[ Her eyes are shining, he sees, but now he realizes it's not just from tears held at bay. Her smile is... enormous, delighted. He can't remember the last time she looked at him this way, so pleased with herself. There's nothing to be sad about.

How can that be true? This world, this life, it's full of grief. She knows that as well as he does. His brows flicker toward each other, a divot appearing for a moment between them, and he slides his hand out from under hers so he can get up, testing his legs, pacing across the little room he'd once known so well. ] How is that possible?

[ How is he here?

His hands lift, palms up, an unconscious gesture of bewilderment as he tries to force his shocked brain into working, into thinking. ]

I remember... I remember the cliffs. The white-haired man. [ He turns to her, the frown still digging between his brows as he tries to wrench memories from somewhere beneath the muffling veil of shock. ]

We, we fought. You were there. [ Her voice, horrified and screaming. Gustave! ]

But now we're... we're here, and I don't... [ A hand lifts, gestures at the side of his head, moving in and then out again with his fingers expanding. ] None of it makes any sense—

[ He turns back to her, hand lowering halfway back down to his side, still suspended in the air. ] Maelle... what happened? What do you mean, everything's okay?