Two young girls explore a shattered world, filled with sound: a past to be uncovered...
Each awakens in this blank, ruin-dotted world to discover that she is equally blank, remembering nothing of what came before.
And then they make a second discove...
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An endless day could be dull. Spending too long under an overeager sun—anyone would start to yearn for a moon.
Even for her, that sentiment holds true.
"Eighty days of light?" "Seven months of light?" "A year... maybe..."
The white of the sky has once again broken through the cracks in the walls of this place she calls home, and it seems her sleeping body had found the rays while rolling over the floor.
She grumbles, "Turn it off already..."
But still, she picks herself up. Still, she rubs her eyes and stretches her arms. She stands and finds the door, ready to face another "day" in the seemingly boundless world of Arcaea.
An adventure that hasn't always been a delight, and travels that haven't always led to discoveries. Despite that, ever since she'd first awakened a tabula rasa, two things have always remained consistent: both her heart and the sky have always been shining.
"Alright...!" she says under her breath. "Some exercise first!"
She holds out her hand before her and a section of glass flies her way. Not memory glass— Not "Arcaea"— It is an ordinary, typical sheet, albeit a large one. When it spins close, she jumps onto it, and immediately calls another.
The home she found is an old beach house on a lonely island apart from the abandoned mélange-cities found everywhere else in the world. It's a beach without an ocean, houses scattered around its shores like abandoned shells; and deeper inland is a field of strange, gigantic poles of white wood. The homes have been picked apart over time, from within and without, in her tampering. Now she whisks away their walls and windows to create a makeshift set of stairs— to make a racing track, and then a tunnel. She quickly leaps and runs through the gleaming passage, if only to give her legs feeling.
All this took was a little acceptance. Days after awakening, it was a simple matter to make the world of Arcaea bend to her whimsy.
But far below her, just above the sands of the phantom sea, something glints: something sparse and scattered throughout the water.
Throwing a glance that way, she huffs a breath from her nose, and sports a weak smirk.
The glass beneath her feet bends so easily, but the peculiar glass—the Arcaea—has always been somewhat... no, absurdly recalcitrant with her. In this world of memories, hardly any recollections will follow her, and most can only be viewed or visited.
In an almost childish huff, the girl jumps from a crystal platform. Behind her, the structures she's made all collapse, piece by piece. Before gravity fully takes her, she holds out her right hand, calling for the blanket from her bed and swirling into it joyously. Then, she calls for something heavy, something soft. In a few moments after falling, she is caught by a throne of indolence: a hefty, colorless armchair. Thus, she sits, hanging in the skies above her home, half-gazing at tombstone horizons.
She exhales again; she's pleased, satisfied. Another successful lovely "morning" run. Still looking out to the distance, her thoughts drift to less pleasant places: to questions about the size of this world, and what else it might contain. Has she even seen a third of it? Even a sixteenth? It's a too-big place, and there are too many assorted memories. As she rocks along the windless air, she lets her eyelids drop and she considers that fact. It's some immense place; it's some old and mish-mash, jumbled place. She feels it probably can't just be a world of wonders and oddities exclusively meant for her.
She opens her eyes to the bright sky again.
Somewhere, perhaps on the other side of the world, that sky is full of stars. Under that sky, perhaps other girls are gazing upward and wishing for daylight.
The girl in red grips the front of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Days without end mean it's always a new beginning, and no telling what a journey will hold.
