The shadows are long in the hall that leads to the food machine, however, and her wings are not out.
The breath on her tongue is cold ice between her teeth.
She inhales frost suddenly, and the sound of footsteps behind her rattles her brains.
Half asleep, she remembers what was instilled into her bones by the Doctor, and takes it to hearts.
Her pounding legs carry her down by the north stairwell, her naked feet slapping against the slick tiles of the Panopticon’s third floor of apartments.
Draw the enemy into a trap.
Blind with purpose she gallops in a downward springing circle, a white horse amid trees of silver and stone.
Wet, warm, thick liquid gushes through her toes and she loses her balance, falling into the private teleport panel sometimes used to access the Panopticon more quickly from the central stair.
Her face immediately slams the three-prong slit in the floor that conceals the Eye.
She touches the bruise, squeaking as an arc of dark blood follows her fingertip and morbidly rubbing thumb from the floor, as though the gravity’s been displaced.
It’s... not hers.
She looks up, following the strange trail of blood as it floats up from the ground, such a strange thing.
But there is one way it could happen.
If the person who lost it was still alive... or immortal.