Maybe she should - a new name, for her new face. A better disguise than the haphazard one inked into her skin, a more permanent one, but she thinks she would ill-suit new skin and she has become a new thing once before, once enough. Galatea was Lourdes will be Galatea until she dies; she is, she thinks, what she is meant to be. And maybe this is where she's meant to be;
no subject
Galatea smiles;
“You don't.”
Maybe she should - a new name, for her new face. A better disguise than the haphazard one inked into her skin, a more permanent one, but she thinks she would ill-suit new skin and she has become a new thing once before, once enough. Galatea was Lourdes will be Galatea until she dies; she is, she thinks, what she is meant to be. And maybe this is where she's meant to be;
she closes the door behind her.
“Do you know where I was? Before Kirkwall.”