The quotation had done its work, but not on her. On Valeria.
I didn't need Selene to grasp the reference yet. I mean, why should I?
Her understanding was optional. But not for Valeria.
Christie.
That single word had landed exactly where it was meant to.
What I wanted it to be.
I watched the side effect to eventually propagate throughout Valeria's posture like a rehearsed chemical reaction reaching to her—muscle tension misfiring, breathing desynchronizing, pupils struggling to anchor to reality. People like her lived inside authored identities. Remove the author, and the character panics.
Selene, meanwhile, was still stuck on the surface layer—Why that line? Why that name?
Annoying. But predictable.
She was trying to reconcile the quote with my known memories, my known influences. She couldn't find the connection, and that absence was bothering her more than the woman unraveling in front of us.
I ignored it. Not that it was important.
