[ Her gaze tries to skitter past the woman, but Natasha holds her attention for now. Eleven stays calm. Glances up, contemplative.
Eleven, are you listening?
She scrunches up her nose. The comparison comes easily. Papa guiding her, instructing her.
Her small hands wrap around Natasha's wrists - if Natasha doesn't resist, Eleven will turn her arms a bit, trying to look at the insides of her wrists, expecting to see a number tattoo'd there. ]
You were. Stolen.
[ It sounds unsure, but it's not a question. Eleven is trying to make sense of the explanations in her own way. ]
no subject
Eleven, are you listening?
She scrunches up her nose. The comparison comes easily. Papa guiding her, instructing her.
Her small hands wrap around Natasha's wrists - if Natasha doesn't resist, Eleven will turn her arms a bit, trying to look at the insides of her wrists, expecting to see a number tattoo'd there. ]
You were. Stolen.
[ It sounds unsure, but it's not a question. Eleven is trying to make sense of the explanations in her own way. ]
Me too.