[ Alfons is a bit wide-eyed; he's maskless and the poor lighting casts almost comically dramatic shadows. The picture shakes with his hands, but he still seems resolute. ]
I'm supposed to be dead. I have to be dead. No one lives through something like that. No one--
[ His palm presses against his chest-- the shirt's still blotched with blood,
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You seem to be more alive than most of the dead I have seen.
Or is that normal for you?
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[ He looks a bit surprised at the thought. ]
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[ This "voice" sounds incredibly matter-of-fact. ]
As far as I know, everyone here is alive.
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[ Or -- ]
I can't be a ghost.
[ ... Right? ]
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Why are you apologizing? I thought it would be obvious.
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I apologize-- I've never met anyone who isn't human. Where are you from, if I may ask?
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The town is called Thornwood.
[ He's not sure about which location to refer to, since it seems no one even knows of his country here. ]
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Asteir. Do you know of it?
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