“Your mindscape is malformed.”
It was a statement I had already heard countless times.
The girl with reddish-brown hair, who had now grown to about early to mid-teens, was leading the way with her hands behind her back. She looked as if she were out for a neighborhood stroll, and I, following behind her without a word, found it utterly absurd.
Why was that?
I had no more business with this girl now. She had mentioned something about a ‘contract’ before, but it was an matter in which my will hadn’t been involved at all. There wasn’t deep enough friendship between us for me to honor a contract she had made arbitrarily.
But, look.
I was following the girl right now. As if stepping through a swamp full of all sorts of dangers, relying on some inexplicable intuition.
Even while I was lost in such contemplation, the girl’s words continued unabated.
“That can’t be helped. Your mindscape isn’t wholly yours; it’s just something you stole from someone else’s vision, right? Even the original had problems from haphazardly cramming visions into it, so…