... and then, of course, he fades. It's a bad one; his lips part, and he stares at nothing as he ceases to blink; as the patchwork around that memory is hemmed around, invisibly mended, made not to catch the eye.

He sits for a minute or more before he blinks again, and smiles blandly—only to see the look on her face. "I'm terribly sorry. I was asking about your garden, yes? The paprika?"