Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
Then, grudgingly, *real enough*.
Birdsong threaded through the air, high and bright. No mechanical hum under it. No distant crowd roar. It's just a lazy, slightly off‑beat melody from something with feathers and absolutely no interest in my trauma. One trill in the song was… wrong, somehow—a "note a fraction sharp," like a recording glitched for half a second, and then smoothed over.
My eyes stayed closed.
Part of me was afraid that if I opened them, I’d see castle stones or neon sky or the inside of a bus.