"The nothingness," says the man.

"The hurt in your heart, that never goes away," murmurs the woman Kas tried to touch.

"Nothing feels like anything except cold," complains a wisp of a girl from the crowd of more distantly observing shades.

"The dark. The way you can't quite sleep," says another girl who stands with her arm in the same space as the other girl's; they look a bit alike.

"The harpies."

"The hunger and the stillness and the sameness."

"The -"