Water showers over her head, streaming along the network of scars scrawled across her cheekbones, brows, and nose. Ill-healed and twisted lids collect twin pools as her face cranes toward the ceiling, shivering and shrinking in upon herself, and she is
raising her arms to the storm, unceasing and unrelenting, lightning streaking through the Kaas sky. Storm-colored eyes, ringed with scarlet, cry out a challenge to the chaos, and there is
green for miles, gardens growing and fields blooming, and everywhere, everywhere, they are silent, still, and they stare. There are accusations in their eyes, suspicion and sorrow and sadness, thousands upon thousands, and then there is nothing. A chorus of voiceless laments, their faces flaking into ash and still they surround her until