[ The Knight hesitates. Their memory is fine, they think. But the dream's memory is not theirs.
This world is not theirs.
They lift their hands to their face, slowly, removing the mask they have (that they've always had, the dream says). It shouldn't be possible, but in this second skin, it comes off easily. They have a face, something capable of making expressions.
They turn the half-mask over in their hands, for a moment, before they shake their head, raising it to meet the Drifter's eyes with their own; white hair puffs out a little.
Their eyes are like the Drifter's, too, just bigger; pure black, with not much shine to them. ]
cannot |
not my memories |
yours |
[ They look sad. And that, in itself, is odd; they can feel this second mask over their own, changing to make the expression. A small taste of what it might have been like, to be something other.
It's a dream they wouldn't mind staying in, if they didn't know such things were dangerous. ]
no subject
This world is not theirs.
They lift their hands to their face, slowly, removing the mask they have (that they've always had, the dream says). It shouldn't be possible, but in this second skin, it comes off easily. They have a face, something capable of making expressions.
They turn the half-mask over in their hands, for a moment, before they shake their head, raising it to meet the Drifter's eyes with their own; white hair puffs out a little.
Their eyes are like the Drifter's, too, just bigger; pure black, with not much shine to them. ]
cannot |
not my memories |
yours |
[ They look sad. And that, in itself, is odd; they can feel this second mask over their own, changing to make the expression. A small taste of what it might have been like, to be something other.
It's a dream they wouldn't mind staying in, if they didn't know such things were dangerous. ]