Eleven

She barely has to try: the memory is there, ready for her. El moves to stand in front of Armand and look up at him, meeting his eyes. Normally, the person she does this to doesn't know she's doing it, isn't aware of it, and it makes her wonder if he can feel it — if he can feel the way the memory fills in like mist, or if he can only see it around them.

She wonders if he will live the memory, or if he will observe it with her. Armand is an unknown, to her, but the memory is clear and perfect.