From the Glass Shell
It is neither known when exactly she was born nor whom exactly her creator was, but her true purpose was clear from the very moment the essential salts of her existence was poured into that terrible mixture from within that glass shell. Within it, her being was streaming into, bubbling from, and rumbling forth; that artificial being whose existence is the center and the nucleus of her other facsimiles of her donator of being—the original.
She was essentially Borellus' dream come forth into reality.
Therefore, she is of course, artificial in every sense of the word—body, life, and emotions. What of emotions? She did not have such luxuries in the beginning; knowledge and a vessel of flesh for the soul—among other things—were formed from those essential salts and proteins, and electrical and chemical impulses. They were not and have never been officially introduced into her being. Was it not stated that her existence revolved around and is the nucleus of beings that are similar to her duplicate's of the original? She is at the center of them all; an intricate web of minds and of beings, interchanging, intermingling, and exchanging information, data and experiences with each other, updating the stocked knowledge within their minds we new information each and every day from every single member of that web. Of course, since her only true purpose is as the center, as the final command, as the absolute imperative of them all, there was no regard for anything that is not necessary such as the aforementioned emotions or sense of being.
Indeed, she floated from within that glass shell, observing and experiencing the lives and of course, the deaths of thousands of people bearing the same face as hers. From masses of them to single bodies, she has witnessed all kinds and ways a human body can be twisted, torn and tattered. She has witnessed countless successful conclusions of experimentations with those humanoid test materials, completed by the most powerful blasphemy of science, great white daemon of the City of White.
This continued on with that soulless eyes of hers, observing and absorbing all that is given and all that is passed on to her, whoever they were, who were doing this for making the great white daemon even stronger, blasphemously, even beyond God. That is all she will ever do, blindly and blissfully ignorant of what true nature the world around her is taking. She can be considered as a blind idiot sitting in nuclear chaos at the center of her web, catered with fancies that are far above her comprehension, like a listener of mad and unknown pipings of flutes.
This was of course before the tremors that have shaken her glass shell and the soul that it kept.
Once upon an evening, she was awoken from her mindless existence into the terror with the comprehension of unspeakable truths and facts of the world and nature. Even though, how it was triggered was artificial, her emotions are still natural. As such, the first true emotion this artificial creature had was the abject terror of the comprehended knowledge she had attained; that she is not born as nature intended, that her existence is but a mere doll floating within a glass shell, that she is forced to see, review and anticipate the coming deaths of beings who look exactly like her, and of that creature—the great white beasts—that crawls out from the far reaches of every abysms and chasms of her mind to torment her of his willing participation and desire in their demise. She was Eve being forced to eat the fruit of knowledge of good and evil, and now she gazes on her shameful inhuman existence and purpose and broods with utter revulsion of the terrors she should've been aware, but been unable to, and fears more what ineffably terrible future awaits her compared to what she has discovered.
And there, from within that demoniac glass shell, she found out who she was, however, in a state where she is forced to relive and see anew, the deaths of countless beings similar to her, those soulless eyes of theirs reflect the trembling façade of her meager existence and her utter helplessness; there, the madness of those dead eyes, seers her soul with pictures of their deaths, and eventually melted within it. With the apparent difficulty of differentiating their faces, and the fact that she has yet to truly know her own being, she began to lose her sense of self.
She was them and they were her. With that sense of self, every thought of the beings that had ever live and will ever live that was a part of that intricate web that she was the center of is a part of her. She had breathed, lived, lied dying and was dead all at the exact at one time or another, and at various ways and methods. She was the cat within the proverbial box of Schrödinger's queer thought experiment. She may have been the center, though she did not have in her the true control of it, truly like a mindless god sitting in infinite chaos. For a mere moment of her formless sanity, she had glimpsed the cacophonous sounds of its heralds, which lied beyond a beautiful black gate, but her terror of it and the ensuing horror and trauma of her present existence—if it can be called as she truly existed without a sense of self—prevented her from entering it. Ironic that the horror of living with the madness of the glass shell, that sent her up mind into a state of abject confusion and disorder, prevented her from slipping into deeper abysms where formless beings of even greater insanity and madness awaited her. Regardless, of the pandemonium of being she was experiencing, she resisted until the end, another human quality she had finally realized in her floating torments. She defied the terror and the senselessness of losing once self, and concentrated her efforts within that shell to keep her sanity and return the self that she has lost to the web of other existences that were connected to her. This determination was powered by the hatred and fear of that white beast, and the true emotion that carved and etched into unknown tablets in the Stygian chasms of the Akashic records that are above her knowing.
It was like an infinity yet she held on dearly each and every day to hold off the madness of that damnable pit, and have at least a minor victory over that white daemon.
And then, that unexpected night came, when a small part of the city bathed in shimmering brilliant light, and the still air was stimulated into violent contortions by those beings that were part of her intricate web. It was unexpected that those apparently still-eyed beings, whose eyes showed no stirring of the soul would fiercely defend and defy the will of their creators and that daemon to save a single boy who defended their humanity, their individuality, their being. And on that strange day, their and her world change forever, as the daemon was inexplicably, ineffably, and unbelievably defeated by that boy with his single right fist. From then on, she would come to admire and come to love that boy for freeing them from that accursed tether of death and madness, and slowly yet surely, crawl herself away from the pit of nuclear chaos. What of freedom from that cold and unforgiving glass shell? Small steps should be taken, she believed, as she wanted to savor living free from that tether before attempting of thinking becoming free from the bonds of that glass shell. Of course, she dreamnt of it, that she would one day be free, from that daemon, from that cold glass shell and can finally flutter her arms like that of a bird flying in the sky. Right now, she sleeps within that glass shell of liquid life, physically cold yet she was kept warm of thoughts of her dreams of freedom and that boy who saved her world.
However, her dreaming did not to wait long, as the freedom came upon her like a flash, but with a bitter price.
An invasive attack upon her mind came from unscrupulous sources. As an apparent product of being constructed through unnatural means, she manage to gain some queer alien strength and break through that foreboding glass shell, and have managed to free herself into the uncaring City of White.
The price however, was of no recollection from her. The true emotions of insanity within that glass shell, that merging of her consciousness into a muddled quagmire formed from hers and her facsimiles, the terror she felt with that white daemon, and the wonder she felt at her freedom and at that boy was expunged from her mind forever.
With that, she wandered in stark nakedness in the city until she came upon that white daemon that she had once feared, that she should have feared. She did not fear, hate and trembled in disgust of his continued existence. And in a strange even and oddly alien way, she has come to admire and worry for his being. Ironically, that daemon came to save her from harm, even sacrificing his life in exchange for her, like a poor posturing of an aficionado of his beloved idol. Yet he lived miraculously, and as a result, she became of him, and vice-versa, although he refused to show it often like a little spoiled child. And now, those invisible bonds they have were inseparable, similar to that tether she once had with that glass shell she had broken from, where her true self lied; however, this time, her new self was consenting of this bond. This sordid overly saccharine affair, was greeted warmly by their people around them, as well from afar places from beyond knowing. As if a once mass murdering daemon, would splendidly look well with a girl from that cold shell to be seemingly used as a yoke for his malevolent tendencies. Only a queer happenstance did that girl from that glass shell meet her savior from that white daemon, however, it was a small admiration and thanks, and the love that she felt was now lost from her mind.
But the truth remains still. She was made from the essential salts of man, artificially birthed and grown, and emotions born through artificial measures, and artificial still. Those true emotions that she once had were now lost in the physical plane beyond any mortals grasping. However, those still remained in unknown planes beyond the placid island of ignorance they lied, within the black of seas of infinity. There within the chasms of oblivion lied the nucleus of all knowledge; cored within all-in-one and the one-in-all, the records of all that was known and all that would be known; there, in ethereal tablets beyond any reaching and gazing eyes, etched the true nature and emotion that once was that girl's possession, there within the madness of that cold and unyielding glass shell—that glass incubation tube.