[ there's something at war inside of emma. is it better if she never sees him again, never encounters this strange, ghostly man so he can go back to haunting rose creek, unseen and unheard? is it better if he lives in her nightmares, in the flashes of blood and half-hearted jokes and cold, trembling grief? is that better than whatever strange moments these are, that there may continue to be, of truly seeing faraday again?

he's not alive, that much is abundantly clear, but he's here, and maybe that's something.

but is it better?

emma looks down at the flowers in her hands, brushing her fingers across the wilted petals. she never leaves them at the markers long enough for them to truly decay, replacing them every week, or at least tidying up the crosses to make sure they're never left looking unkempt. this gently fading bouquet still has a few days left in it, she's sure, but it's near ritualistic for her at this point, and it's...a nice gesture, she thinks.

glancing over at faraday, she gives him a mildly unimpressed look. ]

You know good and well that if I'm leavin' these flowers for them, I'll be putting some here for you. Not a matter of needing them or not.

[ she doesn't need to do it, but...she wants to. she wants to see this place maintained and revered, and, above all, remembered.

these men deserve that. ]

You thought I wouldn't be doin' this after you were gone?

[ her eyebrow raises, just slightly. emma has always been and continues to be the type of person to pay her respects to the dead, especially those she deems significant. on these sundays, she always visits matthew's grave, too, and brings him flowers just the same. ]