[He stares at her a moment more, a conversation they just had recently replaying in his mind. "Then just kill me and make a replica!" But a replica of Mystearica would never be his sister, not even if he taught it to cook and sang it to sleep and planted it all the flowers it could ever want.
This girl is not his sister either, at least not for the moment. The thought leaves him cold inside; indifferent enough to surprise even himself. He loves his sister. He does not care about some girl with her face, who has neither an excited smile nor a furious glare to spare for him. She is no more Mystearica than Luke is Asch.
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This girl is not his sister either, at least not for the moment. The thought leaves him cold inside; indifferent enough to surprise even himself. He loves his sister. He does not care about some girl with her face, who has neither an excited smile nor a furious glare to spare for him. She is no more Mystearica than Luke is Asch.
He thought it might break his heart.
He does not care.]
...No. Nothing. [And Vandesdelca turns away.]