It's impossible for her to muster the strength to manage herself. She can see the pain, the hurt, and she wishes for the powers that had been taken from her, from the strength that had been ripped from her hands with her connection to Sarenrae had been taken from her; there are no healing hands here. There is only Six, sentinel and sure, wishing to reach out and touch an image she thinks is no more than a dream.

She does not attempt to defend herself. She does no more than stand in front of him. Feeling ungainly, too large for the public space, as if she might shatter, Six has to remind herself to breathe.

What she wants, more than anything else, is to take him into her arms. She wants to feel that he is real and alive under her fingertips, that the tilt of his head and the softness of his features is not a dream, that the warmth of his face is a reflection of the pulse of heart. Six wants to touch him, to know that he is alive, that he is breathing, that he is real. She wants to believe in this gift.

Moving forward, she forces herself to take a few steps closer. She knows she appears threatening, with her height and her bulk; if he doesn't remember her face, her name, her heart, the warmth of her smile as she looked at him -

"I was. I... I wished to save you, with all that I had. I failed you." A break in her voice, hands clenched tight. "I failed."