"No, but that's Leslie. He's a good guy. He's the best guy. W- when we get out of here... you should try making him something with pickles. His favorite." She's at the foot of the girl's bed now. On the floor. Banging the chair against the frame of the bed trying to get more to break, but it is a cheap motel frame and only succeeds in rocking them both. She hurts. She hurts so much. The jagged wood and dragging has scraped and opened wounds. The closer she gets to the girl the farther they seem from any feasible escape. But talking. There's some solace, some normalcy here. Maybe she can give the girl some comfort at least. They are still people. Joseph hasn't taken that from them yet.
"Your name's not Emily. What is it? Tell me your story. We deserve that. A good complete story." She rests her head on the floor, closing her eyes and just - attempting to find some peace in another's voice. She's a siren. Voices are entire worlds. Voices are power. "I was born in Siren Cove to a renowned adulterer and a pill-popping mother who likens herself to the height of society. When I was 3 I started singing and dancing. I was in my school play at 4 and never stopped. My parents thought I was too much, too wild and vibrant, so by the time I was old enough I spent all my free time on the boardwalk, performing for whoever would watch. That's how I met Leslie. He was my best friend. My everything as kids. And there was Owen and Lou... I grew up I got out, I found all the stardom that I ever wanted. I saw the world. They called me America's Sweetheart. But then... things happened. And I came back. But it was going to be better. It was going to be better..." It should make her cry. But there's peace here. She has lived. She has loved. All she can see is their faces now, and the scenes of her life. This is what they say happens before you die, isn't it? She is her memories now. They bring her peace.
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"Your name's not Emily. What is it? Tell me your story. We deserve that. A good complete story." She rests her head on the floor, closing her eyes and just - attempting to find some peace in another's voice. She's a siren. Voices are entire worlds. Voices are power. "I was born in Siren Cove to a renowned adulterer and a pill-popping mother who likens herself to the height of society. When I was 3 I started singing and dancing. I was in my school play at 4 and never stopped. My parents thought I was too much, too wild and vibrant, so by the time I was old enough I spent all my free time on the boardwalk, performing for whoever would watch. That's how I met Leslie. He was my best friend. My everything as kids. And there was Owen and Lou... I grew up I got out, I found all the stardom that I ever wanted. I saw the world. They called me America's Sweetheart. But then... things happened. And I came back. But it was going to be better. It was going to be better..." It should make her cry. But there's peace here. She has lived. She has loved. All she can see is their faces now, and the scenes of her life. This is what they say happens before you die, isn't it? She is her memories now. They bring her peace.