When people leave, what then? Time takes its toll on memory, even memories formed here. Those who have gone -- what happens when those who remember them too disappear? Our memories of them grow dimmer and dimmer, and certainties grow ever more uncertain with each passing day. Even death holds no sway here, but those who disappear are more than ( Read more... )

. . . !

I am . . . a man? But whose is this body? Strong, fast, and agile . . .

And, what . . . are these memories?

Edit: Mukuro Rukudo, I am Priscilla of Caerleon.