*She pushes off from her desk with her feet, spinning briefly further away from the camera so he can better see her. She tilts her hat back a bit, that curious smile on her face practically glowing.*
“Lilian Lucinda Emily, nice to make your acquaintance!”
*That smile fades briefly, before she grabs her hat in both her hands to hide her face.*
“God I hate that darn middle name, WHY mom?”
His mechanical form stood stock-still in the dim light. The video call might as well have frozen.
In the black recess of William’s consciousness, an abrupt, blinding flash of memory ignited. Not a gradual recall, but a violent rip through time—a montage of shared, laughing faces; of a man with kind, tired eyes and an unmatched wit; of Henry, who had been the unwavering anchor in William’s chaotic sea. A friend. A brother.
William felt his entire form go numb, an icy void spreading from his chest to his metal extremities. Emily. Surely this young girl, with her bright, challenging energy and infuriatingly familiar features, could not possibly be related? No, it had to be a cruel coincidence. He hadn't just avoided facing that ghost from his past; he had buried it in concrete and tried to forget. He wasn't sure he possessed the soul left to exhume it now.
Henry had been nothing but kind to him, steadfast and loyal to a fault. And he... William clenched his metal fists at his side. He had been a horrible, selfish excuse for a friend. Especially to a man who had called him brother. Their children played together, they dreamed their biggest dreams together, and William—never had the chance to offer a single, genuine word of apology for all he had done.
This young lady was not Charlotte.
The realization was a chilling counterpoint to the familiar name. Charlotte was Henry's daughter. So who exactly was this girl? The youthful upset in her tone over her middle name was utterly, tragically lost on the rabbit, who simply stood rigid, staring back at the screen. The only thing William could see was the reflection of his own guilt in her bright, oblivious eyes.
