Maria, for her part, could only ruminate. With nothing to tear her away from it, her head was allowed free reign over whatever thought it seized-- creating either a montage of unwanted, unlikely memory... or stumbled upon blank space she couldn't, and refused to, comprehend. It was bad enough, turning over in her mind what she'd been told no more than fifteen minutes prior... Bad enough, not feeling the delicious weight of that gun in her slender fingers, promising a kind of release she knew would be her only saving grace.
She was nothing.
She was a reflection of this desolation-- empty, unremarkable, but for the subtle brush of moisture over skin. Wrought with vague memories she was only now beginning to realize were not her own, she could feel her legs becoming more and more unwilling to hold her weight. Everything in her wanted to collapse, to crawl into the luscious hole of red resin, to forget... To feel, beyond anything, a comforting void to counteract what could only be comprable to a drug-induced nightmare.
She was the smoke curling around the edges of a snuff pipe. She was the whisper of memory that never took form. She was the insubstantial granted substance. Yet...
Whatever made her had given her the damnedable ability to feel. An ability that spared her nothing, not even the simple solace of a gun. Self-preservation, the very human, very animal response to the muzzle of a gun... stopping her short of ending what was nothing more than a trivial existance. Nothing more relevant to anyone, any more than the gentle tap of her shoes against the unforgiving pavement...
Little else but a small change of scenery.
Breathing out a soft sigh, she found herself at the edges of a park-- the dull slap of waves against concrete catching her attention. Legs gaining a hint of strength to them, she moved swiftly down the cobblestone pathways, refusing to look around at the lush scenery. Even in it's own kind of death, the place radiated a calming beauty. A kind of calming beauty she might stop to appreciate, were she in any mood to do so. If anything, it reminded her entirely too much of the sense of self that had been denied to her. She had a name, a face... but nothing else beyond that. She could feel it; a heavy, crystal sphere weighted by a writhing, lunatic jigsaw of restless nothing.
Wanting for something, anything, to cling to.
The fog parted just enough for her to recognize the listless waves of the lakeside, the sound becoming more pronounced as she approached the railing... fingers drawing themselves over the cool metal, if only to feel something. To experience it, as though it were the first time in her life that she'd touched metal. Caressing it almost obsessively, as a lover might-- losing herself in a subconscious array of logic. Of rationalization.
It was entirely possible that there were things she couldn't remember, despite her best efforts to the contrary. It was entirely possible that something had happened, somewhere down the road, that ceased her synaptic pathways from registering memory. ...Something that effectively destroyed her link to the past. While the notion would go a long way to explain her state, it wouldn't explain what she knew to be true. She was here, in the midst of this small piece of surreality... far from the soothing touch of human skin.
Yet, she could remember what that felt like. To intertwine her slender fingers with those of another, be it man or woman. To let her lips brush effortlessly, deftly, over those of an expectant recipient, their breath hitched in anticipation. To let her voice raise in a jovial laugh... or a wretched sob. Vague impressions that lasted mere moments before wafting away with another cluster of vaporous fog... snatching away the vivid, only to replace it with a wry confusion bubbling under the surface of her pale skin.
With the silence so deafening, she barely heard herself subconsciously murmur the notes of a song that never existed. Weaving the tones together in a morose seranade to the waterfront, as if attempting to coax it to her. As if to seduce it, and in turn, let it seduce her into it's chill waters. Her eyes mirrored it's algid depths, longing for it, as only one deeply infatuated could long for the object of their salacious desires. Tears wormed their way into the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over, to join the vast sea she could only see a tiny sliver of.
If she truly was nothing... then perhaps, it's in the blanket of the lake that she belonged. Fingers clasped the metal railing, her body all but slumped over the edge, what moisture was released from her eyes falling in a spiral pattern down to the murky depths. There was a stoicism to her pallid complexion, however-- a hardening edge, as she watched the lake. A growing spite, a growing wish to deny this overwhelming angst it's sway. A mirror, a memory, an impression... whatever she was, it didn't have to matter.
Whatever it was that attempted to hold her to that mirror, that attempted to possess her memory just as surely as it possessed her, could only be fought if she adopted a kind of newness. Before learning any of this... she was still herself. Whatever that meant, whatever it implied, it was still hers.
It was with this thought in mind that she heard familiarity. Familiarity that spawned a vague, catty smile-- the veneer of self-assurance suddenly reasserting itself upon her expression, bolstered by the man she was told she'd meet.
"...Mary?"