[whoever is trudging up the stairs is certainly not anastasia. it's a woman, tall but not very much so, wearing a coat slick with rain and dried with blood. she would usually wear a tricorn, but she's not feeling it so much these days. the wind blows her hair in her face, a mess of dirty white obscuring one sky-blue eye and one thick, heavy eyepatch.]
[she sees the sight before her, and there is something inside her that aches. this is not a person she has seen before, and yet the two souls within her... do they recognize her? can they ever? there is a longing there, an echo with no initial noise, a spiral like lighthouse steps into past and future at once. and here before her, the collision.]
2
[she sees the sight before her, and there is something inside her that aches. this is not a person she has seen before, and yet the two souls within her... do they recognize her? can they ever? there is a longing there, an echo with no initial noise, a spiral like lighthouse steps into past and future at once. and here before her, the collision.]
[she strains her ears. she. hears. a. sound.]
Annabel?