17th - Milla Vodello - [Accidental Video]
[These things are still plotting against their owners. The communicator, set at an awkward angle on the ground, turns on by itself.
Milla is in the park. She's cleaned herself up--her hair is back at its glossy best, her clothes are immaculate, and all bruising has been covered up by makeup. She's standing in the park in front of a tree, where she's meticulously carved a large cross. Bark, wood shavings, and the knife she used lie at the roots of the tree.
Quietly, she starts to sing. She has to concentrate to maintain it in Portuguese, but she manages it. After all, concentration isn't hard for a Psychonaut.]
A canoa virou.
Por deixá-la virar?
Foi por causa da Sandra
que não soube remar...
[It's a Brazilian lullaby. It really has nothing to do with anything, but she feels like she has to sing. It reminds her of when she had nightmares as a little girl and her mother would sing her back to sleep.]
Se eu fosse um peixinho
e soubesse nadar...
[She doesn't pause in her song. Her voice is beautiful, but heavy with all the feelings that have built up over her stay here, finally allowed to flow out with this victory.
Without acknowledgment, tears start to fall down her face.]
Tirava a Sandra
do fundo do mar.
[She puts her hands in a prayer position and kneels in front of the tree, bowing her head. In honor of all the people who suffered and died in the past three years, she prays.
And she continues to sing softly.]
A canoa virou.
Por deixá-la virar?
Milla is in the park. She's cleaned herself up--her hair is back at its glossy best, her clothes are immaculate, and all bruising has been covered up by makeup. She's standing in the park in front of a tree, where she's meticulously carved a large cross. Bark, wood shavings, and the knife she used lie at the roots of the tree.
Quietly, she starts to sing. She has to concentrate to maintain it in Portuguese, but she manages it. After all, concentration isn't hard for a Psychonaut.]
A canoa virou.
Por deixá-la virar?
Foi por causa da Sandra
que não soube remar...
[It's a Brazilian lullaby. It really has nothing to do with anything, but she feels like she has to sing. It reminds her of when she had nightmares as a little girl and her mother would sing her back to sleep.]
Se eu fosse um peixinho
e soubesse nadar...
[She doesn't pause in her song. Her voice is beautiful, but heavy with all the feelings that have built up over her stay here, finally allowed to flow out with this victory.
Without acknowledgment, tears start to fall down her face.]
Tirava a Sandra
do fundo do mar.
[She puts her hands in a prayer position and kneels in front of the tree, bowing her head. In honor of all the people who suffered and died in the past three years, she prays.
And she continues to sing softly.]
A canoa virou.
Por deixá-la virar?