[ He chokes back to life, to the vision in front of him. She's supposed to be dead- no, he was afraid she was dead, making up things, in his head, like he always does. Making it up, worst case--
Is her hair brown? Blonde? It flickers. He takes a step closer, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
Last time it was snowing, we were planning a trip to Paris-- no, that doesn't fit. This doesn't fit? His brain's screaming, trying to make sense of it all. ]
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Is her hair brown? Blonde? It flickers. He takes a step closer, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
Last time it was snowing, we were planning a trip to Paris-- no, that doesn't fit. This doesn't fit? His brain's screaming, trying to make sense of it all. ]