?.03 ?
In this place, there is only one thing to do: Walk, and think.
She recognizes this as ironic, given who she is. She doubts it is a coincidence.
The girl knows something, now. Someone has been in her head.
She sees the truth of the statement in her memories. Something is missing.
Something important.
It's lurking on the edges. She can feel it. She turns in her mind to examine it, but nothing is there.
The heaviness in her stomach has spread. It's on her shoulders, now, in her limbs and her mind, and the girl finally knows its name.
Dread.
The girl continues to walk. There isn't much else to do.
Her white hair is fluttering in the wind, but the air is stale and stagnant.
She does that thing she's good at. She doesn't think about it.