::as requested by athersgeo::
Dawn had never really decided whether she was real or not. Most of the time, she didn’t even think about it. She just led her life, the same as every other eighteen year old girl (well, not exactly the same), and the fact that she was really a ball of ages old green energy faded from her mind.
She never quite shook it, though. It’s not the sort of thing you can. Maybe it’s not the sort of thing you should. So sometimes, at night, she would lie awake and wonder.
Then, when she was nineteen and at college, Dawn decided to take Philosophy 101. She wasn’t quite sure why, though yes, as her friends pointed out, the professor was a total hottie. But anyway, philosophy. It wasn’t too bad, actually, and she quite enjoyed it.
She read Descartes. At first, she thought it was kinda weird. Then she wondered if Descartes had known more about the whole supernatural underworld thing than he had probably let on, because malicious demons? So her kind of thing. But the thing about philosophy is that it makes you think. And Dawn thought. And she realised that it didn’t matter how she had been made. It didn’t matter what she had been made for. All that mattered was that she was.