"Maybe... maybe you're right," she says. "I can be whoever I want now. I don't have to be Kathleen. I don't have to be the old me."
The puddle rises in a pillar, sculpting itself into a beautiful young woman, dressed in a monochrome gown somewhere between prom and princess. One who only just barely resembles the sad, unhinged woman Connor had researched- and maybe a few years younger.
"I don't know if I can be her again. Or want to. But I can be somebody. I can be who I am inside. You can call me..." she looks over her shimmering, somewhat eerily beautiful form.
no subject
"Maybe... maybe you're right," she says. "I can be whoever I want now. I don't have to be Kathleen. I don't have to be the old me."
The puddle rises in a pillar, sculpting itself into a beautiful young woman, dressed in a monochrome gown somewhere between prom and princess. One who only just barely resembles the sad, unhinged woman Connor had researched- and maybe a few years younger.
"I don't know if I can be her again. Or want to. But I can be somebody. I can be who I am inside. You can call me..." she looks over her shimmering, somewhat eerily beautiful form.
"...Silverpool."