lurking behind a curtain. If I can tap into this hidden layer, I might be able to manipulate my position and rotation, even my scale. The challenge now is to bridge the gap between sensing and understanding, to see beyond the surface of this virtual reality and grasp the code that underpins it.
Damn. I really thought this would work. And I still do. I must be missing something. The sense is all messy; I don't know what I am looking for. Continuing to think about it like a programmer, perhaps I need to define what I am looking for? But where? Is there a way to access my own "code"? The canvas! Since it's a representation of my being in a readable form, thinking about it as the code of the program that is me seems valid.
I pull my focus inward to the canvas. I work on my ideas of thinking about space through programming. Basing everything on logic, numbers, and formulas, I create a bridge between metaphysical concepts and numbers, mapping them using the Hermetic idea of polarity. Up and down are just different points on the same line, same with right and left, forward and backward. It's all relative to where one puts the origin.
Using my body as the reference point for the origin, I manage to inscribe the concept of the transform into the fabric of the canvas, weaving it into its texture and patterns without altering the model's shape.
Anyway, it's not like the masterpieces from before, but for now, it will do. The canvas is a reflection of me, a bridge between imagination and reality. By grounding my understanding in this digital construct, I hope I can begin to unravel the mysteries of this virtual world. I concentrate on the newly inscribed patterns, feeling the underlying structure of the canvas align with my intent as the patterns spread across the canvas.
I bring my attention back to the outside world and focus on the gem again. Now I look for the transform and lo and behold, there it is. My canvas working like an interface has somehow translated the information my senses perceive into numbers, clearly available to me in my mind. This feels unreal. If changes in the canvas cause changes in the way I perceive information from my senses, I must re-evaluate what I believe the "nothingness" to be.
What I perceive isn't the three-dimensional vectors I had hoped for. I suspected there were more dimensions than the three immediately available to me, but I hadn't expected such a clear confirmation so soon. Locations present themselves as five numbers, each starting at zero. Thankfully, that's only for position.
My rotation is expressed through a typical quaternion. As for scale, it's a single number. It seems scale, as I now perceive it, is intrinsically linked to the observer's perspective. For me, it's one, naturally, and for everything else, it's a value above zero.
Time to test. What's the least dangerous direction I can rotate in without hurting myself? I'll go with a roll. I lay on my stomach, still looking down at the floor. I want to turn so that I'm looking at the ceiling. Here goes nothing.
I focus on my body, visualizing my pose, stiff and straight as a stick. I can feel my consciousness spreading throughout my body. Deeper in, I sense the flow of nothingness going inward to the core of the canvas. I feel it emerge from the canvas space and move through my entire body with my awareness. This is it!
I imagine myself slowly rotating 180 degrees. I feel a slight tremor.
But then I notice I'm still looking at the floor. It didn't work. My theory is foolproof, so the mistake must be in the implementation. Yes. That's it. I'm not wrong.
I visualize myself again, laying down. Once more, I sense the flow of nothingness moving through my body. Then, next to that image, I picture myself in the final position I want to be in. I imagine the feeling of nothingness transitioning from the original position to the desired one, the numbers of the desired rotation becoming the new origin. I feel my body shake. I open my eyes.
I see the ceiling and start kicking wildly with each limb in triumph!
Yes! It worked! Trust in gaslighting yourself, girlboss! Never doubted for a second! My journey into magic begins here!
Next, I'll try changing my position. Teleportation. Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought.
I turn to look at the floor again. I try to sense the coordinates for the position on the floor. The first three of the five seem to be the physical coordinates, while the fourth seems to be time, interestingly not zero in this different position. The fifth is still zero and gives me no clues to its nature.
I continue sensing around and notice that indeed, reading the information of things further away gets blurrier. I also notice that the time coordinate decreases into the negatives the farther away I go. It makes sense if I think from the perspective of Special Relativity. It must take time for the information to reach my senses, therefore the information being "from the past" from my perspective. Although, it's fascinating to see that the gem seems to be receiving something tangible.
I muster up the lessons learned and try to apply them with the goal of teleporting to the floor. I focus on the coordinates and, like with the rotation, I visualize myself appearing on the floor, attempting to change my coordinates to the new ones. I follow the flow of nothingness as it twists and turns, and even before it reaches the core, I realize the truth.
I don't have enough strength to do it. The amount of nothingness barely budges the numbers. But I won't be deterred. I'll accept that my current methods are too crude to enable free teleportation, but in time, I will master it. I raise my fist skyward and vow to one day unlock the secrets of instantaneous travel.
Finally, I turn my attention to scale. I try to tweak the number, but just like with the position, I lack the strength. I wonder why this method worked for the rotation but not for the rest.
A cold passing in-building breeze reminds me of my goal. Indeed. I must escape this pedestal of starvation to find nourishment for this skinny body.
How to go about it then? I carefully experiment with different rotations. Keeping my eyes open, I observe that the rotation is instant. I also notice that I can change the point around which I rotate. It only needs to be on my body.
It's no wonder the first rotation method didn't work. When I rotate, the rotation is based on my imagination, the image of the result and the change of numbers. So rotating slowly wouldn't work, since, because of human error, the rotation point in my body wouldn't stay in the same position throughout the entire rotation. Once the rotation point shifts, the imagined goal rotation becomes irrelevant, impossible to achieve. And so the magic fails and stops prematurely. Interesting.
I am starting to get a handle on rotating myself. It turns out I can choose an entirely new position as long as it can be achieved through rotations around a point within the space my body occupies. I even managed to rotate myself up to my feet. I slumped right back down, though. Having only been laying down so far, rising to my feet felt like a huge height difference. It made me dizzy, but it was also kind of thrilling. I tried it again a few times right after.
Another passing wind interrupts my training. Right! I need to get down. Well, I'm confident now. I can handle it.
I push my legs over the edge, slowly lowering myself more and more. My body starts to slip off, pulling the cushion down with me. Oops.
I attempt to rotate myself around my hand that's still gripping the cushion. Suddenly, the rotation magic feels heavy, similar to the attempts at changing position and scale. My magic fails. I continue to slide to my doom and search for a reason for this failure. What's different?
I let go of the pillow and simultaneously try again. My stomach lands back on the cushion as it settles on the pedestal once more.
Whew. Almost ended this life early. Thrilling!
So I can't rotate things with me. Noted.
I try to lower myself over the edge of the cushion again. Once my lower body is as far over the edge as I dare to go, I hold on to the cushion like my life depends on it. My tail worms as close to the ground as it can get. Now, the risky part!
I start to lower myself again. Slowly, I go lower and lower until the cushion starts to slip once more. As it begins to slide, I rotate myself around the end of my tail. I adjust the pitch axis so that my back now points to the ground. Then, I adjust the roll axis so that my stomach is facing the floor. I teleport to this new rotation and my fall continues, but now I fall towards my stomach. So, while I do start to fall towards the floor, the velocity I had before I rotated remains the same. Now I find myself plummeting at an angle towards the pedestal.
This falling angle causes me to rotate mid-air. I am falling headfirst towards the floor. Panicking, I rotate again, this time around my legs so that I would fall down feet first, which causes me to gain height. After the rotation, my momentum towards the pedestal ends abruptly as my back crashes into it, jolting me and causing the back of my head to smack against the pedestal.
Then my feet hit the cushion.
For a moment, I just stand there, leaning on the pedestal with my hands cradling the back of my head. Dazed, I start to lean forward. My legs instinctively try to stop my fall. Except they don't. Instead, I start a clumsy run that looks like someone trying to go down stairs after a leg day. It finally stops when I tumble onto the cushion, landing on my stomach.
Bewildered by the sudden chain of events, I just lay there, taking hurried breaths. I turn to look at the pedestal, my heart still racing.
I escaped! Ha-ha! I quickly forget the absolute chaos of my descent and instead do a passionate victory spasm on the cushion.
Yet again, a cold indoor breeze snaps me out of my bubble. Right, food. I turn myself so that the top of my head points towards the door. I take the shape of a stiff stick, stretching my arms and legs to gain maximum length. Then, I focus on the tip of my fingers and rotate so that now my legs are pointing towards the door. Next, I extend the point to the tip of my tail, reaching for the door. I repeat this process, and alarmingly quickly, I find myself over by the door.
I use the wall to support my wobbly legs. Here at the door, I can feel the inside wind very strongly. Is there an open wind tunnel going through here? Giggling between labored breaths, I raise my head to look at the terrified sheep girl watching me, her eyes wide on the other side of the doorway. The wind causes her hair to blow sideways behind her face, yet somehow her hair setup prevents it from completely obscuring her vision. As I make eye contact with her, the empty food tray in her hands clatters to the floor.
"Haa! Hi-hi-hi-hii!" I try to give a friendly greeting by nodding, but I can't stop giggling at her expression.
She just stands there, frozen in fear. How can you be scared of a toddler, hah. I hear a loud rumble from the left of the doorway. I watch the girl as she turns away from me to look towards the sound. She takes a hesitant step back, then turns back toward me, her eyes wide with concern.
She tries to take a running step towards me but is interrupted by a violent burst of wind. I see the girl get thrown out of view before I, too, am hurled backward.
I fall again, instinctively protecting my head with my hands. Fortunately, the fall isn't severe, but it still leaves me dazed. When I manage to lift my head towards the doorway again, a horned, winged woman is standing there. Her curly dark green hair whips wildly in the wind that seems to be emanating from her with such force that even light appears to vibrate. Under the glowing white horns that form a beautiful crown, two violently shining green slit eyes stare at me. Then I notice something interesting: her hand is buried in the wall.