She wasn't sure what she expected, really, when the door opened, but it certainly wasn't a pre-teen mini-Flynn. Ellie knows that something in Shaman has changed – but then again, something in Shaman is always changing – and that the powers so relied on by so many (including herself) had been taken away, but she can't imagine what sort of deals could have been made for this to happen. She doesn't really know what to say, just opens and closes her mouth like a lost fish, sounds forming in her throat but unwilling to leave her lips; maybe she should have spent her coin on making Flynn immortal, on keeping him around forever and not her brother, even though she isn't sure what's really happening is to do with ageing.
Then she hears his voice and it's like coming home after a long journey away. Its the same voice she's been playing in her head for days and weeks and months except it's richer and purer and so much better than she could ever imitate inside her mind. She doesn't even register the rest of the conversation that happens in front of her, though Flo does, purring like a small-engined car and flicking her tail like a peacock.

Ellie clears her throat and tells the boy, “It's Ellie, my name's Ellie.” She puts one hand on the door, carefully pushes against it, calling louder, “It's me, Flynn.” She doesn't want to open the door, she doesn't want to see him because she knows the guilt will hit her like a rib-breaking wave, and she'll want to cry because of what she's done, what she's not done. But then she wants nothing more than to see his face with her eyes, to hold his hands in hers, to be wrapped in his arms and feel his heartbeat with hers. She's torn, she doesn't know what to do so she doesn't do anything, just lets her voice hang in the air while Flo slips past the tiger and into the room where Ellie's whole world sits.

i o d i n e .

one step away from
spilling my guts to you.