Vast pool of information catalyzing into chains of molecules, the slime that pours itself from beakers. Found by a girl huddled in the corner of a street in the busy part of the town, where the suits and proper houses stand. Playing in a puddle with a stick or a finger, discovering the strands of water that hold themselves together with a stir.
The girl who’s met the spirits, who would know how to birth sciences, if only given the chance.
She stirs the water, its links finding themselves, information evaporated from the gardens and rained down upon the town.
Mechanisms not understood.
A misery to the one who sleeps in the street. Then a magic.
If she can understand the links, she can unlock the self she longs for beneath her skin.