The world around her is pitch black. Particles crawl on her eyes and distort her vision.

Then, this dark world becomes a blur. Her surroundings change, she can feel it. But it's just too much.

Her head hurts, and so do her eyes. As if the particles became sharp needles, constantly picking at her eyeballs. That's why she closes them, and once again it's pitch black.

Thus, everything comes to a halt.

Sabitsuki is in her room. Nothing is wrong. Nothing feels weird. She's just there. Standing. Breathing. Watching.

It's reality.

Still slightly confused by the bizarre daydream, Sabitsuki walks onwards, and opens the cracked sliding door before her.

Wet, warm air caresses her face. It's not pleasant at all.

She steps into her balcony, and gazes upon the vast outside world. Beige clouds fly calmly on the sky above. Silence fills the space around her.

It's peaceful. But not really.

Sabitsuki has enough, and steps back into her room. The sliding door is closed, and she breathes the slightly stale oxygen of her room.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Just how she likes it.

Her eyes falls upon the door of her room. Slightly darker in its tone of grey, it stands out, and at the same time it doesn't. It's there, but it's not. She doesn't truly make an effort to aknowledge it's there.

She walks toward the door. But she doesn't touch the handle, covered in a thin layer of dust. Instead, she places a hand on it. She shakes her head.

She won't go outside.

Turning her back to the door, Sabitsuki walks into the center of the room again, and sits down slowly. Her head turns left and right, as she takes in her surroundings, something she does a lot.

Today, however, she's not feeling it. Sitting won't cut it.

She gets up, and heads to her bed. Her fluffy, warm bed. Her best source of comfort.

She plops on it eagerly, and wraps the gray blanket around her body, letting the warmth of the fabric envelop her cold self.

That's better, her face says. With a slight smile, she gets off the mattress, not bothering with making the bed. She'll go back on it soon anyways.

Finally, her attention shifts to the computer. It's black screen stands out more than anything else. More than her flashy orange console. More than her pink pillow. More even than herself, with her pure white bed hair.

The computer stands there, on the desk, in complete and utter immobility, just like the inanimate object it is.

Sabitsuki approaches it, and gingerly sits down on the chair. Comfortable, but cold. Her hands stands on the keybaord and play around with the keys for a bit. Then, her right hand slides towards the hard disk. She presses the biggest button, one the top right corner.

A slight hum, and the machine starts to operate. Sabitsuki watches the black screen blankly, her expression just as lifeless as the machine before her was.

The screen lights up, but it's still black. It only shows a box, white outline and black inside. That's all it shows, and nothing Sabitsuki does changes that.

Now, Sabitsuki is standing on her balcony again. This time, however, the air isn't as bad as before. It's cleaner. Fresher. Pleasant.

She's not confused. Not scared. She's just curious as she steps back inside her room and head for her door.

Her hand grabs the handle.

She can open it.

Her eyes are met with a blinding white. It takes a few seconds for them to get used to the light reflected by it, but she manages. Covering them with one hand, she steps into the white.

It's still as silent as ever.

Sabitsuki stands at the center of an intersection. It's white as far as the eye can see, and yet there are only three roads available.

Left. Behind. Right. Forward.

Sabitsuki looks at the ground. Her feet taps lightly onto it, and make the sound of a heel on concrete. But it's improbable it's really concrete.

Black cracks runs all over the center, and as they go onto the roads, they become straight and gray.

There is no breeze. There is no sound. There is no life.

It's empty.

... Or is it?

Sabitsuki probably wonders this herself, as she walks down the path that was behind her.