you yourself are just the same as what you see in me

Spinning in space, in unconscion, in the silent question of believing and unbelieving, Flora hears a voice.

"Are you happy to be here?"

In the question is no intention to do anything about it; is the resignation that she cannot do anything about it.

But she is curious, nonetheless. Not dying in her desiring to know, but almost absentmindedly wondering, as she considers her next step.

And Flora answers honestly, "Yes." Her fists curl, security. "But I'm always afraid I could be doing...better work. Answering better questions - maybe like the one you've just asked me."

Galea sighs, nodding, nodding.