aunt

this be . . ?

"Show me . . show me it's really you," he quietly begs, eyes darting around what he can see of her in the dark.

"You're – you're / you /, how are you – !"

Even glitching, half abstracted, she's just as beautiful as ever. Floating hands raise to cup what he can of her 'face', still in slight disbelief.

Could this be real? Or was this some odd dream? He wasn't ever able to dream before. So, could

It can't be. It's impossible. It's . . an utter miracle. One that he can't waste.

In just a single moment, as soon as he hears / her / voice, Kinger surges forward.

Safety forgotten, all he can think of is holding her again. Of being held by those always familiar hands.

those cowboys were very nice :)