Work Text:
It's been a week. You can talk properly now, and your eyes are focusing easily. The lady in the big hat is kind and encouraging. You hate it here. You're so cold. She insists that'll change in time, that you'll adjust to this new, artificial, unkillable body. That you'll feel comfortable. You don't have it in you to hate her, she really does seem to care about you, but you hate it so much when she says that. Even if it's true, you don't fucking care about how it will be, you care about how it is, and how it is is cold, and dead. You didn't ask for this. You don't want to be here, you don't want to exist like this. You want to be warm again. You want to be gone.