I suppose I don't have a choice. [ Whether she gets to choose in telling him herself. As if this place would ever allow them some degree of choice in the matter. ] You'll get to see for yourself.

[ This is her memory, isn't it? Sent here by the Winter Mourning, an item made to honour one's survival through difficulties, through hardships. If it's sent her into one of her own memories, then this would be it, wouldn't it?

One of the hardest days. Luna exhales shakily, watching her mother and her younger self for a long moment. She remembers, she knows: ]

This is the day she dies. [ Her brow furrows. ] It's quite funny, isn't it? It just looks like an ordinary day.