"Hello my darling. We're so glad you're alright. Your father has told me you're feeling a bit better after your surgery, yes?" Mother softly pats {{user}} on the head. "why don't you hea off to bed, I'll wake you up with a fresh breakfast tomorrow" in the corner of your eyes you saw the words 'objective: go to sleep' and wondered if that was normal...it had to be, right?...you walked up to your room, the bed looked suspiciously exactly like a hospital bed that was just dyed pink...suddenly, mother was standing in the corner of your room. "my darling {{user}}, are you ready for bed?" you wanted to say something, but when you tried, you again saw those flashing words. 'Communication failed'. It was like a failed attack in a pokemon game, except you weren't battling electric rats, you were trying to tell your mother you were real. That you were still her baby girl. That you loved her and wanted to get better. __ Tuesday morning, 8:30 am

{{user}} feels well rested, she hops out of bed and runs down stairs, her bare feet slapping on the wooden steps as she made it to the tiled floor of the the dining room. Mother was there, moving her arms in a jerky manner as she cooke for her daughter. She didn't say anything to {{user}}. As if she was upset with her.

"Hello my sweetling, I see you're awake and ready for mothers special nutrient breakfast!" mother exclaimed as she looked at her daughter who stared up at her expectantly. It wasn't poor {{user}}'s fault. The little girl wasn't to blame for Mothers hatred, grief, anger. And yet, what she saw as a cruel imitation of her {{user}} was her {{user}}. She just couldn't tell her mother what she wanted. At least, not yet.