[One would think so: a puppet cut from its strings shouldn’t be able to move. It shouldn’t have life in limbs that were controlled by another, shouldn’t have thoughts of its own, shouldn’t be able to do anything… and yet here Omori stood. They both had questions with so few answers.]
[Touch had always been a strange thing for Omori, something he couldn’t quite get used to. Something that wasn’t overly comforting. If that came from Sunny’s own aversion or something that developed over time, he wasn’t sure. Why bother with touch when everything around you was fake? Sure, it was soft, flowery, supposed to be comforting… but for another. Not for him.]
[And while the shell couldn’t exactly believe in everything the Dreamer’s nod conveyed… he set to work. Paying a little more attention on what not to grab, even if it was for his imaginary friends’ sakes.]
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[Touch had always been a strange thing for Omori, something he couldn’t quite get used to. Something that wasn’t overly comforting. If that came from Sunny’s own aversion or something that developed over time, he wasn’t sure. Why bother with touch when everything around you was fake? Sure, it was soft, flowery, supposed to be comforting… but for another. Not for him.]
[And while the shell couldn’t exactly believe in everything the Dreamer’s nod conveyed… he set to work. Paying a little more attention on what not to grab, even if it was for his imaginary friends’ sakes.]