[The sound of Menma’s voice is like a faint whisper, making Kamila slow to react to her. She hated it. The little lady shouldn’t be so upset in front of a close friend. But the motivation to be strong was gone. Perhaps it was gone a long time ago and only now did Kamila realize the emptiness that was really inside her.
She exhales heavily, almost forgetting to breathe for a moment. Grief was a deadly disease.]
[The hot, steaming tears form again, Kamila’s gaze unable to travel upon the empty room. She wondered if Sherlock would remember her, if Sherlock was in as much grief as she was right now.
Probably not. It was childish to have such thoughts. Then again, Kamila was just a child. Her limbs grow heavy, still barely acknowledging Menma’s prescience.]
[Menma repeats herself again, standing quietly at one end of the couch. She’s not entirely sure how to react; she doesn’t quite know what made the other so upset.
But Menma’s been through her own share of heartache since arriving in the circus—friends leaving, and maybe even, like her, coming back and forgetting everyone. Menma doesn’t quite understand the seriousness of the situation, but she still realizes that it’s the workings of the Ringmaster. He must be quite the evil individual if he wanted to break up friendships made here.
After a moment of silence, Menma turns around to sit with Kamila on the couch, the plates still in her hand.]
Menma… Menma brought cake for Kamila!
[She moves her hand, as if to give the cake to the other already. Her head is lowered. It takes a moment, but she’s finally gained enough courage to ask the girl something.]