Whether ghosts, remnants of the lost's frequencies, memories, or an item without an owner, things get left behind. Whether that's a haunting or simply a dream of the past depends on your perception.
[Such things aren't possible in her world, either—at least, not in the fantastical way. There are plenty of phenomena that play into ghost stories, though.]
You're the one who decided to do that. [No matter what Cantarella had said to her.]
How do you usually view them? [ Curious about how Cantarella sees the world.
A small nod in response. She doesn't want to be stuck in the past forever, and that means continuing to live while she still has the chance and the choice. ]
As shadows. Persistent, sometimes, but shadows nonetheless. They are reminders, but not the same as what's gone.
[It's a painful lesson, especially in a world where many things leave behind pieces of themselves: Sounds, words, wills, desires, all swirling together in chaotic waves. Cantarella's hand finally slips from her pocket to weigh the air, holding nothing, the enclosure lights on her jewelry.]
...Such may not be the case everywhere, but I would prefer it if the dead could rest, and the living could be saved.
As do I. [Her voice takes on a firmer, deeper tremor, committed, though it invites a shudder down the back of her neck. Brr.]
I could do without feeling as if they're watching me now that I've spoken so passionately. But I won't be so easily scared away from what I have decided.
[That's fair. Despite her practical assessment of hauntings, based on the disrupted natural laws of Solaris, even a skeptic would be shaken after spending two hours-two minutes wandering in the static snow.]
Whether or not it's real, the effect it has on us lingers long after the fact. If ghosts do exist and they are here, then this treatment is unnecessarily cruel.
There are reprieves, no matter how small they may be. Spend a little time in the waiting room outside the infirmary's examination room, or in the plush chairs in the sitting room, if you need a place to go.
[She pauses, finally unearthing her hand just to wrap her fingers around the opposite elbow.]
When the darkness is enclosing, sometimes an anchor is needed for safety and assurance. Knocking the correct number of times so the occupant knows that it's you, or memorizing a secret color. [An idea that Nozomi is welcome to, at least.]
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[Such things aren't possible in her world, either—at least, not in the fantastical way. There are plenty of phenomena that play into ghost stories, though.]
You're the one who decided to do that. [No matter what Cantarella had said to her.]
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A small nod in response. She doesn't want to be stuck in the past forever, and that means continuing to live while she still has the chance and the choice. ]
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[It's a painful lesson, especially in a world where many things leave behind pieces of themselves: Sounds, words, wills, desires, all swirling together in chaotic waves. Cantarella's hand finally slips from her pocket to weigh the air, holding nothing, the enclosure lights on her jewelry.]
...Such may not be the case everywhere, but I would prefer it if the dead could rest, and the living could be saved.
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... I don't know how much the dead get to rest, but I hope they can, wherever they are.
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I could do without feeling as if they're watching me now that I've spoken so passionately. But I won't be so easily scared away from what I have decided.
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[She did catch the "seem like."]
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Whether or not it's real, the effect it has on us lingers long after the fact. If ghosts do exist and they are here, then this treatment is unnecessarily cruel.
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[She pauses, finally unearthing her hand just to wrap her fingers around the opposite elbow.]
When the darkness is enclosing, sometimes an anchor is needed for safety and assurance. Knocking the correct number of times so the occupant knows that it's you, or memorizing a secret color. [An idea that Nozomi is welcome to, at least.]