[At least if the spell stuck, Allura would be none the wiser about it. As it is, the slowly surfacing memories are disorienting, but in the long run better than spending the rest of her days thinking she’s some kind of small-town apothecary’s daughter.

And so she doesn’t fight it when Richie leads her by the hand, through a doorway and down a hall that’s familiar. It’s a path she’d walked dozens of times before, each trip up to the station always involved at least one visit to the stasis chambers, and as they cross the threshold, Allura takes the lead, following a path that she knew in her heart, even if she hasn’t quite identified the memories for it yet. Past faces that were only passingly familiar to stop in front of a man that looked at least twenty years her senior, with orange hair, pointy ears, and wrinkles around his eyes that touched the corners of his Altean markings.]

Coran. He… he was my family’s loyal adviser. [There's a small laugh, the memories coming back in a disjointed manner in order from least traumatic to most] I used to give him such a run-around when I was a child. Once, he had to crawl under a table during an intergalactic summit because I refused to come out.

[In any other situation, the memory would be an embarrassing one, but it helped to work through them verbally. The moment of levity is short lived, and she frowns, glancing at Richie,] Why is he sleeping here? Was he injured?