[The question strikes an unsettling chord in Rei Hino, just like the weird dream, the strange music. It was already overwhelming for the violinist, who's dreams were usually quite simple and always filled with music. The joyful notes turning sour and the uncomfortable feeling of Déjà vu at seeing the strange blonde gave her such pause that it took her a long moment to even form words.
But they were honest words, at least. What point was there in lying to a dream?]
Yes. I'm not sure what else it should be doing. [An exhalation.] Who are you?
a2
But they were honest words, at least. What point was there in lying to a dream?]
Yes. I'm not sure what else it should be doing. [An exhalation.] Who are you?