"Duncan," she repeated, acknowledging his name with a little nod of her head. "It's good to meet you." There, the British lilt was fading from her voice as she got used to speaking again. Her own accent was still gone, but it was better than nothing she supposed. That she couldn't even recognize her own voice was so upsetting, so strange.
His smile was a little reassuring. He seemed kind and concerned for her, and she wished that she knew how to set him at ease. But she didn't know how to set herself at ease, much less someone else. He mentioned the Cirque, but that didn't really ring many bells for Katya – not beyond the obvious, at least. She had seen the Ferris wheel as she wandered, and the black and white tents suggested a circus or fair. She just didn't understand why she would be at one. Not really.
Again, she could feel that something else pushing at her, trying to break through to her consciousness. But she held it at bay, feeling as though if she weakened now, she would not retain control of herself. "Our house. My parents – I was sick, and they were there. I was so tired..." So tired, weak enough that her mother had been feeding her soup. And then nothing, nothing but the dark of deep, deep sleep. "They took me to London, to the house in London, and I had new clothes and a bed with a canopy, and shoes to match all my dresses. But I was so, so sick..."