It looks into the mirror. "My boundaries are what make me human," it says. Its fingers push the corners of its mouth into a wide grin. "Without them, I'd be formless, and not very human at all," it says.
(Still, there is a nagging feeling that everybody must know, one way or another;
a sense that you are not quite airtight, and the world is leaking into you, and your own energy is dispersing into the air.
It's like a floating fuzz of gray matter, sparkling around the transparent core of its own shape, that energy —
You look at it with your mind's eye, and then you look down into the darkness of your lap.
Anyway,)
Doll had finished brushing her teeth. In that moment, a sense of pride surged, and she felt clean. Maintaining the health of this body kept it functional, and even if it couldn't stay perfect, it could stay functional.
She shook her head, trying not to think any more than she had. A pool of bloody froth slowly fizzled down the drain.
