[ A noncommittal shrug is made. Perhaps some great force dictated this Alan go to Bright Falls. Perhaps it was a echo of the Master of Many Worlds or even Thomas Zane. Does the origin matter? Alan's story is his own no matter how similar it will be to another.
She says nothing more until he settles opposite of her. Either ends of the small table with the shoebox between them. Uer skin crawls at how familiar and similar this scenario is playing out. How close it is to Booker. He must have seen it somehow and pulled it into a story to try and help him escape.
Not that there is much point if he doesn't remember why he is trying so hard to escape. The reason other than the obvious of being in a dimension that ebs and flows with the rest. ]
I was brought here to help you. Wasn't I? That's the reason the Writer needs the Songbird. You are the Writer... aren't you?
[ One arm unfolds from underneath her bust. A wide sweeping gesture is made to the shoebox between them. ]
You and I both know what this room is, Alan. We know what this room was for and why it was guarded. You know why you're here.
You know who was here with you. Their faces. Their names. You're simply letting something block your vision because it's easier to tell yourself you can't remember than accept the truth.
[ Her weight cocks to one side. A flat expression takes her face. A knowing expression.]
You can fight it all you want. But, you don't leave this room until you take what's in this shoebox and accept what you have to do it.
[ Something shifts behind Alan. Someone.
A young woman stands behind him at the door they just walked through. Bright green eyes, bright red hair. A backpack in her hands. Unlike the others they have encountered? This woman isn't shadowed. She's bright.
no subject
She says nothing more until he settles opposite of her. Either ends of the small table with the shoebox between them. Uer skin crawls at how familiar and similar this scenario is playing out. How close it is to Booker. He must have seen it somehow and pulled it into a story to try and help him escape.
Not that there is much point if he doesn't remember why he is trying so hard to escape. The reason other than the obvious of being in a dimension that ebs and flows with the rest. ]
I was brought here to help you. Wasn't I? That's the reason the Writer needs the Songbird. You are the Writer... aren't you?
[ One arm unfolds from underneath her bust. A wide sweeping gesture is made to the shoebox between them. ]
You and I both know what this room is, Alan. We know what this room was for and why it was guarded. You know why you're here.
You know who was here with you. Their faces. Their names. You're simply letting something block your vision because it's easier to tell yourself you can't remember than accept the truth.
[ Her weight cocks to one side. A flat expression takes her face. A knowing expression.]
You can fight it all you want. But, you don't leave this room until you take what's in this shoebox and accept what you have to do it.
[ Something shifts behind Alan. Someone.
A young woman stands behind him at the door they just walked through. Bright green eyes, bright red hair. A backpack in her hands. Unlike the others they have encountered? This woman isn't shadowed. She's bright.
A geometric pattern that spirals around her. ]
We both know what that is.