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"Yeah, probably," says Nona.

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"I don't know if I can go, even so."

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"I know," says Nona.

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"He was pretending such civility. I thought I could put him off. I couldn't."

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"He does that."

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"Does he really think on some level that I - that we - that -" She can't finish the sentence.

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"I don't think he cares. About anything. He just wants us to play along, and if we don't, he makes us."

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Etty wipes her eyes with her good hand.

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"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

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Etty bows her head.

"I can't even write. Not left-handed in the dark."
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"I'm sorry," she says again.

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"Tell me what I need to do," Etty says in a low voice, "that you can promise and mean it - tell me who I need to be -"

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"...I don't think I can do that," she says. "You're already yourself, and I love you, don't I? I just don't know how to make promises about it."

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Etty drops her forehead onto her knee and sobs again.

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Nona curls up a little closer.

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When they touch, Etty flinches back with a strangled squeak.

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She settles back a little and doesn't say anything.

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"I'm sorry," whispers Etty.

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"Why?"

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"For - I know you're not him."

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"Me too. It's okay."

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Etty scrunches in on herself a bit more.

"I hope my wing is okay in the morning," she murmurs, cradling her hurt elbow.
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"I don't know if it will be."

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"I don't either. But if it is I can -" She shakes her head ruefully. "Try flying."

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"I bet flying is fun."

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