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She needed Mentor.
The last time this had happened -- something like this had happened -- she had called Mentor immediately. And he had not answered then, but he had answered, eventually. He had held her. They had melded.
( Maybe that was what she needed, again. To meld again. To stop being nothing again. To not be none any longer. Make it stop, make her real!... )
Even if she were dead, after all, she needed Mentor.
And he picked up. He was dead too, it seemed. Dead, but himself. Himself enough to hear what she was saying. To understand the implications of her sin. He spoke, and she could not hear -- but she could feel. She could feel every consonant, every vowel, as it reverberated in her soul.
She sat alone in the conference room for what felt like ten years -- was more like ten minutes. When she stood, her knees buckled from beneath her, and she was on the floor. Her face was wet... Was she crying? She could not breathe... Was she sobbing?












