[He doesn't turn at first, or even respond to her voice; there are birds out the window, lingering sparrows and chickadees filling up in the mild fall weather before they fly off to wherever they go when it gets cold in Luceti. A noise startles them as he watches, and they fly back into a tree; his eyes follow them, feeling a twinge of- longing, or envy, or just simple joy, he can't tell. He hasn't flown in weeks. Might never fly again.
It hadn't felt right without Teddy.
Finally he glances over his shoulder at her, willing the memory of her identity to the surface of his mind.]
...I don't know. Is this... how the room's supposed to look?
[When you don't remember what your reality is supposed to be like, it's hard to tell when you've accidentally changed it.]
[17th]
It hadn't felt right without Teddy.
Finally he glances over his shoulder at her, willing the memory of her identity to the surface of his mind.]
...I don't know. Is this... how the room's supposed to look?
[When you don't remember what your reality is supposed to be like, it's hard to tell when you've accidentally changed it.]