[ for one cruel, awful moment — manuela almost believes him. his look is so sincere, his touch so gentle. for a time his words create around them a bubble damn near impenetrable, blocking out years and years of hard truths, and manuela feels blossom inside her chest something that feels a lot like hope.

but just like that, the color drains from her face. the light flickers out in her eyes.

it's a funny thing, isn't it? how manuela has longed to hear such sentiments for over a decade now, bent herself repeatedly to new lows in vain attempts to appeal for them, yet in the here and now of finally getting what she wants, she cannot even fathom allowing herself to believe them. ]

More beautiful...?

[ oh, but she doesn't mean to be cruel or dismissive, especially not when he looks upon her so earnestly. but she cannot help but scoff. such pretty words, wrapped in such a handsome package. but for her? preposterous. what has she done to earn them? what has changed that she should receive them now? ]

What madness are you spouting? Do you even hear yourself?

[ and then, all at once, it clicks. pieces of a skewed puzzle slotting themselves into a crude picture, one she honestly should have expected from the start, given where they are. what they're made to endure. ]

It's this place, isn't it? You ingested something, or come across a pheromone. Tell me — did you notice any peculiar scents right before I arrived?

[ yes, surely that's the cause. how much easier it is a pill to swallow, to think that none of this is at all sincere. hastily, she tugs at the hand he holds so tenderly, glancing aside. ]

Have a seat, Ferdinand, you are surely under some sort of spell.