[ A beat passes as Freddie takes in the sparse domestic scenery behind his host. This all feels so very unreal, and so vivid, all at the same time. Fitzjames lacks the ethereal flimsiness of a figure in one of his dreams; the man standing across from him is real, slight of build but still obviously solid flesh and blood, having substance and realness he could reach out and touch. It's deeply, deeply unnerving, as is standing across from a dead man in the same destination.
And that triggers, for the first time, a thought that he can't keep himself from seeking reassurance for the moment it surfaces. His voice comes out small. ]
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[ A beat passes as Freddie takes in the sparse domestic scenery behind his host. This all feels so very unreal, and so vivid, all at the same time. Fitzjames lacks the ethereal flimsiness of a figure in one of his dreams; the man standing across from him is real, slight of build but still obviously solid flesh and blood, having substance and realness he could reach out and touch. It's deeply, deeply unnerving, as is standing across from a dead man in the same destination.
And that triggers, for the first time, a thought that he can't keep himself from seeking reassurance for the moment it surfaces. His voice comes out small. ]
Am I dead?