She hasn't really been anywhere like this, herself, but has experienced it like this, from the white and blue beaches of Sicily to the chalk cliff faces in Sussex, England, looming over the bright ocean.
But this particular the beach, down to the last details weaving together out of the memories one can only find in their most subconscious moments, is Wolfgang's. Benji lingers a moment, her inappropriate footware sinking pleasantly into the soft sand and raising both her hands to shield the sun out of her eyes, head tilted, before she allows herself to disintegrate, to conform in the crash of briny seawater on the shore and the movements of the people that populate this man's memories.
She considers remaining like that, too, to bask a little in someone else's pleasant dream, but only does so long enough to make sure the setting holds. Then she will go away, like a slinking guilty shadow.
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But this particular the beach, down to the last details weaving together out of the memories one can only find in their most subconscious moments, is Wolfgang's. Benji lingers a moment, her inappropriate footware sinking pleasantly into the soft sand and raising both her hands to shield the sun out of her eyes, head tilted, before she allows herself to disintegrate, to conform in the crash of briny seawater on the shore and the movements of the people that populate this man's memories.
She considers remaining like that, too, to bask a little in someone else's pleasant dream, but only does so long enough to make sure the setting holds. Then she will go away, like a slinking guilty shadow.