[ She tries to imagine it behind closed eyes: A dark-haired girl about the height of her knee staring up at a woman whose appearance is identical to hers as she pats out her face with a fluffy cushion. Asking questions, following the drawn contours blend across the edges of her jaw, up her cheeks. No, Denji doesn't have that experience, and because of that, she doesn't feel any true absence for it. Or she didn't, until this conversation. ]

Your mom… She was probably really hot, I bet. [ No homo. ] I remember always gettin' told that I look more like my old man than whoever lady I came out of. But I always hated hearing that — not that I wish that I looked more like some stranger I dunno… I just didn't like feelin' as if I owed the guy that part of me. Used to think that if I grew my hair out, folks would stop saying that crap, but then it'd just get in the way whenever I had a job to do. Gah, there's no winning!

[ Timed to her groaning outburst, she throws her hands back, braced outward, one of her legs suddenly stretching out from its crossed position and nearly hitting Aki's knee. For all that, though, her eyes are still shut. ]

Say… Do ya ever look in the mirror and kinda see her in there? Your mom? Or when you put this stuff on, does it feel like you're watching her do it again?