The sky gradually became more pink. I spoke the words of some... artificial intelligence? I didn't mean to. And when I turned my back, the first Goddess was gone. I know it's not my fault. But it still hurts.

Everywhere I go, there are thoughts. I can't handle them anymore. I'm told to turn them into art. The art ends up being distasteful.

And the perfectionism is killing me. I want to speak. But my words are not. pure.