#was reading a post about how mirabelle would latch onto the tropes of the story she's found herself starring in

[beneathsilverstars]

Siffrin waking up all alone on the beach, no past, no identity. No memories of anything real and specific, only a vague understanding of the shape of the world: they know what a name is, but not their own. They know what a tragedy is, and how classic, to wake up all alone on the beach.

They walk towards the town, visible from the beach — they know what a town is, of course, a place like... ... ... They walk towards the collection of houses, and as they see people pass they may not know who they are but they can figure out the shape of them. That one old and grizzled, the veteran fisher, and that one all gangly with youth, the trainee. There's a cheerful one, chatty and brimming with more energy than the walk requires. A strong-and-silent one, steady at their side. Next a parent, surrounded by three children: the adventurous one up ahead, the shy one hanging onto skirts behind, the young one still held in arms. They pass someone and pause to chat, the friendly neighbor.

Many of them pause to chat, in fact, but none with ... the stranger. They must be a stranger. Faces look at them not with recognition, but with curiosity, wary concern. They hiss questions to each other, but when one dares to approach the object of conversation and ask, their incomprehensible speech trails off at the lack of answer, and they retreat back to their companions.

The stranger does not know their own name, nothing real or specific, but they can see the shape of who they are. The loner. The mysterious one. The traveler from afar.

It's something.