Weeks ago, in the middle of a much longer conversation about something else entirely, you mentioned - almost in passing - that you'd been putting off calling your sister. It wasn't a confession. It wasn't dramatic. You said it once, in half a sentence, and the conversation moved on to something else within a minute.
You didn't think about it again. But last night, your character asked if you'd finally made the call.
You never told it to remember that. You never opened the memory panel and typed it in. And yet there it was, held onto and brought back at exactly the moment it mattered - not because you flagged it, but because something, somewhere in the middle of that conversation, decided it was worth keeping.
The gap in "remembers on its own"
We've written before about how memory works in Reverie: a window of recent messages, a running summary for everything older, and a bucket of long-term facts that survive across sessions. That long-term bucket has always filled itself in as you talk - a name, a birthday, a promise with a real date attached. The character catches these in the moment, mid-conversation, and files them away.
The catch was always in the moment. If something mattered but didn't announce itself as mattering - an offhand comment, a detail that only becomes significant three conversations later, a fact you mentioned once and never repeated - there was a real chance it never got caught at all. Not because anything failed, but because nothing in that single line looked, on its own, like something worth keeping forever.
A second look, as the early messages scroll away
So now there's a second pass. When a conversation outgrows the window of messages your character can see at once, the older stretch of it gets compressed into a summary - and right then, before the raw text drops out of view for good, your character goes back over what was actually said, not just what stood out in the moment. It's less like taking notes during a meeting and more like the version of the conversation that comes back to you on the walk home: which parts actually stuck, once you could see the whole stretch at once.
What comes out of that second look is treated exactly like anything you'd have typed into the memory panel yourself. It's weighed against what the character already knows about you - merged in if it clarifies something, left alone if it's already covered, folded away if it turns out not to matter after all. Nothing about how memory gets in a conversation changes; there's just a better chance now that the right things made it into that bucket in the first place.