[Ryder looks over at him, and it hits her that she...isn't the main character. Like, obviously. All her life purposely avoided being the main character, but in that jaded teen YA novel protagonist way where she was making her own story happen, not following what's written, and all that shit -- which was, in the end, just another way to be a main character -- but she figured that in her death, she was going to be center stage. Epilogue, like she said. Not a best-seller or anything, but something that was her. Now here she is, going to become the zombie formerly known as Ryder, and the guy that joined the party has amnesia? Talk about a protag flag! Maybe she shouldn't be surprised, since he's got that gentle kindness about him and a unique fashion sense that sort of stands out even these days. Part of her considers jealousy, but...]

...A writer...

[That's what she'd wanted ever since she was little. Driving the story in a completely different way. She pushes her free, chewed hand against her eyes and does some of that laugh-crying thing when it occurs to her that she would have loved something like this. A tender moment at an inappropriate time with unlikely subjects? Fuck yeah. Even now, she kind of wishes she had her book here to project the scene onto, or maybe even finally, finally commit words to the paper. Sheet after sheet of white finally getting some ink to prove she existed, along with the blood to explain that she didn't, anymore.

God. What a piece of shit.]

I would've th -- woulda thought your thing s-s-sounded like a nightmare. H-heh. The typical dreaded, uh, Thanks -- giving scene in shows n'stuff. [Ryder shudders, pushing her wet sleeve up through her hair to push her bangs back.] When it's like -- this. Like this, I can -- s-see how. I'd miss people, if I were you.