Aᵁᴰᴵᴼ

[ancestor]

...Hello?

Hello. I am not supposed to be here. I am supposed to be—

[ The voice that speaks is so quiet it's nearly a whisper; quiet and lilting in a way reminiscent of whale song. Her words are cut short by a wavering intake of breath. When she speaks again it's with the fervent confusion of a person who has recently experienced something very traumatic and can't quite comprehend it. ]

I'm supposed to be... I'm dead? I'm meant to be dead. I remember it. I remember— It hurt. I remember that. It—hurts. They were all screaming. Everyone was—

All of them—

[ A small, choked sob. ]

My people.

I'm supposed to be with them.

Comments

[albatrossomen]

[Ah, yes, death. The expected termination of frail mortal flesh. They are always so upset upon learning the predictable end has happened, nearly every one of them. One would think that would change with time.

Some things are ever eternal.

He's never been particularly good at the comfort thing, that task is better suited to those angels with sweeter dispositions. And fewer eyes.]

Be not afraid.

[That's probably not very helpful here, is it? No, unlikely. Again, really terrible at comfort. That's Peter's job, or, well, anyone not Murmur honestly. Ah, what else does he have to offer?]


Would you like some tea?

[Nailed it.]

audio; un: panoptes

[sisterswitch]

Well ... there’s news of varying degrees of good or bad, depending on your perspective. Number one, you’re not dead. Number two, none of us are supposed to be here. Number three, we’re working on a way back.

Now, are you injured? There’s a med bay if you are.