“But I can’t remember making it,” Astrid confirms.
There’s a moment where, irrationally, she closes her hand around the figurine and doesn’t want to give it up. Her brain might not remember the carving but it physically feels comfortable in her hand, well-worn and familiar, as if she has held and handled it many times over. Muscle memory.
But in the end, she opens her fingers and passes it back to Clarisse, letting it go.
Smart enough people might work themselves into convoluted knots to force reality to make sense with what they know, not being able to accept it, needing to justify it. But Astrid sees the disjoint, and just runs into that brick wall of confusion, not sure what to do with the knowledge. “I’m sorry,” she says again, offering feebly, “Hopefully, like… the folks over in Research might be able to find out what’s going on?”
no subject
There’s a moment where, irrationally, she closes her hand around the figurine and doesn’t want to give it up. Her brain might not remember the carving but it physically feels comfortable in her hand, well-worn and familiar, as if she has held and handled it many times over. Muscle memory.
But in the end, she opens her fingers and passes it back to Clarisse, letting it go.
Smart enough people might work themselves into convoluted knots to force reality to make sense with what they know, not being able to accept it, needing to justify it. But Astrid sees the disjoint, and just runs into that brick wall of confusion, not sure what to do with the knowledge. “I’m sorry,” she says again, offering feebly, “Hopefully, like… the folks over in Research might be able to find out what’s going on?”