The word is [i]incomplete.[/i]

Look at that tiny list. Look at all that it’s missing. Where’s the way her stupid voice cracks? Where’s her awful, mangy coat? What about the neverending avalanche of bungled words and improperly delivered lines that poured out whenever she opened her mouth? (Worse than unoriginal, she couldn’t even [i]steal[/i] right.) Lost, cowardly, slow, ugly, hapless, useless, they’d need a much bigger piece of paper to get it all down.

...but. What of Lucien’s additions? Did any of those negate what he’d already written? If there were items in conflict on, which had the stronger case? 

Hrmmmmm. It was a good question. A curious question.

“That’s...something I’ll have to think about,” she said honestly. But she [i]was[/i] smiling, did that count for anything? For nothing? Either way? “Anyhow, you see why I can’t stop now. Whether I’ve forgotten, or starting over,” and that was a question she knew all too well already. “I have to know who I am. If I stop now, I’m just...I’ll just be an empty list.”

[i]Someone worth remembering...[/i]

“Well. Not quite an empty list.” She buried her face in her mixing, which - according to The Rules - meant nobody anywhere could see her cheeks flushing bright red. (And any mention of her delightedly swishing tail would be just plain rude.)