[Persephone isn't sure what to expect, as they approach the little box - after all, there had to be a reason why it was avoided like this. She crouches down next to Figaro as they take a closer look, humming softly as he reaches for it, peering curiously before... something flickers to life. A recording of a little girl.
The recording makes it feel like the cold of the mountain has seeped inside her, every hopeful word of this little girl causing chilling dread and despair to swell inside her. She had hoped this winter would fade, and now they stand in the remains of her home ravaged by the deadly cold.
Persephone is silent for a few, long moments. She feels sick, every nerve alight in a nauseating mix of outrage and distress; she doesn't realise she's holding her breath before she releases it in a strained sigh.]
... We shouldn't linger. We're still susceptible to the cold. [Now, more than ever, she is grateful for Figaro's company. Persephone has seen much over the years, but things like this never become easier to handle. Especially when it resonates so strongly.]
IT'S OKAY!!!!
The recording makes it feel like the cold of the mountain has seeped inside her, every hopeful word of this little girl causing chilling dread and despair to swell inside her. She had hoped this winter would fade, and now they stand in the remains of her home ravaged by the deadly cold.
Persephone is silent for a few, long moments. She feels sick, every nerve alight in a nauseating mix of outrage and distress; she doesn't realise she's holding her breath before she releases it in a strained sigh.]
... We shouldn't linger. We're still susceptible to the cold. [Now, more than ever, she is grateful for Figaro's company. Persephone has seen much over the years, but things like this never become easier to handle. Especially when it resonates so strongly.]