[Four years. What had been just moments ago for her had been over four years ago for him. The memories, still raw and fresh (no matter how healed her injuries appear they aren't; her chest, her back, still ache, even though she knows it's impossible) rise unbidden in her mind, and she can't help the flinch, the wince of pain, her hand, the one not curled tightly around her newly acquired journal briefly drift towards the scar on her chest again, until she regains control and forces her hand to drop to her side.]
Kriff, I...
[What does she do with this? What does this make her? There isn't supposed to be life after death. Not like this.]
Four years.
[It's an unnecessary echo, breathed out in more pained a voice than she would have liked. What happened after she died? Does she even want to know?]
[Action]
Kriff, I...
[What does she do with this? What does this make her? There isn't supposed to be life after death. Not like this.]
Four years.
[It's an unnecessary echo, breathed out in more pained a voice than she would have liked. What happened after she died? Does she even want to know?]