The girl looks at him hungrily then, shaken. She has wolf eyes. She is intrigued by the chance that he might have built something rather than demolished it. Even more eager to oversee its deconstruction. Everything has a keystone... one just has to find the right hammer. The girl has been raised as a student of demolition, and so it is only in the downfall that she is able to find beauty anymore.

She knows that she is not his. Although it is possible, for most things in the world cannot truly be proved false, she is firm in her belief that she lives within her own sphere of dreams. Still, to see him now as a creator rather than a creation makes her appreciate him as something more than most. It is not that she wants to hurt him, but she wants to un-build him, to see the lovely clockwork that makes him tick. It will even be for his own good. Only sorrow lies in the aftermath of knowledge.

“Would it matter if I was gone?” she says.

“I don’t know,” he says.

She pets her tree-horse pensively, plug-dreams dancing through a mind that may or may not be awake. The other hand is still caught in the tangle of his fingers and mouth. She likes it there, with dry whispers of tension snapping beneath its skin.

“I would like to matter, Jack,” she says.

“We all would,” he says.