[Jean isn't afraid, exactly. She doesn't think anything in this place can truly harm her, deeply and irrevocably. She's not sure anything can.
But she's disturbed. Distressed. There is death here, all around her, memories of life caught like flies in amber. There are breaks in time and space, calling out for her to mend them. There are gods trapped in stone, screaming in her head. There is terror and grief and despair and it never stops.
She knows she's going in circles. It is, in part, a conscious decision; she doesn't want to leave anyone behind. Not her friends, not her family, not her Inmate. But she's losing track of time, of purpose, of herself.
At some point, she manages to focus, to grasp a sense of Philip amidst everything else. It leads her downwards, into the opera house, and she's there when his sword clatters to the floor.
Jean strides forward, refusing to let her mind catch on anything else as she calls to him.]
no subject
But she's disturbed. Distressed. There is death here, all around her, memories of life caught like flies in amber. There are breaks in time and space, calling out for her to mend them. There are gods trapped in stone, screaming in her head. There is terror and grief and despair and it never stops.
She knows she's going in circles. It is, in part, a conscious decision; she doesn't want to leave anyone behind. Not her friends, not her family, not her Inmate. But she's losing track of time, of purpose, of herself.
At some point, she manages to focus, to grasp a sense of Philip amidst everything else. It leads her downwards, into the opera house, and she's there when his sword clatters to the floor.
Jean strides forward, refusing to let her mind catch on anything else as she calls to him.]
Philip?