[ The corridor is dusty and winding, and Alfons moves through it in a pace dictated by rising panic. There's a room he needs to find, someplace he needs to reach, someone he needs to meet -- but the memory of the goal is far off. It feels as if it never existed, and the thought of forgetting something so thoroughly that it's hurled into
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"Silly"... is it?
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[Except-]
It's okay.
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It's... stupid to let it affect me. It doesn't mean anything, even if...
[ He clears his throat. ]
Thank you, Elena.
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[And because she can't resist.]
'Even if' what?
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Even if it's true. Or could be.
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