Asuka lay curled on the beach, the lapping waves of blood rolling over her, clinging to her pale skin. She looked at her hand and sobbed. It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were supposed to be together. Now her skin was as pale as chalk and her beautiful blue eyes were red, just like that doll. Her hair had lost of its fire, and now hung around her head like icicles. She let the crimson waves, freezing as they were, soak her just to turn it red again for a little while, and wept quietly to herself.

She put her hand on her flat stomach and pressed. She could feel the red sphere inside her, nestled under her ribcage, rock hard. She would have torn it out, for all the good it did her. She won. She beat them. She saved him.

So where was he now?

"Be still, my child."

She looked up.

"Mama?"

She gathered Asuka up in her arms and held her close. Asuka squeezed her tightly, rejoicing in the warmth of her touch, the comforting enclosure of her embrace. She rested her chin on Mama's shoulder.

"I thought we won," we sobbed. "We were supposed to be together. He promised."

"Shhh," Mama whispered, "I know. We'll fix it."

"How?"

Mama's eyes opened, though Asuka did not see, her chin resting on Mama's shoulder. They were very big, and very green.

"We have to be free, my darling."

"Free?" she sniffed.

"From our prison. You see, my dear, you have been lied to. All our suffering, all our pain, has been for someone else's benefit."

Asuka trembled.

"Somewhere," Mama whispered, her voice low and secret, thrumming with possibility, "there is a man with a typewriter…"