(no subject)
Rachel Conway is back in Grant Park, squinting curiously at the statue of Abraham Lincoln. At the lap that had been her landing point, when she'd found herself here, in this Chicago-that-isn't-hers. Nothing else has really worked for her, in terms of finding out what happened, why this happens, and how to escape it--she's not quite ready for Des' insistence that there's no leaving, not just yet.
She's not even sure why she's there, really. Maybe the statue, or the place itself, can provide some answers? Maybe she'll meet someone willing to help her understand why they're all here.
Maybe, just maybe, it's a bit of heartbroken sentimentality and superstition. If she just touches the last place she was before she learned the apparent truth of the place, then maybe this won't really have happened.
She sighs, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ears, and staring up at the Great Emancipator as if she expects him to sit up and explain everything to her.
She's not even sure why she's there, really. Maybe the statue, or the place itself, can provide some answers? Maybe she'll meet someone willing to help her understand why they're all here.
Maybe, just maybe, it's a bit of heartbroken sentimentality and superstition. If she just touches the last place she was before she learned the apparent truth of the place, then maybe this won't really have happened.
She sighs, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ears, and staring up at the Great Emancipator as if she expects him to sit up and explain everything to her.