[She doesn't have an answer for any of this, and she's pretty sure Alex doesn't expect one. It's that same helpless feeling as when she held Mista, of wondering just how deep the trench she's staring into goes, wondering if there's even a bottom past the point where even the brightest light can no longer reach.

She forces herself to relax enough to resume the motion of her hand through his hair, just praying that the rhythm will help to anchor him. And even though he's rambling, even though she doesn't understand it all, she listens. Her journal is filled with things like this, especially the pages that document Wonderland, every word of every awful thought scrawled in a frantic, desperate need to let it out without choking on the tar in her soul. She doesn't know what else to do to help, but she understands this.

So she lets him talk for a while, at least until it seems he needs to stop to breathe, and very suddenly, she remembers the one other thing she's good at in this world full of orphaned people. She interjects, but only in the gentlest way.] Alex?

[And continuing, quickly:] You can keep going if you need to. It's okay. [And she means it.]

But, when you— when you need to stop. Do you...want to hear a poem?