[And just like that, he's in. The sight that greets him is an old house from an old era that is far too familiar to Henry's own experiences. And there's a young girl, and a woman who must be her mother. "Amy." Oh, yes. Amelia's memories, for certain.
Henry looks around as he listens to the conversation take place. The details are so sharp, the voices so clear, it's truly as though his abilities have returned to them in their full capacity. He presses a hand to the nearest wall as he ambles behind the mother and child to the kitchen -- feels cool, feels solid.
He smiles.
And he stands at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, curious. The feeling of anticipation in the air: it won't be long now. Won't it?]
Your Papa will be back from where?
[He asks lightly from where he stands. His presence should not be seen as strange in this memory. He is simply a visitor, and should register as though he's supposed to be there, nonetheless.
no subject
Henry looks around as he listens to the conversation take place. The details are so sharp, the voices so clear, it's truly as though his abilities have returned to them in their full capacity. He presses a hand to the nearest wall as he ambles behind the mother and child to the kitchen -- feels cool, feels solid.
He smiles.
And he stands at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, curious. The feeling of anticipation in the air: it won't be long now. Won't it?]
Your Papa will be back from where?
[He asks lightly from where he stands. His presence should not be seen as strange in this memory. He is simply a visitor, and should register as though he's supposed to be there, nonetheless.
Somehow, he thinks he can guess at the answer.]