( Peter — and not-Peter, and somewhere in them both are more ghosts of their own, all the little lost spirits that the demon's been forced to inhabit over time — look back, wide-eyed. Opened up. For a moment, Peter's breath is too slow; he's absorbing whatever, whomever, sits before him. Or, trying to. On some level, he's aware this is Oscar; on another, he's aware it's more complicated than that.
Then he blinks as the younger boy's head drops like that, stirred out of his own strange mixture of ancient things coated in dust, and once more wearing a human concern more than an alien confusion. She.
He tilts his head just slightly, drops his voice almost to a whisper. There's no one listening in; everyone else that happens to be in the room is doing their own thing, but he still keeps the conversation with Oscar a private one. Quiet. What's haunting him...? )
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Then he blinks as the younger boy's head drops like that, stirred out of his own strange mixture of ancient things coated in dust, and once more wearing a human concern more than an alien confusion. She.
He tilts his head just slightly, drops his voice almost to a whisper. There's no one listening in; everyone else that happens to be in the room is doing their own thing, but he still keeps the conversation with Oscar a private one. Quiet. What's haunting him...? )
Who.... is she?