The night came and went, and so did the next day. Finally, it was early morning on the thirteenth of First Seed, and Irina moved as quick as the bees that buzzed outside her window. She went through her bag for the third time to ensure that everything was as it should be.

Staff? Check. Bow? Check. Food? Check. Courage?

Faint, but check.

She gave herself an assuring smile in the mirror of the dresser and smoothed down the cloth of her pants. Finally, she put on her knapsack.

"You will be fine. Perfectly fine," she said. She grabbed a ribbon from her dresser drawer and began to braid her hair into a crown around her head. "You'll find Alduin, and you'll kick the fucker all the way back to Tamriel. After that, you'll find a hole in some Dwemer ruin, crawl into it, and pray that the Divines never catch wind of you again. Also, send letters to Elle."

She finished and admired her work in the mirror. It was messy but tight and firm.

"You'll get through this," she breathed. She closed her eyes. "Y'ffre guide me."

A small clicking, such as when a heel hits stone, came from downstairs, and Irina knew her guest had come by again. She gave another prayer, another breath, and walked towards the staircase. Each step felt like a dip into cold water. With each step, Irina felt Arkay get a bit closer.

Push it down; you'll be fine.

When she got to the bottom step, she noticed that the front room was empty. Her nerves ate at her stomach. Tentatively, she called out. "Lord Sheogorath? Are you—"

"Right here," Sheogorath said. She appeared from behind the kitchen counter, holding onto a giant wheel of cheese.

"Are you robbing me?"

"Odd baubles I find, I like to keep," she said. She held up the cheese wheel. "This right here is Galay Brother's brand cheese. Here it says it on the side," she pointed to a small imprint on the wheel. "Funny story with them. In the second era, their business burned down during sweet Talos's war with the yellow elves. I'm surprised to find this here with you."

"It was a gift from a friend." Fucking Edelweiss.

"A friend with quite the eye! I would like to meet them."

It'd be a cold day in the Deadlands. "Are you ready to go?"

"To go where? To the outside? The market? To the bathroom? So many possibilities." asked Sheogorath. "But if you ask to take you to Aetherius, then yes. I've been ready since yesterday's yesterday. Mortals just take so long."

"Sorry about that," Irina said. She tried her best to keep up with the Mad God's weird swings of words. "So, how are we getting there?"

"Good ole' Daedric teleportation, of course. You'll love it. Or maybe you'll hate it? That's not my problem. Here," she offered her hand to Irina, who looked at it in apprehension. "Oh, don't look so disgusted. You poked a weird creature's severed head yesterday, yet now you're reluctant to hold someone's hand?"

That severed head couldn't tear my head off, is what Irina thought but didn't say. Instead, she did as the Mad God asked. The Dadedra began chanting an incantation but stopped midway and looked at the wood elf.

"Before we go, don't struggle, please. Last time, poor Barbas lost all his legs," Sheogorath said before she went back to muttering the incantation.

Irina whipped her head. "He lost his-"

But before Irina could finish, she was suspended mid-air. Or no, she felt like she was suspended mid-air. Her whole body tingled with magic as tiny specks of light flew before her eyes. She felt like she was swimming and flying all at once. And just as soon as this sensation started, it ended.

And now Irina was on what felt like grass. The shrill laugh of the Mad God came from right above her.

Sheogorath could barely speak through her wild laughter. "Oh mortal, are you alright? You looked as though you fought off a feral Khajiit."

"Yes, I'm very fine," Irina said as she picked herself off the earth. She brushed herself off. A small leaf fell onto her hand, golden and frail. Then a couple more did the same until she was cupping a pile full of them. She picked one up and stared in awe at how it reflected in the light. It was more brilliant than a simple bar of gold. To even make the comparison felt like an insult.

"Lord Sheogorath," she asked. "Where are we?"

"Look up and see for yourself, mortal."

She did just that, and the sky greeted her with the most beautiful array of colors and stars she had ever seen. The giant luminaries mixed and breathed colors as though they were beings themselves. They swirled around to encircle the centerpieces of the sky, the massive white hole that looked like it could swallow Irina whole. Fear crept up in her body. But there was also that overwhelming sense of familiarity.

"Welcome to Akatosh, or as some magic lovers would call it— the Eye of the Warrior. It's where Auri goes to grumble and sleep and not deal with his kids," Sheogoath said. "We are dallying right at the border. The portal isn't here, it's much, much, much farther away, but this is about as far as I'm allowed to go. Seriously, your father is way too tight on security. If I were to invade anywhere in Aetherius, I'd find somewhere with more ground to stand on."

"What are you talking about?" Irina asked.

Sheogorath smiled wider. "Don't look down, mortal."

Irina did just as she wasn't asked to do and was greeted with the largest ravine she had ever seen. It was bottomless, as far as she could tell. Thick layers of clouds hid the bottom— if there even was one. In the distance, there were mountains and cliffs all high and jagged, looking aloof in the sky's light. Irina scooted back instinctively.

Of course, the damn dragon god wouldn't be the one to like walking.

"Auri-El's nuts."

"That's a disturbing and very scaly image," Sheogorath muttered." You see that cave right there? The giant one. Much meaner than the rest of the scenery. Certainly drabber."

She pointed off to an exceptionally far-off corner of the region. Had the thing not been so damn big, Irina most likely wouldn't have seen it. It stood out from the rest mainly because of the two bright red dots placed on both sides of the mouth of the cavern. There was no mistaking who it belonged to.

"That's Alduin's, isn't it?"

"Right you are. I'd say good eye, but you'd have to be as dumb as blind skeever not to see it."

Irina shrugged. "Alduin isn't exactly one for subtly," she looked around the small island the pair currently sat on. "Are we supposed to walk?"

"If we were supposed to do that, we'd need a pair of wings. I can grow a pair, but, sadly, you can't," she impatiently tapped her foot on the ground. Her golden eyes were narrowed in displeasure. "But lucky for us, we're getting transported. Now, if only the damn—"

A loud roar in the east made the pair turn their heads on cue.

"There he is," Sheogorath said. She looked at the stunned elf on the ground. "Terrible service, isn't it?"

Irina nodded her head very slowly. She was much more focused on the shimmering blue hulking figure gliding towards them at a frighteningly quick pace. The dragon landed gracefully in front of them. Its sheer mass forced Irina to shield her face from the dust and leaves that flew up in the air as it came upon the ground. The beast craned its long neck to get a better look at them. Its huge yellow pupils held their reflections like a mirror.

Paarthurnax and Odahviing had been the only dragons Irina got to admire up close, and both of them had age and war creep up on their scales and horns. Scars and cracks from millennia ago littered their bodies. But the dragon that stood in front of Irina had none of that. Everything on it was pristine, its bright scales almost glowing. Everything in this place was.

"Drog Sheogorath, drem yol lok. Zu'u los Gaafthu'umgraag. Zu'u fen bo hi til," the dragon said. Its voice was crisp yet deep and powerful. It shook Irina to her bones.

Sheogorath, on the other hand, looked unbothered, such as fitting for a daedric prince. "So you are to be our ride? You're very late for a being who was born from Auri-El," the dragon bowed its head in apology, but Sheogorath merely shook hers and continued. "Nevermind that. The portal is still secure, I hope?"

"Geh. Ni gein deyra lost bo zeim. Miiraak lost drem, fa nu," Sheogorath nodded in response. The Mad God then looked at her.

"Dragonborn, this is to be our ride. His name is Gaafthu'umgraag. Fun thing to say, isn't it?" Sheogorath said

Finally, the dragon's pupils landed on Irina. She stood her ground pridefully, hoping that her nerves didn't reflect on her face. She'd dealt with dozens of dragons back on Tamriel. However, Tamriel actually had ground enough for her not to be worried about being shouted off into the abyss.

She bowed her head and said the phrase that Paarthurnax had taught her to be a customary greeting among dragons. "Drem Yol Lok," she hoped it didn't sound too clumsy.

A small huff of hot breath was what she got in response. She didn't know whether that was good or bad.

"No need for formality, Dovahkiin. Grind," Gaafthu'umgraag bellowed. Tamrielic fell awkwardly off his tongue. "Lost hin bo drem? Was your move peaceful? Zu'u hind, I hope."

"It was alright, I suppose." The dragon nodded— or it would be more accurate to say, moved its neck up and down to mimic what it thought was a nod.

"Daar los pruzah, that is good. Drey daar gein drun hi so? Did this one cause you woe?" He craned his neck to Sheogorath. Irina let out a chuckle. Sheogorath frowned.

"Bold for a fragment with sentience," she muttered. Gaafthu'umgraag, let out another huff of air towards Sheogorath, though this one was much more forceful. The daedra ignored the insult and kept speaking. "Do you intend to sit around here and chat all day, or shall we be going?"

"Drem, Drog Sheogorath. Dovahkiin, I trust you are prepared?"

Rationality screamed at her to tell Sheogorath that the deal was off and that she would just take the beating from Auri-El. However, curiosity and duty called to her in a siren's song. Irina wouldn't have even set foot in Skyrim if she had listened to the former.

"I am ready." She said It was a bit shaky.

"Then," Sheogorath said. "Let us be off!"

The ride to the portal wasn't as bad as Irina thought. Sheogorath, though still talkative, seemed to be in her own world during the journey, mumbling things about troubling servants and 'why in Oblivion does Auri keep it so damn hot here?" All Irina had to worry about, for the ride at least, was the creak in her back and the possibility of immediate death upon stepping through that portal. Oddly enough, she was more troubled with the former than the latter.

When they landed, Sheogorath looked as though she could strangle something. Pure disgust shone on her face as she quickly jumped off the dragon and marched toward the mouth of the cave. All the while, Irina took in the sights of sharp, golden rocks guarding the entrance. It looked as though it was the maw of a dragon.

Gaafthu'umgraag gave a small shake of his back. "Mu bo, we have arrived. Het Alduin not praal. Here, Alduin once laid." Irina gave him a small pat on the back.

"Alduin had it nice," she muttered as she climbed off. Sheogorath had marched over to the entrance. It was then that Irina saw just what the Mad God seemed to be fuming about.

Various bodies of what seemed to be fallen daedra were strewn across the ground, one of which resembled the head Irina saw earlier. Its body, lanky and thin like a stick, was draped over a shorter creature, with the skin the color of purple and yet the tone of ash.

Irina went over to look at one that lay on a rock. She hesitated but then took a long limb into her gloved hand. It was cold, with the skin texture similar to a pond frog. Her thumb pushed hard into the interior of the limb. Oddly enough, she didn't feel any bone or muscle. It was claylike.

Sheogorath looked at the fallen creatures. Pure disgust flashed across her face. She kicked the dead body of a hunched-over gray creature that adorned golden armor. "I thought you said the place was all safe?"

"Nii lost, it was," the dragon responded. "Nuz sunvaar ko bo med kest."

"What did you say?" Irina asked. She looked to Sheogorath. "Is it safe to go in there?"

Sheogorath brushed her off. "It'll be fine. Have your weapon ready, though. I don't want you dead before we reach the damn thing." She lamented. "Perhaps, I should've brought Haskill after all."

Irina nodded and took out her golden bow. She squeezed the leather grip tightly for reassurance.

"Va Su'um ven, fare thee well, Dovahkiin, and you as well Drog Sheogorath. Zu'u fen fun Bormahu do sunvaar," with another warm snort, he flapped his massive wings and took off into the sky. His form grew smaller and smaller until he dipped and flew under the clouds. Irina watched. Apprehension nagged at her.

"Of course, I can't count on Auri to take quick heed of the things that dance around here. We should've gone with Boethia's plan— the rabid giants might've actually been more reliable.

"Are you sure we'll be alright?"

"Oh, c'mon, mortal. You've dealt with much worse, haven't you? The hagraven marriage must've toughened you up a tinsy bit."

"The hagraven didn't try to kill me. At least not until I asked for the ring back," Irina replied. "And at least I'd dealt with hagravens before."

"When you first waltzed into Skyrim, you didn't have a clue in all of Nirn's pretty worlds about what a dragon was, didn't you? But look at you know, organs and brain still intact. Treat this like that. A fun little trip—"

"That may kill me."

"All trips can, mortal. Skooma and adventuring alike," she patted the Bosmer's shoulder hard. Irina scurried away from the touch. "Now take out that bow, and let's get moving. The way to 'Somewhere' is only a walk away. You'll be fine."

Sheogorath began her march into the cave, but Irina stood still for a moment. She took another look at the sky. A small piece of her wished for this all to have been a nightmare. Maybe the drink was spiked? Or perhaps this could all be an elaborate prank of the Divines, though they didn't seem like the type to like 'pranks.'

I am doom-driven. Aren't I?

She didn't much like to think about it. It made her head hurt. With one shake of her head and another squeeze of the bow, she turned and hurried behind the Daedra. The shadow of Alduin's abode swallowed both of them whole.

If Auri-El's realm was the embodiment of light, then the cave Irina had just stepped foot into would have to be the embodiment of darkness.

There was not a single shred of light to be seen anywhere, which meant that there was nothing to be seen. The Bosmeri were gifted with better sight than the average Mer and human, but that gift didn't help Irina in the slightest. The only way she was able to navigate was through steady steps and hearing.

Shoegorath, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem navigating. Never once did Irina hear her stumble or curse. All she heard from her was the clicking of heels and an endless spiel of gossip about Divines and Daedra alike.

"Oh, and you should've seen the look on Malacath's face by the end of it. I wish I had drawn a picture. I would've framed it as a centerpiece in the throne room. It would've looked nice next to that knight's head."

"It was that entertaining?"

"Why, yes! Never in all my years have I ever seen an orc turn red, and did he turn red. Well, he was really red when he and Boethiah finally started going at it, that is red with blood. And anger. A lot of anger and blood. I think you would've enjoyed it had you been there. You like fighting, don't you?"

"I don't like fighting myself, but I've heard that the Arena's fights are always fun. Never been there, though."

"The Arena gets boring after the hundredth match; after that, it's just dogs, ogres, and-" she grew silent as her footsteps came to a halt. Irina stopped along with her. She couldn't see Daedra, but judging from her silence, something must be amiss.

"What is it?" Irina asked. Sheogorath was silent for a moment. Then she spoke.

"Can you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"The overwhelming sense of boredom," she hissed.

Irina frowned. "You stopped to tell me you're bored?"

"No, I stopped because he's here," her voice was laced with irritation. It was unbefitting of the woman who was happily rambling on about the Arena just a second ago.

"Who's he?" Irina asked.

"Jyggalag. Daedric prince of Order and his sphere encompasses everything that's the antithesis of fun and color," she said. "You'll know him when you see him."

The only time Irina had heard of Jyggalag was from Sheogorath's own mouth. Judging from how she spoke of him, it seemed like the two weren't on the best terms.

"No wonder the place is full of corpses," Sheogorath mumbled, more to herself than her companion. "Come! If Jyggalag is here, then everything here is somewhat dead." Her steps resumed, though they were at a much quicker pace this time.

Irina hurried to follow her. "You don't seem to like him that much."

"He's order, and I'm insanity. The day we do get along is that day I come back from the deep end, and that isn't going to be anytime sooner or later or before."

"So I assume you're like opposites," Irina said. She stumbled a bit but quickly picked herself back up. "You leave things in a mess, and Jyggalag likes to keep things arranged."

"Right you are! Common sense is a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Sheogorath replied. "Though, I wouldn't say, Jyggalag keeps things arranged. I would say he just leaves behind an orderly mess."

"Why?"

"Because Jyggalag has a tendency to put his nose where it doesn't belong in the name of 'keeping order.' More often than not, his prying leads to something far more confusing than before. It's only orderly because he decided to involve himself. Y'know, the Daedric Prince of Order."

Irina contemplated Daedra's words when a pained shriek echoed just on her right. She barely had time to clumsily load an arrow when something's sharp fingernails dug into her ankle.

She bit back a howl of pain and raised up her boot to stomp at its arm, but the creature was up in flames before she could do anything.

She hastily shook its hand off and watched in awe as it burned. It looked exactly like the ash purple hunchback she had seen earlier. Its clawed hands, armored in gold, were stained red with blood. Irina winced. She hoped it hadn't cut too deep.

"See what I mean," Shoegorath said. Her pale face was illuminated by the light of the flame. Her thin red lips were pursed in displeasure. "He left behind an orderly mess."

Irina looked down at her leg. "I see that." Three septim-sized puncture wounds were bleeding red. She hadn't even set foot into the 'Somewhere' realm, and she was already bleeding. Great.

Sheogorath glanced over, and with a wave of her hand, small tendrils of golden light began stitching the wounds. Irina's throat begged to let out a scream, but her teeth kept her voice at bay. The injury was closed up in under a minute.

Sheogorath turned to walk. "Come. The portal isn't far ahead now. Be on guard."

Irina was not a Daedra. She couldn't read the language nor speak it. Usually, she had little to no interaction with Daedra. The most she's had would have to be her dealings with Lady Nocturnal.

Perhaps there was some sort of mix-up in translation from Daedric to the common language of Tamrielic because when Sheogorath said "we shouldn't be too far," she must've meant that the portal was a walk across Cyrodiil and back. It was either that, or Mer and Daedra have a very, very different system of measurement.

She limped to relieve the ache in her feet. Her eyelids, weighed down by large beads of sweat, drooped. She had to fight every tiny fiber in her body to keep them open.

"-And that's the secret to making the perfect glass of ice tea," Sheogorath said. "A little family recipe."

"Thank you for the tip," Irina muttered. "Now, how long-"

"Ah, it's nothing. Just something I thought I'd share to help the poor and unfortunate."

"How long-"

"In fact, If you truly are that inept, how about I give you the recipe for meat pie?"

"It really is a pleasure, but-"

"First, you take three teardrops of salt. Next, you should get the essence of a flame atronach. Damn things are hard to catch, though-"

"Thank you, Lord Sheogorath. I am appreciative, I really am, but I feel like we have more pressing matters," Irina said. "For example-"

"Ah, I forgot your strange aversion to talking. What a dreary character you are," Sheogorath bemoaned. "Well then, speak mortal."

"Thank you, and sorry," Irina said through gritted teeth. "How far away is the portal?"

"We'll be coming upon the twist in just a moment. After that," The Daedra paused, contemplating before she continued. "It's Just a tick and a mammoth's breath away."

"And how far is a mammoth's breath?"

"A mammoth's breath."

Irina bit her tongue. False flattery, Irina, she said to herself, false flattery.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I'm just too dumb to grasp the concept, but I don't quite get how long a mammoth's breath is. What would you compare it to?"

Though she couldn't see Sheogorath in the darkness, she could hear the exaggerated sigh she gave. "A little more than the length of two giants placed feet to feet lying across the earth. Is that sufficient?"

Irina was fucked. "Yes, I thank you."

She hoisted up the knapsack on her shoulders to even out the weight. It felt as though she had packed boulders instead of food and potions.

She trod carefully, choosing to walk slowly instead of fast. The seconds crept by at the pace of a tired snail. Each step the bosmer took became torture for her legs. Sheogorath chose not to speak, instead settling into a small whistle to a sporadic tune she knew.

The black of the cave only grew deeper the farther they went into it. Irina had heard tales of men losing to the dark. After a fortnight or so, they would begin to hear the voices of the spirits that still lingered in the ancient tombs they searched. Begging and pleading, or shrieks filled with the anger of the damned. At first, they ignored it, putting it away to a beetle's mating call or small creatures scurrying through cracks.

But as time wore on and food and water grew short, they began to talk back. Asking questions of 'why,' 'how,' or for help, desperate on their last string of sanity. The spirits feed off that desperation and sadness, eager to welcome another into the cold and firm embrace of the dead.

Irina wasn't really one to believe old maids' tales, however—

A small cascade of whispers, quick and unintelligible, flew into her right ear. She perked her head and paused at once. She couldn't see shit, but there was still that tiny instinctual piece of her that told her something was amiss.

"Do you hear that?"

Her non-belief was being tested heavily at the moment.

Sheogorath replied. "Unless you're referring to the monotonous sound of our footsteps, then I don't hear a thing."

"You don't hear those voices?" Irina asked.

"If I had, I'm sure I would've brought it up by now. Perhaps, you're simply being affected by the journey. Perhaps you're losing your sanity by just being in my presence. I don't feel like thinking about it."

"What comforting thoughts," Irina muttered.

"I do try my best."

She straightened herself out and continued on her path. However, it took only a few minutes for the voices to come back. Small tiny whispers nagged at her brain like the buzzing of flies. She smacked at her ear to get them to stop. She couldn't make out a damn thing they said, but they were soft. Soft and wild.

She asked again. "Are you sure you don't hear anything?"

"No, I am absolutely sure. So sure that the constant insistence that I do is beginning to annoy me so much that I'm currently resisting the urge to make your tongue a decoration for my great hall. But please, if you feel like continuing, go ahead."

"I've lost the will to."

"How regretful."

They walked in silence once more. The voices grew in intensity with each step into the cave. Murmurs spoken in tongues the Bosmer was alien to kept going on and on. The air of the night reflected in their weak ramblings.

Those old wives' tales were becoming more real with each step.

Irina bit her cheek. She wouldn't talk, she wouldn't sing, by Y'ffre, she wouldn't hum if that's what it took to stay grounded. Her right mind, she needed to be in her right mind. She counted each heave of her chest and forced her nerves to focus on the thin grooves on the handle of her bow.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four breaths, five breaths—

She squeezed her eyes shut to focus on her counting. They weren't much use in the cave anyway.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen breaths, fifteen breaths—

They grew louder. More wanton, more lively.

"Lord Sheogorath," Irina said. She figured some conversation would help her stay put.

"Yes?"

"What types of creatures live in the 'Somewhere'?"

The Mad God hummed. "Some of them are lengthy with limbs like trees and eyes like spiders— they're a lot with spider eyes— and they move as fast as cats on fire. But some are blind and slow and move like the streams of Oblivion. Those types are cold, dreadfully cold. Colder than Jyggalag," she said. "There are plenty more. Probably thousands we haven't seen yet. But I'm leaving all those boring bits to Mora. He's the only one who gets a kick outta that."

Thirty-eight breaths, thirty-nine breaths, forty breaths, forty-one breaths—

"I thought the knowledge of a new realm would interest you."

"Hmm?"

"Because of Daedric politics and all that. I thought you all jumped at the prospect of new land."

Sheogorath laughed. "We're not rabid dogs. Well, most of us aren't. 'Somewhere' is dreary and plain— boring, boring, boring. Full of a confusing mess of drab greens. I thought I'd like it when I heard Dagon complaining about it, but it made me feel bland. I hate bland."

"You think Alduin would be hanging around there?"

"Unless your brother is committed to rebellion against Auri as Clavicus is committed to making dumb contracts, then he'd have to be trapped to stay there. Plus, Alduin would try to hide somewhere Auri couldn't reach. 'Somewhere' is under the wide dome of Aetherius."

Maybe it was the journey? Her body did stumble and slug along. Her legs did ache quite painfully.

Sixty breaths, sixty-one breaths, sixty-two breaths—

Here she was once again left to the mercy of thought. Of image. Of idea.

Eight-seven breaths, eighty-nine breaths, ninety-three breaths—

The harsh sound of an open palm hitting flesh resounded through the cave and broke through the new quiet. Her hand stung, but it had to be done. She thought she had heard someone say something. But that clear voice was engulfed by a raging sea of whispers.

One hundred and two breaths, One hundred and five breaths—

Really, really, loud now. Pounding against the thin frame of a skull. A steel taste coating the top of a lulling tongue.

One hundred and fifty-six breaths-

Maybe those old wives' tales were true. Maybe—

Her body collided with soft silk. She jumped back, instinctively putting some distance between the obstacle and herself. She gripped her bow handle, ready to fire. However, with one look at her surroundings, her tightened jaw loosened. Her eyes grew big. The green inside of them reflected the bright blue light around her.

Some more talking, just what were they saying.

They were surrounded by light, the color of the day's ocean on all sides. It came from roots, pulsing like a heartbeat and singing like a canary at the brink of dawn. Some appeared like trees. Others took upon the appearance of energized soul gems. All of them brimmed with magic, akin to the blood that flowed through a body made of flesh. Irina could feel it in her very being. The way their crystalline tree branches spoke.

She wanted to touch it.

A hand slick with sweat reached out for a limb. It quivered with the song. Inching closer and closer to a delight that was so close. Her breath hitched. Just a tinsy bit farther and-

Her wrist was clamped in pale shackles. She twisted and turned it to break. Not a budge. They must've been made of iron. She yanked it close to her open mouth. Sharp, sharp teeth missed the bite by just a hair. A strange sound rang out. It sounded urgent, annoyed. She didn't care.

She struggled against her. The whispers were calling her anxiously now. Alluring her to just prick the tip of her finger on the vein. Her left hand reached out fast. Shackles were faster, catching her other wrist just before she could touch the end of the branch.

She twisted and kicked at her assailant. She yanked and tore at fine silk and dug her nails into the white shackles. The shackles had nails; they dug in just as hard. A sound droned on and on. Its pitch was high, its tone erratic. She didn't care. She didn't want to care.

A release. she was free, free to touch free to feel. Hurry hurry, go and go. It reached out. Pounding Screeching. Wetness fell from open lips she couldn't tell. go and go, hurry hurry, quickly now

Just a small bit. A tinsy, tiny bit and-

Black.