(Lucretia thinks for a moment before she starts, taking a moment to recollect.)
The plane we were on was called Perthlochry. It was– purple, and blue and green. Great big hills split in half up the sides, and if you stood near the rifts and looked down into them it was dark like the night sky on the inside, dotted with stars. It was... beautiful. (She sounds a little dreamy.) There was a little village on the first outcrop we came across. They lived near this acid green river– perfectly safe to drink from, of course. The locals found our aversion to the water funny. I paid a woman a gold coin to help me bottle samples of it.
Um, I take a lot of notes. (She interrupts herself by finally pulling her journal out and showing it to Angela: it's thick, tightly bound to keep it from splitting open.) It's my job to keep records of wherever we go, in case the plane is lost. I was walking up past the outcrop to try and find more samples of the local flora, and I crossed a swing-bridge that snapped in half on my way across.
(She still remembers it, too clearly: the panic, the way she had clutched the ropes. She hadn't had time to throw her book out of the way before she had plummeted into the bright abyss. Lucretia shudders, but shrugs.) And I died. And then I was here.
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(Lucretia thinks for a moment before she starts, taking a moment to recollect.)
The plane we were on was called Perthlochry. It was– purple, and blue and green. Great big hills split in half up the sides, and if you stood near the rifts and looked down into them it was dark like the night sky on the inside, dotted with stars. It was... beautiful. (She sounds a little dreamy.) There was a little village on the first outcrop we came across. They lived near this acid green river– perfectly safe to drink from, of course. The locals found our aversion to the water funny. I paid a woman a gold coin to help me bottle samples of it.
Um, I take a lot of notes. (She interrupts herself by finally pulling her journal out and showing it to Angela: it's thick, tightly bound to keep it from splitting open.) It's my job to keep records of wherever we go, in case the plane is lost. I was walking up past the outcrop to try and find more samples of the local flora, and I crossed a swing-bridge that snapped in half on my way across.
(She still remembers it, too clearly: the panic, the way she had clutched the ropes. She hadn't had time to throw her book out of the way before she had plummeted into the bright abyss. Lucretia shudders, but shrugs.) And I died. And then I was here.