[Most of her mind is caught, overwhelmed by emotions she hasn't felt yet - grief, regret, guilt, fury. She's raging at the unfairness of - of leaving her son, he's her son.
Out of the corner of it all - of her eyes, of her thoughts - she sees Philip, frozen in his own helplessness. It reaches for her, but she can hear - ]
Sorry, Jean. He can't hear you. We're on an altogether different plane of existence now.
[Her gaze is dragged back, and instead of a child there's a woman - a woman with her eyes. She speaks of war and protection and family, she tells Jean she's dying, and she knows she's lost her daughter too, and it's almost too much to bear.
She turns her head, and her gaze locks with Philip's. She lets his thoughts flood her mind instead, and it's enough; she can turn her back on these phantoms of the future, and march over to someone she can actually help. It doesn't matter that the tears haven't yet dried.]
It's not real. [Her voice is firmer, this time, louder.] She's gone, Philip. There's nothing you can do.
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Out of the corner of it all - of her eyes, of her thoughts - she sees Philip, frozen in his own helplessness. It reaches for her, but she can hear - ]
Sorry, Jean. He can't hear you. We're on an altogether different plane of existence now.
[Her gaze is dragged back, and instead of a child there's a woman - a woman with her eyes. She speaks of war and protection and family, she tells Jean she's dying, and she knows she's lost her daughter too, and it's almost too much to bear.
She turns her head, and her gaze locks with Philip's. She lets his thoughts flood her mind instead, and it's enough; she can turn her back on these phantoms of the future, and march over to someone she can actually help. It doesn't matter that the tears haven't yet dried.]
It's not real. [Her voice is firmer, this time, louder.] She's gone, Philip. There's nothing you can do.