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She promptly ate a spoonful of it."You seem like such a sweet girl," - said Mike, touching her hand gently, - "so pretty. What is your name?" Yvette," - she said, blushing. – "but really, you should not have..." Such a beautiful name for such a beautiful, beautiful girl," - I said, stroking her other hand, so soft and smooth and small. "We would really, really like to sit with you and watch you eat this ice cream, Yvette," - said Mike. – "This is Sam, by the way, and I am Mike." "Nice to meet you, Mike, Sam," - Yvette said, - "What do you guys do?" I am a writer, and Mike is a photographer," - I said, - but please, eat."You are holding my hands, guys," - she laughed, and that was true – Mike was stroking the back of her hand with his fingers, and I was holding her other hand,, my fingers intertwined with hers.I picked up the spoon from the rum raisin and vanilla sundae, and scooped up a little ice cream from the top, where it's just started to melt. I put the spoon up to Yvette's. She'd only live a scant twenty seven years in her old life, a mere blink of an eye in the summation of her existence.Yet, every moment of her time in this artificial world she had been reminded of that sliver of youth.Emily never aged - at least not in the traditional sense of that word. Sometimes she had been older - for a few decades she's been a caring mother and grandmother. Sometimes, she'd been younger - reliving crucial parts of her childhood and teenage years, most often in warped versions of her original memories.All of those lifetimes of knowledge - all of that slow learning and adapting - had been for this one final moment. The time before she returned to the "real world".It had been explained from the first day she arrived that only minutes would pass. She was still, technically sitting in the same place she'd left. In her living room, being held down on a sofa while the Correction Agents slipped her mind into Rehabilitation.Her wife, Emily expected, was still being.
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