Flashback ( PDFDrive )

She’d never given any thought to what her headspace must look or
feel like, since it wasn’t something she could experience.
So do my memories look like this? she asked, imagining a similar
whirlwind churning with all of her secrets.
Sorta. Everything’s dimmed because of your blocking. And the memories
flicker way faster, so I can’t tell what I’m looking at unless I’m focusing really
hard—and even then, you keep a bunch of mental paths closed off.
He didn’t say “from me.” But she could feel those unsaid words.
Your memories spread out more too, he added. It’s like . . . staring at the
horizon. I can’t actually see where your consciousness ends—and I seriously
don’t get how you have that much information in your head.
Photographic memory, she reminded him. Plus seven years of hearing
the thoughts of everyone around me.
True. And all the stuff the Black Swan planted.
She squirmed at the reminder.
It’d been so long since she’d had any of those extra memories
trigger that she sometimes forgot Mr. Forkle had spent years filling
her head with facts and secrets while she slept, in order to prepare her
for her role as the moonlark.
In some ways, it was a relief not having to constantly analyze
whether a scrap of memory was hers, or if she’d pulled a crucial detail
from those murky reserves. But it also meant that the current struggle
had strayed so far from anything the Black Swan had anticipated that
she was pretty much on her own.
So how should we do this? Fitz asked. I’m guessing we’ll want to focus on
memories with Keefe’s mom in them.
Yeah, we probably should’ve told Keefe to think about her before we
dived in, so those would already be at the front of his mind.