Greta hasn't yet managed to shake off the mystery voice, though at least she has figured out that it's just a voice, not an entire person. The partygoers she's slipped past haven't shown any signs of hearing it, which is sort of encouraging (she doesn't like some of the things the voice has been saying), but also not.
:She feels as if she might be going mad.:
She grits her teeth - hearing a disembodied voice is bad enough; she's not about to start responding to it - and casts about for an exit, or even just a distraction, and that's when she spots Iman.
:It actually takes her an extra moment to recognize her own girlfriend. She looks stunning in that gorgeous, black dress.:
"Yes," Greta breathes in agreement, forgetting herself.
:The absence of a scarf is a surprise, though,: the voice continues placidly. :Iman almost always wears one when they're out in public.:
Greta starts. She's grown used to seeing Iman without her hijab, but the voice is right - she only forgoes the garment in private. Why doesn't she have one now? She watches Iman move along the table, peering down at the chairs in what looks like increasing frustration. Oh, dear. Either she's lost it, or the dream never deigned to give her one in the first place.
:Well, there has to be something she can do to help. Much as she'd like to leave, there's no question of abandoning Iman in her hour of need.:
Right. Greta presses her lips together in determination. She'll just ignore the voice. There's no reason to think Iman will be able to hear it, so as long as she doesn't respond to it, it'll be as if it's not even there.
:She can't help but feel anxious as she approaches,: the voice says unhelpfully as Greta edges out of the milling crowd. :What will Iman think of her?:
Ignore it. Just ignore it. "Iman?" Greta reaches out to take her by the elbow. "Are you all right? Your scarf..." she trails off. Her concern hasn't lessened, but it's sort of hard to focus on it with Iman so close, and looking so lovely, oh dear.
:She's so beautiful,: the voice says, sounding almost wistful.
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:She feels as if she might be going mad.:
She grits her teeth - hearing a disembodied voice is bad enough; she's not about to start responding to it - and casts about for an exit, or even just a distraction, and that's when she spots Iman.
:It actually takes her an extra moment to recognize her own girlfriend. She looks stunning in that gorgeous, black dress.:
"Yes," Greta breathes in agreement, forgetting herself.
:The absence of a scarf is a surprise, though,: the voice continues placidly. :Iman almost always wears one when they're out in public.:
Greta starts. She's grown used to seeing Iman without her hijab, but the voice is right - she only forgoes the garment in private. Why doesn't she have one now? She watches Iman move along the table, peering down at the chairs in what looks like increasing frustration. Oh, dear. Either she's lost it, or the dream never deigned to give her one in the first place.
:Well, there has to be something she can do to help. Much as she'd like to leave, there's no question of abandoning Iman in her hour of need.:
Right. Greta presses her lips together in determination. She'll just ignore the voice. There's no reason to think Iman will be able to hear it, so as long as she doesn't respond to it, it'll be as if it's not even there.
:She can't help but feel anxious as she approaches,: the voice says unhelpfully as Greta edges out of the milling crowd. :What will Iman think of her?:
Ignore it. Just ignore it. "Iman?" Greta reaches out to take her by the elbow. "Are you all right? Your scarf..." she trails off. Her concern hasn't lessened, but it's sort of hard to focus on it with Iman so close, and looking so lovely, oh dear.
:She's so beautiful,: the voice says, sounding almost wistful.