The Dean lay in the circle, eyes closed, breathing steadily, and wearing the face of their friend. LaFontaine studied Perry's face, the lines they knew so well, the freckles they had counted up close, the lips which had given them their first kiss, and they wondered what it was about Perry's appearance that made her so foreign to them.
The features were the same. The clear blue of her eyes, the gentle curve of her chin, the corkscrew curls which fell around her face. Yet everything was different. There was a hardness in Perry's features, an edge which had never been there before. Her skin looked brittle, hard, as if she were made of steel and bone instead of flesh and blood. Her eyes, when opened, were ice crystals, cold and unforgiving. Her hands curled in cruel talons in her lap.
Perry had been gentle and kind and had only ever wanted things to be nice. LaFontaine remembered how many times they had teased Perry about all those traits which they now missed more than anything. They wondered if they touched Perry, if she would feel the same. If she would still be warm and soft and feel like marshmallows and remind LaFontaine of spring. They reached a hand out, hesitated at the edge of the circle, and withdrew. They gazed down at their friend, and parted their lips, words they hoped Perry would hear forming on their lips.
"Hey Per."
