Sawtooth Spire Chaos is the same as it's always been.

the first day of existence went by without much fanfare. she spent most of it, after all, asleep in the warm between her mother and her sister, dreaming about color, about touch, about sensation. vague pulses in the dark that she reached out to, and that reached out to her.
at her mother's gentle touch, her sweet breath, elke snuggles in further to her belly. her sister is replaced by empty space as she rolls away, and elke whines at the non-warmth. as of now, her brain was developed enough to view the world like this:
warm things, good.
cold things, not so good.
she might've been trying to dig a hole through poor nyx. she basks in the familiar embrace and mindlessly kneads for more milk. more milk, more warmth, to carry her back out to slumber again, her sister and mother at her side, just where she likes them to be.