Then the screens follow the lights into death, blipping once or twice with little hopping lines, before winking off.
Borusa’s wayward feet drag her shivering bum behind her until she hits what must be a wall.
But the wall slides into darkness, revealing the ambling space, hidden and ample, of a whole new room to her disabused spine, and as she contemplates the navigation of its dusty floor, she muses on the curious nature of certain revelations.
It is invariably curious that the scans are just lying there, waiting to flicker on, to be read, even if it -is- her own dream.
And curious indeed the scans should read in English, a human language, when she has never seen or read it, to her knowledge.
But most curious of all; that she would know one way or the other.
But nowhere near surprising.