Her hug feels alien. Something was horribly wrong here. Twisted, foul, incorrect. Sunday doesn't know what to say, how to proceed. Enacting our dreams? Been like this for years? He'd seen her like this before? It was wrong. This was wrong. He needed to breathe, to hold her, to run--- He doesn't know what. Alarm bells resound in his mind but he's not sure where or why.

"No... no, you've never looked like this." His hands shake, and he grips her mechanical hand tightly, a lifeline, a vice. He looks at her, his gaze firm, his voice wavering. "I have never seen this before."

He tries not to keep looking at the blood, tries to see her as she was, in the state she was. She seemed to be... Her last memories had been similar to his own, but different. Maybe she'd hit her head and had gotten confused, like he had.

"What do you mean? Back on Penacony I was the one... I was trying to... The Charmony Festival--" Sunday's head spins. He doesn't understand. He feels sick, afraid. What had happened in his absence? Wasn't their dream over? "I was the Chordmaster. I pulled Penacony into Ena's Dream. You and the Trailblazers fought me."

Her halo's frequency was... similar to his memory. But wrong.

"I fell. We both did. You said the dream was over. It was over. You told me that."