[Put it from your mind, he says but no - now that she's thought the possibility up, it's impossible to dismiss. There's a concrete stone sensation in her belly, an absolute certainty. Something is wrong. Someone will die.
But maybe it isn't him. And to be fair, someone is always dying.
She doesn't put the thought away. She simply let's it linger there as she fetches up the pastry with her right hand and dips it into the sweet citrus cream. It flakes between her fingers. Everything always does.]
Fine. Then what would you like to talk about?
[It must be something. Something more than the Station or the weight of reality in it.]
no subject
But maybe it isn't him. And to be fair, someone is always dying.
She doesn't put the thought away. She simply let's it linger there as she fetches up the pastry with her right hand and dips it into the sweet citrus cream. It flakes between her fingers. Everything always does.]
Fine. Then what would you like to talk about?
[It must be something. Something more than the Station or the weight of reality in it.]