[The moment he'd seen it, everything else had gone flying out of his mind. Onni goes to the desk without thinking, without being too aware of his surroundings. It's her writing, there's no question about it, it's as if Tuuri has been here and scratched her name on the desk, in her own writing.
Onni puts his hand down and traces the scratches. They're new, fresh, as if just done, and he looks around the room, almost frantic.]
Tuuri? Tuuri?!
[She must be here somewhere. This place brings people from other worlds, who's to say they can't bring them from the past, or bring people who are dead? Who's to say she's not here, her or her spirit? All he wants is to find her.
He doesn't notice that the spirit at the window has turned, those long claws extended, to start to face him, too lost in his own grief and the moment of hope.]
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Onni puts his hand down and traces the scratches. They're new, fresh, as if just done, and he looks around the room, almost frantic.]
Tuuri? Tuuri?!
[She must be here somewhere. This place brings people from other worlds, who's to say they can't bring them from the past, or bring people who are dead? Who's to say she's not here, her or her spirit? All he wants is to find her.
He doesn't notice that the spirit at the window has turned, those long claws extended, to start to face him, too lost in his own grief and the moment of hope.]