Eleven nods sharply, staring into his mottled reflection in the water. A pinprick of unexpected loss blooms in his chest, then twists away before he can define its source.
He doesn't need a third set of conflicting memories; his skull feels ready to burst with it at times. In other moments, like now, the shadow of something important lingers at the edge of his awareness, waiting to be acknowledged, yet edged with enough unease that he'd almost rather never know.
"It feels like I know too much sometimes," he says quietly, almost to himself. Then he raises a wet arm out of the water and drags at the sweat on his face. The heat from his palm is not likely to help, but his face feels cleaner in the moment. "But then here, it feels like I don't know anything at all. Not even Life and Death seem the same."
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He doesn't need a third set of conflicting memories; his skull feels ready to burst with it at times. In other moments, like now, the shadow of something important lingers at the edge of his awareness, waiting to be acknowledged, yet edged with enough unease that he'd almost rather never know.
"It feels like I know too much sometimes," he says quietly, almost to himself. Then he raises a wet arm out of the water and drags at the sweat on his face. The heat from his palm is not likely to help, but his face feels cleaner in the moment. "But then here, it feels like I don't know anything at all. Not even Life and Death seem the same."