[Almost every part of her refuses to listen. The tone of the girl's voice is so sad and so lonely and so apologetic that Cornelia feels intrusive simply for being present. It reminds her in too many ways of Euphy's pleading attempts to explain herself, and the knowledge that Cornelia will never be able to make amends for ignoring her rots away at her with the devastation of a whole-body disease. Even as familiarity asserts itself in the the ways the voice rises and wavers at precisely the right moments and in how gentle it is, how tentative, logic cooly dictates that dead is dead.]
[Memory, however, perseveres. Cornelia knows this voice better than she knows her own. It warms her. It quickens her heart. All of the doubts breeding within her thoughts meet the resistance of the same kind of relief she'd felt when she woke up on Horai island to find Guilford by her side. She stops ignoring the girl. She starts listening. And when she turns away, Cornelia finally looks up. Her hair. The way she holds herself, regal yet unsure. The slight slouch of her shoulders which had become so familiar in the final days they'd spent together.]
[She rises to her feet, letting her reading materials fall to the ground.]
no subject
[Memory, however, perseveres. Cornelia knows this voice better than she knows her own. It warms her. It quickens her heart. All of the doubts breeding within her thoughts meet the resistance of the same kind of relief she'd felt when she woke up on Horai island to find Guilford by her side. She stops ignoring the girl. She starts listening. And when she turns away, Cornelia finally looks up. Her hair. The way she holds herself, regal yet unsure. The slight slouch of her shoulders which had become so familiar in the final days they'd spent together.]
[She rises to her feet, letting her reading materials fall to the ground.]
Euphy?