I began reasoning, then, that her actuality is no less real than the one I stepped off of. Cogito ergo sum, but it shouldn’t matter if the way I cogito removes me from everyone else’s sum. She exists, still, for herself, even if no one else bothers with her existence. So long as I am in her bubble, I, too, exist, if only for myself, neither caring nor being cared for by the harshness of the Outside.
I looked back at her; to her eyes again. Well, not entirely for myself. Not entirely for herself. We can open up, if at least only to each other.
I motioned to a spare blanket, a skin she shed not long ago left forgotten on the floor.
“May I?” I inquired.
I sat next to her and wrapped the blanket around me. As my mind wandered and I slowly drifted off to sleep, I felt a light tug on my cover, followed by the comfortable warmth of another body. My senses relayed one final missive to me before my mind began producing its own illusions -- the faint shimmer of a voice, barely a whisper: