She got it.

.

.

She had to think, count her fingers and toes, and... sort through this and that.  But she got it.

Lolita?  But, she is older?  The one she thought, initially, from her memories... wasn't her.  When she got it, I saw her hand cover her face, to hide a flood of emotions.  Shame, guilt, but... more.  Not... all bad.  As I have written, she could be a thousand years old and yet she would be as a child to me.  Even when she isn't.  How?  How.  It's just the way it is.  She doesn't believe, even though she does.  Yes, I have told her.  She... pouted.  I quite enjoyed.

Then, this next one made much more sense.  Oh, right, yes.  I loved watching her contort.

On many levels, it finally made sense.

Shame?  And other bads?  Oh yes.  I didn't know she could feel those.  Only when... she understands...

From her own perspective, and time.  I don't want her to steal, lie, or die.  I want her to give, tell the truth even if it undoes some plot or other of mine, and live.  If not live for me, live for herself.

Yes, it... all came together.  But she really shouldn't feel bad.  Just... feel more... connected than she had initially thought possible.  We understand things few others can.  And about each other.

I am a bit... more different.  But... not... unfathomably... to a girl who has seen and done what she has.