Amara blinked, her vision filled with an endless expanse of white. Her hands were shackled, cold metal biting into her skin, chains wrapping tightly around her arms, legs, torso she was thoroughly, hopelessly restrained. She yanked on the chains, feeling the sharp, almost taunting weight of them.
"Great. Just great," she muttered, glancing around, hoping for some kind of explanation or, at the very least, a sarcastic system message.
But there was nothing. Just silence and white nothingness.
She shivered as her gaze settled on the only break in the blinding monotony: a small, floating screen. Squinting at it, she realized it was showing the world beyond this prison. Her world or rather, the world she'd been thrown into. And on that screen, her body no, the original Amara's body was strutting around, oozing that familiar arrogance she'd tried so hard to wash away.
