I suppose I need to get around what kind of situation I was embroiled in, namely the curious case of Amaryllis the Observer. During the summer break of my first year of college, I became her, fretted not to the spectacular venture, and lived another sixteen years compressed within a second of time. I'd be a fool in the matter, but neither the catastrophe nor the shock had been felt during the course. Almost as if I could condemn myself for not feeling the imposing eeriness, hence a desperately growing feedback loop. Well, there's supposed to be emotion in the meta, but let's rip the sentiment apart in lieu of the more technical stuff.
I entered a parallel world.
One precisely built from Sodachi Ayanami's memories.
And I know all too well about its origin, nature, both significant and insignificant details attended since creation and finalization.
A crime brought by Screaming Butterflies.