[ He doesn’t say anything in return, likewise the curse to broadcast thoughts doesn’t shine through. Claude is given the silence and semblance of solitude, if it weren’t for the hand that rubs his back.
Quietly, Nier sings a song. It’s one he remembers from Seafront, one he remembers the old lady at the lighthouse sang when he dropped off her mail. It’s what the postman that cared for her hummed at the post office.
Does it matter if she was an illusion, a memory? What makes love real? ]
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Quietly, Nier sings a song. It’s one he remembers from Seafront, one he remembers the old lady at the lighthouse sang when he dropped off her mail. It’s what the postman that cared for her hummed at the post office.
Does it matter if she was an illusion, a memory? What makes love real? ]