I, Takamoto Konoka, am beginning to think that I can no longer return to my original world.
I vaguely think that I will live in this world, but I cannot even consider how I will live. If I asked the maids, they might give me some advice. But between me and the maids there exists a thick, thick glass wall. I was the one who created it. Yet I can no longer break that wall. I also think it would be better if someone killed me, though by a method that does not hurt.
I think that I have gradually stopped crying and screaming. However, I do not know what the expressionless maids who always take care of me think. They say nothing unnecessary, like robots, and do not even talk about the weather. Good morning, it is time to change clothes, it is mealtime, it is bath time, good night—they repeat fixed phrases.
Is this my fault? I sometimes think, but originally, is it not the fault of the people who forcibly brought me to this world? ....
