"Stove," the older woman leading the group calls out, knocking politely on a door at the end of a room that feels crowded with the six people currently occupying it. Violet doesn't notice the press of bodies, still adrift in her own thoughts. It feels like she's been transported to somewhere make-believe, a land that shouldn't exist. The sight of a village beneath skeletal trees of bone and blood, somehow thriving on the reality-poisoned ruins of Earth keeps short-circuiting her mind every time she tries to start a chain of thought. The dog in her arms looks up and pants.

Dark Mistress, give the word and I will fall on them like bootheels upon beetles.