There was a tickle in her head, the feel of someone there that wasn't supposed to be. She tried to put her hands to it, but they felt too hot. She'd burn her face away. He was trying to sound nice, with Simon's words, but without her own hands, there was no calm to be had. It was crawling up her arms, through her elbows, around her shoulders.
"Don't look," She tried to warn him, backing away, unable to close her eyes against the foreign flicker of light that wasn't really there. White bones. She could count the veins, lit up like tubes full of Christmas lights. Her lungs were breathing somebody else's way, bigger breaths, shakier. Two fears in one body, her own, and his. "Don't look, you won't like what you find." She wasn't liking what had found her. It was loud, and violent, and there was too much of it. Fingers were making fists, trying to keep something in. But she wasn't made of lead. "I don't have a well, and none of them can dissapear, and I've killed people that I didn't see--"
She didn't finish, because it had reached her eyes and she had to shut them so there was no oxygen to help them burn, and she was waiting her turn while someone else screamed with her throat.
The force of the memory slammed River backwards into the ground. More followed; Sights and smells and screams. Broken things. Never, ever, ever fixed.