[ Chloe's laughter dies rather abruptly when she starts talking about getting unmade. She watches her with much more sobriety than she's had since she walked into the tents, her forehead creased as she takes in each word, face falling.

Technically I'm already dead.

Those words hit her harder than they have any right to, the connection clear enough for her, the fact that Miramax understands the fear in having nothing to go back to. But unlike Chloe, she has no choice; no alternative to stay in Deerington forever, no ability to hold off the inevitable or escape to some other world like so many keep offering her.

She swallows roughly, reaching out quickly to grab onto her hand and squeeze it tightly in her own. ]

Hey. You're not - ... You're not a thing. You've got your own thoughts, right? Your own feelings? A personality that's... definitely not Max's.

[ She looks down at their hands, the way her pale and sickly skin looks against Chloe's. ]

You're your own person and that's just as real as anything else, no matter where you came from.