I'm trying. [She's a spectator in her own brain right now, forced to sit back and watch things meander past instead of taking hold of the flow, and it keeps flopping back and forth between "kind of nice" and "kind of scary". And obnoxious, because she has to deliberately try to fetch memories more distant than the immediate, like the rules of this game.

The kicking continues. It takes the edge off the floaty, vague feeling, and distracts her from trying to untangle her words when she drops into rambling.]

How...mmm. What about...ugh. I never ask things like this. All I can think of is weird questions, like, if you think we're going to spend the rest of our lives here. Or if being a devil means you've ever eaten a soul. That's how it works in comics. But it's probably not realistic.