This is your first dream, that's good. The voice pierces through the disarrayed tapestries of conflicted emotions, flaring the millennia-long memories vowed with a will into an endless vibrant expanse. Mon3tr feels the unfamiliar surges within her vivid pulses. She starts running without certain why her body is so desperate for that fading figure. Perhaps it's to ask that all-too familiar voice to alleviate her hesitations.

But reality decides to pull Mon3tr back to her soft pillow. She finds herself beneath the familiar ceiling once belonged to her master. The clear drops on her sheets are still fresh despite the absence of her grief. It seems Mon3tr still have a long way to figure out her newly acquired form.

Did Kal'tsit cry, too? She must be lonely somewhere out there... Well, time to hit the canteen.

Mon3tr stops in front of what everyone calls a fountain drink machine. She raises her baggy sleeves to her chin. This illusion of choices appears effective in diverting a busy mind and rewards relaxing our brains with refreshing drinks.

I can understand why everyone loves it now...