[There's an echo like bells, sweetness and melancholy. At another time, there might have been an edge of jealousy, but she hasn't the energy for it now, and it's easier to simply bask the sense of things she never knew, or remembers only dimly. She has never been on a swingset, but the child she was in the Bargewell breach had liked them, she realizes very distantly. It's not surprising.]
Good night, Jean.
[It's not night. But she slips into like doze anyway, still tucked in the emotional effluent of their conversation-connection like a cat curled in the sun.]
no subject
Good night, Jean.
[It's not night. But she slips into like doze anyway, still tucked in the emotional effluent of their conversation-connection like a cat curled in the sun.]