Like a bullet to the heart, and nothing more. Neither of them say a word. They both stand firmly, eyes not exactly meeting one another's but close enough that any onlooker would believe they were. It was very strange, this feeling. It was nothing. But it sure as hell was something.

Oftentimes they both find themselves thinking of the coos and caws and the arid harshness of their situations, but neither thinks hard enough to want to challenge the thoughts. These troubles are not ones easily solved. There is not much to this encounter - a little cottonball, and a misstep, and a deathly lull that both experience, but choose to ignore - aside from the loudness of silence that seems to swallow them both whole.

Lena's face sort of contorts in thought and her mouth, slightly ajar, croaks out a vague "ah" sound, as though she was about to speak, but she never does. This has happened hundreds of times. Same as always, both the women face each other, neither entirely sure if this is a resolve of conflict or a means to make more.

Amélie still firmly believes that Lena would look best in a winding sheet.