[ He catches her so easily, like snapping a photo. Aerith's expression tenses as Claude calls her out on it, showing no reservation in describing the souring of her smile as taken aback. True, she thinks silently, she is taken aback, knocked off her constant expert spin through life.
So she listens, nodding and looking to the cobblestones that pass as they walk, aimless in their exchange. Tit for tat, she agrees with a short, burdened nod, thin brown brows cinched together in consider. A part of her worries not for coming off as crazy; they'd both be spilling on their psychotic little breaks, or whatever these are. What Claude paints is a somber image of something far older than both of them, and Aerith raises her head to look at him in carefully measured consideration, trying to make sure he doesn't realize too soon she's not seen anything quite so war-torn. Still— ]
Maybe it's a past life. Do you believe in those? [ Maybe if she's more collected in her response, it won't be so scary. Will it? ] It'd explain... why you saw that, but I saw something entirely different. Some things, [ comes her clarification; it is not just one thing she's seen and heard and felt. ]
For me— I was real little. At the time, I was in bed. I remember I thought how strange it was to have my own bed for the first time, and then... I saw a man. He was dressed like he went to war. He said... goodbye. And then he disappeared. I was so scared, but I knew I had to tell the woman downstairs what I saw. [ The details, hazy but so clear, feel like something she'd observed through a rain-drenched window. A message for someone else, given to her, but not her. Is that right? How strange. She squeezes Claude's arm, whispering, then: ] And there were more. But the weirdest one, honestly? It wasn't like remembering something at all. But... like, revisiting a feeling. It was so weird.
no subject
So she listens, nodding and looking to the cobblestones that pass as they walk, aimless in their exchange. Tit for tat, she agrees with a short, burdened nod, thin brown brows cinched together in consider. A part of her worries not for coming off as crazy; they'd both be spilling on their psychotic little breaks, or whatever these are. What Claude paints is a somber image of something far older than both of them, and Aerith raises her head to look at him in carefully measured consideration, trying to make sure he doesn't realize too soon she's not seen anything quite so war-torn. Still— ]
Maybe it's a past life. Do you believe in those? [ Maybe if she's more collected in her response, it won't be so scary. Will it? ] It'd explain... why you saw that, but I saw something entirely different. Some things, [ comes her clarification; it is not just one thing she's seen and heard and felt. ]
For me— I was real little. At the time, I was in bed. I remember I thought how strange it was to have my own bed for the first time, and then... I saw a man. He was dressed like he went to war. He said... goodbye. And then he disappeared. I was so scared, but I knew I had to tell the woman downstairs what I saw. [ The details, hazy but so clear, feel like something she'd observed through a rain-drenched window. A message for someone else, given to her, but not her. Is that right? How strange. She squeezes Claude's arm, whispering, then: ] And there were more. But the weirdest one, honestly? It wasn't like remembering something at all. But... like, revisiting a feeling. It was so weird.
...Crazy, right?