For as far back as she can remember — her whole life, really — Chrissy has bent over backwards trying to fit into that box, just like she's tried to fit into her clothes, making herself smaller and smaller until she's not sure how much of her is left, or if she's even a person at all. A lot of the time, she feels like she might be nothing more than an idea, and one that never lives up to expectations if examined too closely. If anyone saw what's behind the reputation and the fake smile, she has no doubt that they wouldn't like what they see. At best, they'd brand her ungrateful. She has everything, after all. What right does she even have to be so dissatisfied?

She felt earlier, though, like she feels again now, that Eddie does see her. He unquestionably knows more than anyone should, given what he said on their way here about what she was seeing and trauma, even if he doesn't know the details. And maybe all of this is just pity, his feeling bad for a poor, sad, dead girl, but still, it's something, terrifying and comforting in equal measure.

"I'd ask what makes you so sure I'm a freak too," she says, blotting at her eyes with her sleeve again, "but the whole... Vecna thing is probably a pretty clear giveaway, huh?"