There's an odd sensation of the manifestation of the physicality of this memory, though - it isn't as intense as it would be if it were really happening, if they were really climbing up the ziggurat. But her chest feels tight and light and heavy all at once; her breath feels thick in her lungs yet as thin as smoke; her skin scrapes against phantom precipices until raw and red. Or, at least there's the phantom sensation of it, much like wind sweeping over a field - invisible, intangible, yet felt.

She nestles in against him as she's done so many times (still not enough times) and leans herself back to press against his chest, eyes sweeping out over the beauty in which he's suspended them.

It's a breath-taking sight, and to be able to see it through Cassian's eyes, tinted and bathed in nostalgia and warmth, is incredible.

She turns towards him, then taps her forehead against the side of his face.

"Thank you for bringing me here and for allowing me to come."