she does not see the world, she feels it. her body is constantly on fire with sensations, her skin tingles with memories, the tiny hairs on her tentacles speak to her with every passing moment. her existence is one of necessary convulsion. you may wonder if it hurts, but her powers of feeling are not ordained suffering, they are her strength. her senses tell her where she is. without all of the feeling, all the nerves in her big, soft, fleshy body, she would be nothing more than matter.
her Master, the Brain, often misunderstands her purpose. she is the sensory interpreter. if the brain only uses her to get answers, yes or no, she will become engulfed in her inability to do so. she can only feel. she will become a useless loud voice repeating to herself “bad bad good bad good bad”
