[17] "There are others!" Emma firmly states, scrubbing at her face and pulling a pad from a stack of work papers. She cracks it open.
The one on top, ripped from its place, is you, leaning on a steel gantry, looking out a massive window towards a roiling star in the distance, smiling mid-laugh, looking back towards the viewer. Your red hair is in a loose top-knot-- another is the same image, except for William and Mitch standing by. William is staring at the sun with a happy smile, while Mitch is a massive beast, all muscle, and teeth.
"See!"
[11] You take the book -- and she almost pulls it back from you, but once again slumps down, defeated. All of them involve you, in form or another. Most are happy -- there's one with you standing triumphant over a crowd of onlookers, who's heads are bowed. You look like a god, standing above them all, wings flaring forth, a nimbus of fire over your head. Another is you in a dress, rings of flowers in your hair as you look out over the mountain-side, "...you were originally wearing a uniform." Emma sniffs, "But I thought you'd look better that way."
...but many more of them depict your deaths. One has you laying in a pile of rubble, las-gun holes peppering your frame through Lucille, blood streaming from your wounds as you hold a gun and a cutter loosely. One has you laying in a field and missing a leg. A young man, about your age, is standing over you, holding the hilt of a cutter that impales your chest. A frown curls his lips. You clutch at the cutter's burning hot blade with a smoking hand, staring him down in defiance. In the sky above and behind is a massive Void-ship, all gleaming gun turrets and killing intent.