Snippet #1634359

Cheintel could only remember a few little tid-bits about her creator; her voice, name, and her face. Just these little things are what freaked her out the mos; her creators voice sounded just like hers, which became the reasoning as to why she hated hearing her own voice, it felt as if it belonged to someone else entirely. But her creators face; if Cheintel had not had the line markings on her face, she would look identical to the woman who had created her. Seeing her own reflection became a troublesome thing, she had begun to believe that she was seeing her creator and nothing else, her identity just fading into the blackness of what she supposed would be called a past. The only thing that made her feel like her own person was the fact that she had a different name than her creator, because of this, she couldn't stand not hearing it.

And being finally awake back into the world, and waking up to another none-the-less, it gave her a bit of hope that she might be able to sustain the bit of self-identity that she planned to keep. Herself and Lucas had stayed in proximity of one another since she had awoken, and though she still wasn't one hundred percent sure about what she should think about being around him, she figured it better than wondering about alone in this dreadful world that seemed to just be a bunch of non useful and broken things.

She looked to him, her silence having been taking up most of the time of that day, her words being few as usual, though she found it a good time to ask something that she had been swimming around inside of her. "Lucas, how many others do you suppose we will find," she asked, her own voice ringing in her ear like the sickening sound of ripping flesh, her mouth seeming to clamp shut after the words had escaped from her.