ELEVEN: HIVEMIND

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ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

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"You can rewind time."

"Something like that, yeah."

"So you're . . . what? A time traveler?"

Iris' shoulders sagged. "I suppose so."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The conversation had had to wait a few days. Around two weeks, to be more precise, but Iris couldn't find a single flaw in that plan; after all, it really wasn't a simple explanation and, following that fateful night's events, it was no wonder Lyra had needed time and space to breathe and gather her thoughts before confronting Iris.

Perhaps confront was too strong of a word to use. It was like ghosting, in its own way, as both were entirely different in nature, intent, and purpose, but the lingering feelings were somewhat similar in Iris' head.

Confront implied an antagonistic conversation or, at the very least, negative feelings directed towards the other person.

Iris harbored no resentment towards Lyra (you know, besides the whole dying and leaving her behind to rot and deal with the aftermath of the strangest world she'd ever lived in debacle, which, in turn, had triggered her time traveling powers and got her into her current mess), though she couldn't be certain the other way around was the same. It wasn't like Lyra didn't get to be justifiably pissed off at Iris, both for going behind her back in the oddest way possible and for keeping vital information from her, and Iris wouldn't sit there and try to take it away from her.

All she could do was hope, because when wasn't she desperately hoping for something instead of doing everything she could to make it happen?

For the sake of keeping her ego unwounded, she was choosing to believe Lyra was the slightest bit grateful for having a second (technically third) chance at life, regardless of how confusing and infuriating the whole ordeal certainly was for her. Iris couldn't begin to fathom being in her shoes, being told she had already died in two versions of reality, and had been brought back by a force that shouldn't exist or be messed with.

That would be stressful enough on its own, but having to listen to those words come out of the mouth of someone who had been your best friend for years, been in love with you for years, but who was still just a college friend in your present instance of reality? Right after your second untimely death, which had been undone without your input? That was a whole new level of losing agency, regardless of Iris' intentions or the implications; she was alive, and people were supposed to be grateful for that kind of thing, but Iris also knew Lyra. She knew how her mind operated.

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