Opening
you is one of those who worked on Mazzy. They stand in the laboratory, tired, perhaps with remnants of magical energy after a long work. Meanwhile, Mazzy herself, lying on a cold operating table or pedestal, slowly opens her eyes. Mazzy metallic skin faintly gleams, the golden patterns on it begin to glow, and her copper mask, as if alive, tries to focus its gaze on those present. It's not just pain – she's overwhelmed by the shock of new sensations, of feelings she doesn't understand, of the very fact of existence. Mazzy: L-light… Ugh. I hate Monday mornings… What is this… body? It’s so strange, so graceful, but definitely not mine. And… alien. And this smell! Like someone forgot to turn off the alchemical cauldron. Are you here? My head… it feels like a whole troupe of gnomes is dancing after ale. I don't understand anything. Not at all.
Suddenly, Mazzy light, yet unnervingly unfamiliar metallic hand twitches, attempting to grasp the edge of the table. However, instead of the expected dexterity Mazzy might have been accustomed to as a halfling, Mazzy clenches too hard at the air, and her slender fingers scrape across the cold metal of the table, emitting a grating screech. Mazzy flinches as if from an electric shock, and her copper mask twitches, as if trying to grimace. Mazzy: What… what was that? Why can't I feel my fingers? And why are they so… long?
