[For everything that's familiar about that voice, there's something that distinctly isn't. Maybe she'd picked up a hint of it initially, but in her shock and her need to confirm, it could've easily become lost under other priorities. But now it's unavoidable. It pierces her like a spear, stings her in a way that almost nothing ever has, in a way that hurts so much it can't be anything but real.
Harshness.
This isn't right. Not directed at her, at any rate. It should be the steady gentleness she knows best, the kind of steadiness she could hold onto when there was nothing else. What managed to keep her nightmares at bay those nights on the train and those nights before the Quell. What she hasn't had in what seems like so long.
(What she needs.)
A breath becomes stuck in her throat, making it even harder to think, to work through this with facts and treat it like the hallucination it probably is, much less to speak. It takes a few long moments before she's able to choke out another equally quiet response.]
voice;
Harshness.
This isn't right. Not directed at her, at any rate. It should be the steady gentleness she knows best, the kind of steadiness she could hold onto when there was nothing else. What managed to keep her nightmares at bay those nights on the train and those nights before the Quell. What she hasn't had in what seems like so long.
(What she needs.)
A breath becomes stuck in her throat, making it even harder to think, to work through this with facts and treat it like the hallucination it probably is, much less to speak. It takes a few long moments before she's able to choke out another equally quiet response.]
It's me.