Rosalind is torn, fundamentally and metaphorically but, (apparently) not literally.
First, he's been perfectly candid about how this works. He's shown her, to her face, at her behest, precisely how he does this. That is, overall, commendable.
Unfortunately: second, this is complete and total hogwash.
She stares, watches him open and shut the door, and her offense and affront mount with each movement. It's like watching a magician if you bred rabbits and did haberdashery on the side. Everything in her is screaming that this is just flim-flammery but she cannot, on her life, figure out the mechanism by which he is tricking her.
She has literally, not once, not ever, been more offended than she is right now.
Tragically, he is also being perfectly polite, so she has no call to go off on a rant or start screaming at him. There is no world in which she does this which, oddly enough, is made extremely clear by the total lack of variants or deviations spawning in her wake. Not once has a ghostly form of her diverged from the timeline. In all possible universes where this interaction occurs, she is in alignment with herself.
This is bullshit. (Pardon her French.)
She gapes and stares and looks at him and, in a very tight-lipped, stiff fashion:
"As you said," she agrees. Begrudgingly. So begrudgingly. "And that's an entire sub-dimension, is it? With gravity and weather and such? Hm?"
Does her voice go higher pitched with strain as she speaks? Ludicrous. Of course it doesn't.
The game models don't make a face extreme enough for this reaction.
First, he's been perfectly candid about how this works. He's shown her, to her face, at her behest, precisely how he does this. That is, overall, commendable.
Unfortunately: second, this is complete and total hogwash.
She stares, watches him open and shut the door, and her offense and affront mount with each movement. It's like watching a magician if you bred rabbits and did haberdashery on the side. Everything in her is screaming that this is just flim-flammery but she cannot, on her life, figure out the mechanism by which he is tricking her.
She has literally, not once, not ever, been more offended than she is right now.
Tragically, he is also being perfectly polite, so she has no call to go off on a rant or start screaming at him. There is no world in which she does this which, oddly enough, is made extremely clear by the total lack of variants or deviations spawning in her wake. Not once has a ghostly form of her diverged from the timeline. In all possible universes where this interaction occurs, she is in alignment with herself.
This is bullshit. (Pardon her French.)
She gapes and stares and looks at him and, in a very tight-lipped, stiff fashion:
"As you said," she agrees. Begrudgingly. So begrudgingly. "And that's an entire sub-dimension, is it? With gravity and weather and such? Hm?"
Does her voice go higher pitched with strain as she speaks? Ludicrous. Of course it doesn't.