As it is, I think it needs more of a warning posted before the story, especially if you archive it.
Actually, Betty, warnings are not required on either this site or the Archive. Some authors give warnings at the beginning and/or end; some do not. Terry may choose to write one, and I can understand perfectly that you personally would have really wanted one, but it's not mandatory.
Terry, this was quite incredible. As I was reading this last part, and I saw the right-hand bar moving lower and lower down the page without any magical ending in sight, I suddenly realized that in fact there wasn't going to be one.
What a horribly sad situation. For Clark, who, hampered by his fears about his parents, was unable to think clearly enough and therefore boneheadedly agreed to Lois' request. Still for Clark, who has lost the love of his life yet still sees her alive, breathing, yet just a shell of who she was. For Lois, who doesn't realize how much of the quintessential Lois has been lost, which makes that all the sadder. For her family and friends, who do realize it, and who grieve for that loss every day.
If Lois had died, as in
She's, most of her loved ones would have grieved and eventually made at least some measure of peace with her loss. Here, even though her body is alive, "Lois" is really gone, and I could imagine that adjusting to this loss would be even harder.
Very well done. I can be as annoyed as anyone else at the ridiculous plot point that had Clark freezing Lois in the first place, but when the idea sparks such a masterful work as this one, I probably shouldn't complain too much...
Kathy
EDITED TO ADD: Terry, I've been thinking about this some more since I originally posted. Lois had lost her memories of the three days prior to the freezing, but I believe that was all. One wonders what the "new" Lois thought when she remembered the previous couple of years. Even if she felt
nothing for any of these people anymore, she would still know that hadn't always been the case. Did she feel any twinge of regret whatsoever - or, if forced to look back at all, was it only with a sense of utter detachment? Fascinating questions to ponder...
