[ Loneliness is a powerful drive. Almost as powerful as hope or love. All of them are things she has experienced. Emotions that pushed her at one point or another. Now, loneliness has settled in, but there is a level of acceptance she has had to embrace. It has to be this way. Otherwise, it will never be over. Never over for her, Booker DeWitt, Zachary Comstock.
The price of freedom is high.
Not good, not bad. Just a man. ]
Why were you looking for me, Mr. Wake? [ Eyes narrow in suspicion. ] "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt"?
[ She hopes this story has not decided to replicate that fact as well. Otherwise, she may have certain words with the author. Although, isn't she looking at the author? A slight tilt of her head back.
Yes, Alan Wake is the author of this story. But, he's... unaware of it? He's written it. Now he's living it. Projected into the story? If that's the case then he wouldn't remember the beats of the story he has written.
What a strange reality.
She sighs before lowering her hands from her hips. A dramatic gesture is made to her person. What name to give him? Both names apply. One name is what she prefers. That name, however, is something almost sacred to her. Special. Something she shared with two people who she will never see again. One person she never knew. ]
Elizabeth. [ She settles for her name given to her in the city in the sky. The name given to the reborn daughter. Just as her "father" had been reborn. ] You can call me Elizabeth, Mr. Wake.
And, yes, the title would mean something to me. [ Another gesture is given to the broach around her neck. Then, she looks around them. ] Where are we?
no subject
The price of freedom is high.
Not good, not bad. Just a man. ]
Why were you looking for me, Mr. Wake? [ Eyes narrow in suspicion. ] "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt"?
[ She hopes this story has not decided to replicate that fact as well. Otherwise, she may have certain words with the author. Although, isn't she looking at the author? A slight tilt of her head back.
Yes, Alan Wake is the author of this story. But, he's... unaware of it? He's written it. Now he's living it. Projected into the story? If that's the case then he wouldn't remember the beats of the story he has written.
What a strange reality.
She sighs before lowering her hands from her hips. A dramatic gesture is made to her person. What name to give him? Both names apply. One name is what she prefers. That name, however, is something almost sacred to her. Special. Something she shared with two people who she will never see again. One person she never knew. ]
Elizabeth. [ She settles for her name given to her in the city in the sky. The name given to the reborn daughter. Just as her "father" had been reborn. ] You can call me Elizabeth, Mr. Wake.
And, yes, the title would mean something to me. [ Another gesture is given to the broach around her neck. Then, she looks around them. ] Where are we?