[ her voice changes; still small, but hoarse and low instead of high and thin ]

I work with them, I work with them. I have died because I work with them. I do not know who they are, they don't talk to me, we just do bad things together.

[ just like always.

and she's lost like half the sheaf of papers just from the shaking, so down to her knees to scrounge them back together. try not to cry on them, Maeve—that'd be just what you need right now, is to ruin them with oil spots ]