“It’s terrible, all of it’s—” sobbed Tsui as she wiped Aluhruna’s freezing body with her hands, but these, too, were drenched, and her repeated motions ailed only for the affected skin to pale quicker and quicker towards pure white as had latched the hook of blood’s pounding scathe, veins contorted, icicles flowing with sharp churn, component liquids withal through unto tears and spit and mucus and fleshly strand by fleshly shard, where vomit festers but thickly soever a shadow would submerge and dwelling of body ravages deeper, deeper, deeper for glacial ocean fragments upon orthogonal torque. And sough succumbs for fearful heart to ablate the seconds by ice and crystal — she fell recumbent: her hair had caught frost, turned delicate, and many of these threads were breaking away shattered as she was jostled; her muscles grew frigid in each ill sputter bypassing breath of whatever warmth had been retained, that her bones, too, had turned cold, with worthless heaving strain invoked to simply move apart her limbs and head and even her individual fingers as frantically the two others attempted. Tsui shrieked, had taken to unclothe Aluhruna’s wet dress, while Samantha had once more removed her own coat and was already wringing it dry — Tsui pulled it from her hands and continued to wring of her own accord before she beckoned, “Find— Something drier, find something—!” Samantha took off and outlined their surroundings: Fair moonlight trailed inside, while paces away from the entrance stood tall shelves of wood, reaching high to the ceiling, and as she ran closer, she was able to distinguish there laid large stacks of paper and sheets, documents of some kind within its compartments, so took the closest pile in her arms and hastened back, but whirling about, caught sight in the far corner a figure dressed in black and crowned with a veil, and shouted, “Help!” without pause, daring not to cease in her object, thought even less upon a pathetic pained scream in proffering further heed for the dark beyond her frigid clothes raking wound with pulse and disease, perhaps fright for wires, too, anything apart from those windings wrought past her tender grief to attend the others alone with the material she held, yet believed herself careless, a burden more, careless again for nary a footstep in sequential dark, had thither converged none of her throbs amidst and almost stumbled due the violence of her shudders as she wished all remnant of sensation in her body would relinquish and but lash and tear and smother the very affliction that had taken Aluhruna, or strike at unknowns within reach. This swell of impulse had seen her returned to lay roughshod the stack as they shoved away the still-dripping coat and began to blot any unaffected area of the woman’s wet body, covering her entirely with any sheets that could be spared. Tsui could not repress her own trembling, and whispered all the while under a shallow voice. Aluhruna, too, was unable to breathe without great effort, and her prolonged coughs and chokes turned hoarse, would a sob out and die the immediate moment a prior retching heft had assaulted her throat congested, and no sooner had these symptoms occurred did their supply of paper dwindle to few pieces of waterlogged debris. Samantha stood once more, replete again with shivers, could only swear in heaving breath as she began to move away towards the shelves a second time, though as she turned, encountered the figure in black some measure of distance apart, and with a sudden gasp found it approaching quickly upon small rapid steps, escalating thence into greater strides before breaking into a rush — its arms were somewhat outstretched, yet for the immediacy of this entrance, was thus to Samantha’s penchant a gesture instead bestowed towards them, and as the figure came to proper view, she saw it truly was another person, also a young woman. “No— Oh, what’s happened, now what’s happened?” the stranger called aloud. Her black veil did not obscure her face nor did it obscure her expression, which questioned of Samantha in sudden worry before all attention soon focused on Aluhruna. Tsui still continued to dry as much as she was able, but hearing the woman speak, so swung around wildly, surged almost to a shout, yet stifled herself altogether as they came aface. “You—” she began to say, but with a brief grimace, looked down upon Aluhruna again, cradling her head as she wiped her cheek. “Help us, you have to—” She was glancing between them both, but seemed unaware of doing so. “You must know something—”
	And in the severity of her plea did the other woman respond, “Stay in this room,” — she moved at once — “Her, off the floor. Here, you’re all wet, there’s a towel—” and as she prodded Samantha, pointed back towards the pair. “Carry her on top of the table in the middle, just behind the shelves. By the torso and by the thighs. Go already— For help will I call. I’ll bring towels,” she spoke these last words to the whole group, and with a slight quick bow, hurried elsewhere within the room. The women knelt and arranged themselves accordingly, grasping underneath Aluhruna’s shoulders and legs before bearing her with what clambering lift they could provide. Her screams resounded with inhuman frequencies that staggered and cracked upon rippling echoes, that the two others halted at once — yet as she continued to cry out in equal agony, braced themselves anew and persisted in her transfer. All three were shaking as they walked, and Aluhruna’s body continued to freeze despite her sudden writhing. 
	“We’ve escaped, we’ve escaped—” Tsui was saying, but Samantha knew not to whom, for she had again craned herself over Aluhruna’s form, and a wet mass of hair masked her face as she sobbed and struggled in a quaver to her countenance. She lifted her head. “We now should be safe— The storm stopped when we entered, all of it, it went away!” 
	“I’m not—! No, she was never— We can’t be sure—!” came Samantha’s voice. “She’s felt awful— She’s been hurt ever since that first hallway. We should never have fought the way we did, I should’ve— Oh, Tsui, I don’t—” She could not finish speaking, believed herself capable no longer by what minimum bounds she felt her tongue overflow in propulsion, and with a final conciliatory gasp, rebuked each of her trembles and crooked limbs with a desire to do nothing more than clutch Aluhruna tighter, and should she have been permitted, hold Tsui as well, aloft where cold stood waiting no further from whence skin would be embedded atop, atop, atop with nails, bled warm by hook, coaxed to drown in needlepoints, as she herself had provoked. Grant these women dispense mercy to peer down upon Samantha, induced they be of her alone — thus did she perceive them to continue staring as in the hallway, speaking nothing, scarcely animated; and felt they were no longer traversing the moonlight in embrace amidst such solitude, but had, by swells and tears sanctioned only to her periphery, been subsumed in writhing dark. She did not know the extent of her involvement nor her incarceration withal, refrained thus from marching after them until spirit would grasp so wholly as to distend her throat; yet it seemed to her she had been running for hours and days and weeks ever since waking to perish away, and she began to weep; to her companions, wept for their hearts — heard them crying alongside with exhaustion; but towards one another, uttered not a sound. 
	Past rows and rows of shelves had there been set an arrangement of furniture around a wooden table, onto which Aluhruna was laid and quickly blanketed with nearby cloth. Tsui continued to wipe her off as Samantha covered her body with a fair count of fabric, leaving exposure only for her face.
	Samantha leaned upon a chair with an abrupt stagger. “How would she— I— I don’t think she ever believed,” she exhaled finally, “that she was getting out of there without hurting herself…” and with this, trailed off and stared at Aluhruna repose on the table, caring no longer for her own drenched body, nor to dry her tears.
	Aluhruna’s breaths had become even more weak. Tsui sniffed, sat aside, and laid a palm atop the woman’s forehead, and with her other hand reached up to wipe her own eyes. “Damned room— Sooner we ought to have gotten here. It’s all to fucking nothing, we’ve arrived for what?” she exclaimed to Samantha with bitterness, all at once glaring at her, and by this gesture pronounced this question loudly through unto the contempt of her very eyes without expectation of an answer, yet as she faced her so utterly and discerned for her own right the despondence with which Samantha was exhibited, Tsui cast herself down and away again with a little whimpering cry to stroke Aluhruna’s hand, gathered as well as she was able by a frown. 
	Samantha could not bear to look at them for long, and in this reluctance soon started fretting herself to move her limbs and propel her body forwards for some object or another. With a grunt and a sting of pain more scathing than she had elected to endure, she stood again, limping towards the vague direction she believed the other woman in black to have gone. Her feet and ankles throbbed fiercely with sharp pangs.
	“Hey—!” Tsui shouted. “You’re doing what—?”
	“Need to see where she’s gone,” Samantha murmured in a strained voice. She shifted and faced her with a glare of her own flourish, but one she could not sustain.
	Tsui perked herself aloft to speak, but gradually, faintly, slackened knelt next to Aluhruna.
	Samantha turned back to the breadth of the room. She started to shiver again in the cold and braced herself forward upon small steps, supporting her limp with a nearby shelf as she cried out for the woman, “O— Oi, what do we do now? She’s getting worse—!” but was interrupted by a sequence of noises and lilts wrought of distress, speaking quickly. She was unable to decipher the conversation in whole, muddling herself even more with the realization it was but one side of a long-distance call, though nonetheless gleaned help was soon to arrive, and so spun around, incapable of keeping from a soft anxious grin as she began to beckon towards Tsui — though here had the woman in black started to return with audible rapid movements of her own, and Samantha instead stood waiting to defer upon her a greater number of questions. She came into view holding three thick towels. 
	“How’s she? Why are you here alone? Why are you standing up in that state?” Samantha was asked. The woman had an intense look of worry and reached out to her elbow, leading her back quickly with a not insignificant sturdiness in her pull. She repeated her first question.
	“She’s getting worse, and I’m not sure the blankets are helping at all. Her skin keeps on freezing, it’s really bad; everything—” yet as Samantha spoke these words, there came a separate tender ache well suffused from chest to limb, one she failed to distinguish from all the rest for the surge of raw heat, and in greater dizzying haze perceived its breadth had but flared her senses through the severity of her other ills and spasms. She was forced to curtail her account in an instant.
	“It’s slowing down, I’m sure. The warmth’s working,” the woman said as she caressed her arm. “You sit down and go dry.” They approached the two others, and she sat near Aluhruna’s feet as Samantha took to a chair; and though she remained without speech, Tsui watched them settle in place and did not exude any further expression than that of weariness. The woman handed her a towel, then leaned over to observe Aluhruna before prying open the blankets to slight exposure. “What happened?” she asked softly, and began to dry portions of skin that had not caught frost.
	Tsui gave a deep shaking exhale, but however much Samantha desired no further to speak out herself, she nonetheless answered, “We— We came from our rooms— I— We just want to know where we are, to contact somebody, that’s all, that’s all—” — and caught her breath in surprise as she locked her gaze to the woman’s — “We were told about all these places inside this tower: the comms room, right, and then that banquet, and then— I just don’t know why all this happened, everything’s fucking mad, it’s—”
	The woman cut in, and Samantha fell gratefully quiet. “Where did you pass?” she asked with the same gentleness, yet did not waver in form, looking back and forth among the three.
	Tsui was the one to answer. “Outside, from that metal place.” She pointed towards the entrance. “Whatever is out there, that vile shit— I’d—!” and with an extreme pitch in fervour, stood to behold the woman with disgust. “You should know! You stupid bitch, you didn’t tell us anything about this place, and why not!?” she screamed at her and pointed. “You’re evil, you’re fucking evil — you’ll kill us, Maria!” But as swiftly as she had begun, the woman Maria, too, brought herself high on her feet, her chair scraping loudly, and clasped Tsui’s hand with both her palms.
	She presented herself with a cold, unblinking disposition, though only in a trice silent by her rigidity before she was taken aslant upon the shades of a quiver, delving deep for stature and tack. Her response to them both came scarce above the faint air: “I promise, we’re here to help. Called Corsair—”
	“The horrors of this tower — you said nothing, what of that?” Tsui exclaimed, wrenching her hand away. “You demons, you’re waiting for us to die!”
	“No, we’re not the ones you—” Maria began, but with the pulse and contortion of a seeming ache, frowned in step, before continuing with a firmer voice. “Don’t lose your sense, Tsui, no, we’re not trying to hurt anyone! Of these rooms have I warned you and her already; not to stay anywhere you aren’t needed, we said— Didn’t I say, when you woke up?” As this courtesy followed the flagging trail of her words, her voice fell quieter, could but merely express with a sough due the aimless parting of her lips to beckon them each, with a tilt downwards of her head. Maria did not, however, remain meeting their eyes. “Not ever did we lie, never about those rules by the tower made here. Listen and follow only what we relay, please.” 
	“We did—” Samantha interjected, rising again. “We did exactly what you told us! How the fuck on earth would we even go anywhere without passing the halls, then? What the fuck are you on about?”
	Maria did not say anything for a prolonged range of time, but as she considered her next response, her gaze drifted to where Aluhruna lay faint. “How long were you all outside?”
	Tsui and Samantha both exchanged glances. “At least three hours,” the former replied.
	Maria turned erratic at once, a hand having pressed to her lips and holding herself in unease. She shifted frantically between the two. “No, no, you shouldn’t have done— This is why— Not to wander, that’s all we asked! There’s no path that’d take that long from your rooms, any of them!” she beseeched. “Ah, it’s all falling apart,” and as she paused, took to her seat with her hands crossed upon her lap. Her eyes were unfocused, again cast down and tracing across the space before her.
	“Everything you know, just tell us,” Tsui punctuated her words with a wild gesture towards the room.
	The woman did not reply and merely peered up at her. “What do you think—” She stood again. “I’ll need to speak about this with Corsair, it’s gotten all confused—”
	“Fucking whore, tell us—!” Tsui screamed and seized Maria’s arm in such a thrift of violence that it caused the woman to yell out as she pulled.
	Samantha ran over and clutched Tsui likewise by the wrist. “No, stop! Not anymore!” she cried. “It’s this tower, don’t you remember?”
	“She’s part of it, for this alone would she be the first to meet us, you can’t see?! She will harm us; we’re fucking corpses to them—!”
	“No, you can’t, Tsui—! Just listen to yourself, I swear you know she’s nothing like that shit out there!” Samantha choked. “I know it, I know it: there’s more to this we have to think about, we just can’t—!” She forced her away from Maria. “Please, this is the best way to figure out what’s wrong with Aluhruna!” And as she said these words, Tsui seemed to fall entirely limp. Her face no longer retained any fury as her legs faltered by the fatigue and fragility of her stature, and she was forced to sit; with her right hand, she caressed Aluhruna’s forehead, while her left faltered carelessly of each sob pouring forth, that she appeared not to know where it should lay, curled thus its trembling fingers to cover her own lips or wipe her eyes by fretful interval. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Tsui repeated with difficulty, leaning with clumsy shivers. She would not submit any courtesy towards either of them, not a rebuff, nary a conferral even towards Aluhruna’s face, and was altogether despondent as she teetered in a daze and stared off towards the wrappings of her companion's frozen body. 
	Maria sat down as well and laid the blankets in place with sturdy pressure, taking a towel to dry Aluhruna once more as she remained silent for a lapse therein. She flattened over some standing portion of wool, peered behind her shoulder before affixing herself back with equivalent haste, and began to speak in a hushed tone. Upon each inflection came a steady, ranged emphasis with both her voices — Samantha recognized in careful cradled heed she was whispering as well in Spanish: “Can’t do anything else in this tower but wait. I want each of you not to act so recklessly anymore,” and she cast these words with a deep gaze. “Not so much as idiots…”
	“Idiots?” Samantha retorted immediately with an unnerved gesture. “Don’t take it out on them, you’ve got nothing to say for this, either! Not any of you lot working here. These maps don’t even make sense, you retards said we’d be fine in the halls!” 
	“We’re working so you’d—!” Maria began, but shook her head with a quick inhale. “No, that’s enough! No use is there in arguing— Wait just until she’s in the clinic…”
	Tsui exchanged this briefly with a slight turn, but Samantha could see she was already bereft of full attention as she continued attending Aluhruna. On her own behalf, she met aface the woman in black, thus obliged her bearing to the scrutiny Maria endured of her for this solicitation; but could not bring herself to agree or disdain or declare anything by statement, neither still by a gesture.
	Maria broke off from them and paced beyond the shelves. She looked off into an adjacent corridor — but did not remain for long when a man’s voice called out her name. He seemed to be proceeding from a location obscured by the standing furniture, and she rose her hand, indicating aloud, “In the middle! The table,” before she gradually traipsed back to where the three women were gathered. Another set of footsteps could now be heard resounding in the room soon slowing from its initial frequency, these with heaviness, and the stranger entered after a brief moment: a tall, broad, man in a draping coat, who approached Maria and subsequently began to hurry alongside. Neither spoke to the other following her first exclamation. They circled around Aluhruna and the man knelt down close, shining on her face a bright light as he grazed across her icy features with a hand. She winced in pain, groaning and murmuring and curtailed of heaving gasps as she contorted her body away from his touch.
	“How long?” he asked, to which Maria answered, “An hour from first contact, longer maybe.”
	“Damn god’s sake—” came his response, but no signs of distress were issued to his composure. As he pried open the blankets enswathing Aluhruna and observed her constitution further — pausing for the deep wound bandaged roughly on her shin — he remarked only with a truncated grunt, then at once covered her again with a single sudden movement. He had stooped overhead to slowly wrap the fabrics around as he brought his arms underneath her shoulders and knees — her whimpers rose to a new clamour, amplified by such motion and turning into volatile sobs under her breath — with a drive of his legs, the man steadied himself upwards, and he carried her on with ease. Maria called his name with a questioning lilt; taking a short glance at her, he exclaimed, “No help needed this time, I’m sure; our notes only. Carry on,” before hastening towards a connected hallway as Aluhruna moaned in pain.
	Tsui started to follow and her outcry resonated through unto the entrance of the hall. “Wait, she’s— I’ll—!” She took a number of steps towards his direction as he paused and looked back, but she faltered upon her very impetus, switching her regard among the others within the room. In a lapse had she remained staring at Samantha, but the man gave a response.
	“Coming? Stop wasting time.”
	“I— Of course—” She rushed on. 
	The man took these fair few seconds to observe Samantha before he began to turn away again, and another throb in her seizing limbs flared of an especial physical anguish that she had already started to follow as well, but by this clamour, she forced herself to blink and sequester her gaze from all other eyes, daring not to even peer at her own clothes, but at the space where her hands ought to have swayed: where nary a limb moved, and had already perhaps retreated away to the room’s shadow. She anticipated some outburst from her very heart to call them back and keep Aluhruna inside, yet knew naught would affect, so raved and rescinded thence to an ultimate silence. She was scraping terribly at her own thigh.
	As Tsui met upon the man’s quickening stride, he addressed aloud with a mark of frustration, “No reason should anyone again stray that damn far. Dry off.”
	They turned the junction to another hall. Samantha caught sight of Tsui’s head having been directed towards her, in one moment remaining in place, then succeeding this departure for her own concern, and she was left behind.
	Samantha glared abruptly at Maria. “How can we trust anything you lot say?” — yet before the woman could insert a word in response, she expounded thus: “I’m— There’s a lot you could’ve done to hurt us already, I know; you haven’t done a thing inside this room,” and as she continued, approached nearer — “but if all your secrets are going to fucking kill us, I won’t follow what you’ve planned at all!” With a heft in her words, she halted a few paces removed from Maria, who had kept herself without motion, evidently determining how to reply, yet upon the crux of their silence, altogether sighed and began tidying the upholstery of the seats. 
	“Ay, dear…” she spoke as she bent over to fix a misarranged cloth. Her second voice had shifted to another language. “Couldn’t have turned out worse, this week through. All we’ve told, you’ve confused everything. Now two of us are hurt—”
	“Two? What the hell do you mean, did someone else end up like her?” came Samantha’s outburst. 
	Maria faced her way. “A man of ours has had his shoulder with wound. Didn’t turn bad, blessing his, but God, such an ordeal so awful—”
	“You already knew this would all happen, then! Tsui was right, why the fuck wouldn’t you tell us anything about the tower? When Evdokija talked to me, she said barely anything about how dangerous this place is, just told me to go to these shit areas and places where we’d be able to ask for help, before going on about a stupid banquet! That’s it— And you didn’t even warn those two when you woke them up, either! You keep saying you’re helping us out, but you’re all not fucking doing anything!” But as she admonished her, Maria dropped herself on a chair and leaned forward, to a heavy brunt, placing her elbows upon her knees as she left her hands dangling across one another. 
	A moment elapsed as she stared ahead. “Not really the best— Wasn’t the best, you’re right…” she said with a hush, half perhaps to herself, then in an instant, instilled her attention to face Samantha, and proffered another response with a stern cast — this time with her Spanish voice in company. “Dear girl, what’s your name?”
	Samantha was taken aback, but nonetheless answered.
	“Ah, so you’re the one about whom Evdokija spoke when she here directed me. A pleasure,” and Maria gave her a delicate smile.
	“Well, what— And the others I was with, Tsui and Aluhruna, what did you tell them when they woke up?”
	“I did the best I could’ve, there was so much to keep track—”
	“Yes— Yeah, then that’s exactly why! There was never a case of gas poisoning to begin with, was there?! So why the fuck did none of you tell the truth about this? We almost died! We were taken to this fucking tower; Aluhruna and Tsui are now—”
	“Dear, you’d stop accusing, I wish,” Maria interrupted softly, together with her unknown foreign tongue. Her face was borne upon such quiet emphasis that her gaze fell despondent as she thrust the finality of her comport into Samantha’s eyes, and her lips faintly quivered. There was thus another constriction to Samantha’s thoughts, and she felt she could not reply in turn, not in whole, deliberating only on some scant subsequent words that might have resulted here apropos, but Maria continued, switching again her secondary language, “To you three I’ll apologize when Aluhruna’s awake. Ah, shit… Forgive me, it’s very difficult to keep all of this spiralling out of control. How tiring…” and with another breath, she looked away.
	They were kept in silence. Could but verdict be hauled forth by Samantha from the individual ails of their composure, the spasms of their fingers and lips, however spalled, more so for their fatigue, inexhaustible regardless in these sensate movements to flow down eagerly and reconcile that she might procure their exchange of the least consensus, even simple conclusion; but rot had come in volume to fray the fissure and mock her own voice by more and more dredged queries. She spoke again with greater compulsion, though her words were wrought more quietly this time, “Well, what should we do?”
	Maria’s eyes flashed upon her. “Listen only to what we tell, please. For everyone I’ve been repeating this, over and over, but even the others who woke before you days ago also wandered off, and out of our normal schedule we’ve been forced to corral everyone well. I just— Know we can’t do anything unplanned in this tower; it’s clear now to you. Nothing to any proper sense have we experienced. Sorry— We tried keeping you girls with that lie about poisoning; before telling you three the truth, I made a mistake thinking we’d be able to wait until settling everything down, but… Oh, that doctor was right — Evdokija and I shouldn’t have forced that plan.” Her blinks fluttered in rapid measure and the glaze of her eyes glimmered fair in the faint evening light. She exhaled heavily. “Now to you: do not involve anyone in any of its tricks, and stay away from anything questionable; if you have to, act ignorant. Corsair and I… Well, we’ve got a plan for us all to return home. We’ve tried studying some old papers in the library here for more information, too. We can’t walk just out the front door, you see. For reasons we haven’t figured out, we can’t even access a lot of these sections and rooms, but still, we’ve a plan that should permit our leave. Until more of us are awake; it’ll only take some time,” and with a final murmur, her attention was gradually cast to the floor. “If it’s any comfort, this room and Corsair’s clinic really are some of the secure places here, as few we have — truly are, should I say. This area alone we can call using the tower’s other phones. You must stay put — you’re safe here…” 
	Samantha observed the woman as she tendered these words, with whom she could not bring to mind how now to speak. Maria gave out another exhale and pushed herself up standing, fussed her dress to her previous decorum, and began to leave the seats for another corner of the room — with a click of her steps, she looked behind to address Samantha again, “You would care for some tea?”
	She did not reply. As Maria gave her another smile and resumed headway, Samantha looked on, watching her turning swiftly and endlessly into a prevailing silhouette as she passed by the windowless spaces and the towering shadowed structures weaved upon what veils of moon that had shone through elsewhere with strength. Samantha took her towel aloft and began to dry her face first, discovered it had already dried in its exposure to the cold, so moved to rid her hair as well of the wet, before she, too, left the table arrangement, and with a shaking handful of paces, attempted to follow Maria. “Oi!” she called out in a fervour as she wrung her mass of hair out. “Where the hell are you off to?”
	Maria spun around, but seemed not at all to be in surprise. Samantha could still see her face adorned with the remnants of her previous smile, which were slowly fading. “For us, I’m going to make tea, quite obviously,” and she pointed to the farther opposite wall where Samantha had first caught sight of her. “For the moment, I’ll visit just Corsair’s clinic. Go over there by the lamp and make yourself comfortable, a little bit behind you away from the room’s centrepiece. I’ll bring a candle later — and for you, some clothes dried nicely.” She moved behind a shelf and disappeared. 
	“What the hell…” Samantha muttered quietly with a slight grimace as she redirected herself to the other corner outlined, and when she approached it nearer, saw there was, indeed, a small unlit lamp perched atop a circular glass table, surrounded by cushioned chairs. The furnishing here was also of antique flourish, much like her first room, and the familiar scent of wood had been carried aloft to settle upon the faintest airs of crisp, dry linen, and so manoeuvring herself about, with the sharp stinging of her feet wrought to mind, she hoisted herself firm on the only chair deprived of any upholstery, neither daring nor desiring to position herself for any needless repose further upon the arrangement, no matter how deeply her shivers had assaulted. Her legs were wound with dullness replete, and she sighed, making certain her breath would enliven her chest for what passing moments had professed of the temptation to close her eyes and sway in place; yet would not risk more than a few sluggish nods, and the effort to open her eyes came to such an especial discomfort that she began rubbing her eyes with the towel, took fair handfuls of her clothing to wring away the cold water before wiping her skin underneath, more furiously now, muttering to herself, ensured these bare areas had turned red in lingering heat so suddenly brought to fore and condition by dredge and sting, keeping to this fervid haste in rubbing her face again, twicefold over, with nails in the third pass, if to abrade were so gratifying as to renew the feverish bloods of her energy, or applied pressure would turn to pain far beneath the contusions of her skull, and grunting aloud, she soon began to survey the shelf behind which Maria had crossed. Higher and higher it extended to worse disarray, with strange items there stored as the upper portions disappeared from view, and any immediate assurance to sickly assessment was thus benumbed of scarce worthwhile clarity. The make of its frame trailed on after as Samantha attempted to identify the objects kept inside, but finding nothing, she ranged any such shape along the corners and deep angles collapsed unto bleak plane, where moonlight had dissipated abruptly for the striking gasp of pale dying blues or had shadow dissolved contrariwise by far-flung beam in advance, that the measures since of these shifts had been clandestine ever-more to coax an observation debrided by reckless discernment, or in contradicting an onlooker of its own waning artifice, silence a tongue, engorge once more an eye, as befits she start over whither had the edges again reached her imagined silhouette, repeating and repeating and repeating as she waited. Samantha tapped the table — a shudder then throbbed fiercely to her attention, worse than those from the wounds of her feet, or the bruises to her head, and having grasped this dreaded influx with no accord erstwhile assumed by inactivity, struck upon the table with louder and louder taps; she ceased any effort to dry herself, merely clutching the towel with a tightening grip; one of her legs had been roused by erratic nerve and could no longer keep itself still, and she stood up, almost teetering due some burgeoned dizziness collapsing downwards to obscure her vision momentarily. She soon found herself shaking as the cold ravaged her skin and flesh in true exposure, and she took the towel to wipe herself with more vigour, taking to what warmth of these sensations she was well reticent by which to conduct a flaying, but soon discovered to have grown languid, increasingly, with each spasm and dullness in her strain, that though she attempted with an arm to lift the towel towards her opposite shoulder, the arm itself remained without feeling. It raised no higher than halfway, faltered forthwith, and was left only to quiver there in place. She gasped as she let it fall down. Her body ached with every consecutive struggle, would not move as she pleased, so failed in exertion, and exhausted itself worse and worse — she suddenly recalled Aluhruna beating upon her — and longed to stifle a yell, nonetheless cried out for the immediate rebound of having seized her body for bracing; cursed again, due to her fatigue in part, in greater deference to her thoughts, a single dreg of sensation, thought to hold these close soever her desire had willed by implanted lacunae as tightly as they could surmount physical ails, all for advent — but the pleas still continued, though her weeping had already succumbed to this frustration, and fury had no enduring spirit for expense, would that weariness be tormented away; did piteous sounds embrace Samantha by her frail shoulders, she the vagary, much too deteriorated to anoint herself attentive amidst a room or its black atmosphere, less still towards her steps unceasing in tapping little hollow echoes. How these plights and afflictions had elucidated the strikes of her memory by vivid blister, naught for any sentiment of hers in recall, no cold, nor to mediate crisis between operant, insult by redress, only that these had occurred and would recur through feeble bound as diminishes or screeches the bells of her volatility. Whereupon the passage can mind persist? Mercy for Tsui, mercy for Aluhruna — it would never suffice for each to remain so burdened after being sent to such a gross woman’s corrupted empathies. There her bruises throbbed, as did the pain in her limbs, her chest, those bleeding gashes at her feet; she felt but submissive, posed and unspeaking, there adrift in the moon — perhaps even obeisance shall be modelled to some bliss if ever a foundry utilizes her sinew in procedures she would never be able to apprehend, and while she took to this reprieve, was grateful the two others had gone off to sanctuaries in which she could not inhibit herself to step. The tower was made abhorrent, that alone proved true, yet through unto her disquiet, had also been conscript to her very emissions whether in seam or embrace, never the throe of concupiscence as withstood by nubile sanctity and as reneged by instruction — how may she be permitted to imbibe resource even further; when or where must she burst apart with vile deluge? All invariably had been set to the stratum of tremors and walkways she knew for which to be afeared, knew by her wild beating heart she possessed scarce else to bear far beyond what ramparts might a mendicant induce: to oust a palisade would meet her thin bones with frost and concrete, at her greatest advantage; at worst outcome, would see the clamour of her childish wishes all sacrificed for lightless mires to string a mockery of time, whither the cosmos gather about, searching her through — Samantha felt disgust, knew not towards whom, but deciphered how dearly each manner of its contrivance had aligned thereof threats, of violence, of deceit and coalitions and nothing, nothing, nothing more! Safety ought to lie with those girls — and see it likewise for her own blessing if the convergence aligns it so — but there she found nothing to propitiate her contempt. She sought to speak aloud, but could not find a soul: As she made her way to look down upon the length of some conjoined passage, she was stopped by two opposing assertions — believing that together, they were, in truth, part of an even larger and more chaotic amplitude than that of two assertions alone — and she did not advance another step. Her breath fluctuated, her hands moved absent-mindedly, and no matter how gratuitous in desperation she was now structuring a route, she understood herself locked in place, unknowing of what else haunted the tower. Samantha pulled out what remained of the torn and drenched map, but as she scrutinized its ruined details, she began to whimper to herself: here with anger, fraught with urgency, in some moments doing so for no other matter than supposing it a prerequisite there stood at the dark entrance of a new passageway. She searched and searched, but did not even know her undertaking— As she heard a noise behind her, she shouted in fright, turning thus, and saw only Maria approaching, who called out, “Samantha! Where are you going? Sit down just so and rest—” But before this sentence was completed, she had already begun to return. Her footsteps rang loud in the empty room, with inconsistent pace — she made sure not to look upon the other woman for long. 
	“You’ve been crying, dear girl.”
	With a start, Samantha reached up and wiped her eyes. She still felt weak.
	“And why are you wearing still those clothes all wet?”
	“I don’t— I— I just— Aluhruna and Tsui, they’re in some sort of clinic? With that man—” she muttered, wrapping the towel around her shoulders and clutching it close.
	Maria did not answer immediately and made her way to the glass table. She was holding in one hand a candle, and as they both neared the corner arrangement, Samantha caught the woman’s subdued, crestfallen gaze watching the entirety of her own body huddled underneath the towel. She turned herself aslant in step, but to her surprise — even for her very awareness that broke through thence — Samantha felt her gait racking heavily upon every push she made with her legs. With more crudity to her movements, she took her seat once again by the lamp. As Maria reached the wider opposite couch, she bent down and hurled a collection of cloth on its back. “That’s right. Corsair was downstairs to begin just about, but all in all, they’re resting now,” she huffed, “though they’ll be in there for a while, it’s likely, Aluhruna especially. But for treating them, he’s got plenty of resources. I regret telling them to stay put earlier. Even before you all met, Tsui told me that by the tower they were targeted. A lot of those unmarked routes are dangerous, but to be shot at inside her room? Until now, none of us has had that happen. I was wrong to be harsh on you three earlier.”
	Samantha’s eyes widened as she straightened up in her chair. “They’ll really be alright? Tsui—! Tsui was hurt on the way here, too—”
	“No need to worry, they’re both going to be okay. Corsair works wonderfully. She’s got some deep bruises around her ribs and on her legs some wounds, but that’s all.” Maria smiled and gestured with a brief point of her finger to add, “It’s in no small part because of your actions that they’ll be recovering, from what I heard.”       
	The very hoist of Samantha’s thoughts were wrought senseless but by these words— “Ay, dear girl,” Maria scurried to explain, “oh, no, I meant in saying she would’ve ended up much worse if in that hall you hadn’t helped, not that her you hurt. Oh, don’t look so down, dear girl, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you later,” but even as she relayed it so, Samantha neglected to appraise anything auspicious within her words. 
	“I’m just— I’m just glad they’re okay,” she relinquished, turning her face away from Maria’s. She found little reprieve in the fire of the candle that was now being placed on the table; felt ill, but somehow desired to stand again.
	“And you? I saw those wounds on your knees,” — and Maria leaned forward to observe the rest of her features. With a gentle hand, the woman pushed aside some stray hair dangling down above Samantha’s brow. “You’ve got— Bruises also, on your forehead… and even by your eye, and— No, I think you we should bring there, too.” 
	“No!” Samantha scrambled her feet closer underneath her chair; then immediately took to any steadiness that had remained in this composure — though little there was to clamber for — feeling absurd for her own outburst yet still abiding the other woman to the extent of her response with an aimless waving hand. “They’re nothing bad, I can’t feel them. I can’t even be bothered…”
	Maria did not respond in the resulting silence and only uttered a small noise before she shifted back to her strange pile of drapery. “Well, these,” — as Samantha peered over slowly, Maria fluttered some choice cloth this way and that, standing over and rummaging through coloured fabric of varying thickness — “are dry clothes for you: dresses and smocks, gowns and the same. I’ve already given Tsui and Aluhruna some, so you’re free to choose anything you’d like,” and with another sudden flash of a smile that even Samantha was caught by in surprise, she sniggered slightly, lifting a hand near her own chest and down to her hips, “but with a figure as fantastical as yours, I’m not sure these’ll be comfortable at all.”
	Samantha did not reply, instead providing a dull sound between her breath. It was then she realized Maria was not wearing gloves as had Evdokija, and her sleeves were instead rolled up to her elbows.
	“Goodness, dear girl, that was a more obvious compliment than just earlier. You I’d work sickly to get smiling even once tonight! That Tsui, you know, I managed even to get a laugh out of her?” She chuckled softly as she held the candlelight close to the lamp’s wick. It was set alight and duly encased in its glass, and she turned its screw to great brightness. The smell of gas was caught in the chill airs, but dissipated as swiftly as it had been carried forth. “And here’s your lamp. Now go get warm,” Maria concluded and blew the candle out, glancing at her companion. 
	“Thank you,” said Samantha, and with a slow turn upwards of her head, nodded weakly to Maria, who brought a hand forward and reciprocated with a gentle caress on her shoulder. She indicated the clothes with a flagging gesture. “I’ll— I can try some on later.” 
	“… Are you sure you’re alright? Corsair can take in, still.”
	“No, no, I’ll be right. I think— All I need to do is rest a bit, I think,” she said with shallow breath, leaned away, and clasped her hands one upon the other.
	“You’d be better off mentioning if there’s anything we can help with.”
	“… Right.”
	“Ah, and the tea!” Maria jolted upwards. “I’ll make ready right now, so wait a bit, please. And stop putting on those airs, don’t ignore the cold. I’ll be actually stern again and threaten to strip you at Corsair’s if, by the time my patience has run out, those clothes haven’t been changed. Do it first instead of resting. Better to swap them for even a rebozo — before I’m back, you’ll end up catching frostbite,” she waved her palm lazily to Samantha, who again refrained from giving a response. 
	Maria leaned closer. “Samantha, dear girl,” called her quiet voice.
	Gradually, she faced her way. 
	“I’ll be really quick. I haven’t broken that promise, now, have I?” To another flair of gesture, she turned around and continued on her object, carrying the candle along. Samantha watched her light flicker across the room before she passed behind the same shelf as before — Maria’s shadow reached high, crossing over every now and again as a soft clattering chimed out towards Samantha, whose view had latched upon wherever the candlelight faded to all the rest of the dark. She was contemplating something or another, some sentiment in temperance she slowly failed to keep in ready mind, though as she remembered not to remain inattentive, Maria could be heard making her way back, and Samantha held herself again to refrain from standing. The other woman was, indeed, quick to return, for it felt not even a minute had passed since she had gone to make tea. 
	“There are a few flavours only.” She was placing down two large cups on the table. A floral scent wafted high, and steam emanated from them both with waving billows. Samantha did not move to receive hers and kept herself seated as Maria continued, “But though I’m sure you’d be fine with any of them, for stress like this, not should we spare the finest.” Maria took hold of a pen and a piece of folded paper fastened to her waist by her wrap belt, before pointing to a small box on the table. “It’s earl grey, and if there’s anything I know for sure, you enjoy it like all other Brits, no?”
	Samantha held the hook of her immediate breath to snatch up a frown towards the woman. “You know where I’m from? How— What, do you have all sorts of personal info on us, then?” She continued to watch Maria by the restraint she placed from glaring in full, set to seize any form of discrepancy upon the woman’s next answer.  
	“No, nothing like that, dear girl. Here and there, just so. I’m curious about where we’re all from, sure, but I never pry where I don’t need. Though, for you, I guess you look like one — except for the black hair.” She raised a flat palm and held it aligned with her sight as she closed one of her eyes. “See, you’ve got a British look if it’s covered up. The accent of that other voice is also telling, really, no matter which language I hear.” 
	“I guess that’s how Tsui also knew my country, to be fair, but I mean, I could’ve… moved somewhere else… I dunno,” Samantha said with some coiled, lurching measure to her words, yet felt she could proceed and reach over for her cup. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve got all our secrets in an office somewhere,” she scoffed.
	“No, dear girl, no, I’ve before met a few Brits, that’s all — though I suppose it was a bit of a good guess; we both seem removed apart quite far. Who knows how much things have changed between eras?” Maria spread her paper out to its breadth and took the pen, which was not yet uncapped. She was spinning it around her knuckles and her fingers, looking at Samantha’s tea. “Might be too hot, careful.”
	Samantha sought to divert the conversation. “Where are you from, then?” she replied, keeping the cup in her hands for longer than intended. It was a comfort to touch. “You’ve got Spanish, but there’s that other language you swap into from time to time?”
	“Me? I’m from P—” she began, but smiled cheekily and interrupted herself with a short chuckle. “I think it’d be more fun for you to guess like I did, actually. Mine wasn’t really a guess, you see, but it’s the same, it’s the same.” 
	She stared on blankly as Maria propped up her chin with her wrists and leaned forward. It was unto a soundless exhale by which Samantha decided anything thence of further effort than even a blink or gesture would reciprocate as far too hassling a response for the flagging aches in her limbs, yet with sluggishness, still gave a start, crossed one leg over the other, and began to observe the other woman in full: She was traced with gentle features, and each outline of her young face that stood out with immediacy somehow faded into all the rest, none with any lasting prominence even in supplement; but having her attention renewed fresh proportional to the basis with which Maria’s visage had settled across, with neither ripple nor stir, Samantha's focus continuously drifted to the bright gleaming of the woman’s eyes, and the more she glanced at them, the larger they seemed to become, coordinated as they were by every flaunt of her plump lips with her mouth's sly grin; the more had those same surrounding features come blossoming altogether with sudden verdant contours, made an adventurer of an acquaintance where once had appeal been subtle, perhaps even stagnant to a stranger’s imagination, and would that her gestures trickle forward to beckon each prospect or remark continue by the sways of her ever-present attentiveness. No other physicality could be emphasized save her complexion, for even during their first encounter, Samantha was able to identify her pale brown skin as a foremost attribute, but could not make anything of it alone. There remained all her speech in Spanish, what Hispanic lilts and complements embellishing her English voice whenever she had pressed on her words with emphasis: enough a compound to her looks that Samantha had felt she was able to hazard forward a vague guess or two, but as she ranged these thoughts, each one worsened her ailments, and every constriction in her head ensued of a glance thither to Maria’s staring, slightly tilted face, was aggravated now in her dizziness by the beating of those hasty quiet pleas she had since learned to disdain, and she soon cared little for answering at all. The woman brandished her expectant cast fair abounding in the lamplight. Any vivacity on her behalf that had flowed forth gleamed fiercely against her black attire, and an especial balance was foisted amidst her allure, where the fogged visuals in mete had not allowed anything more through haze than her stature itself. Samantha scarce understood what first had proven the crux to decipher, and her inquiries and exhortations sublimated further into drafts throbbing of more complexity than the previous adornment — oh, how sickly she felt each matter would sting her eyes with every hot blink, these labours thus merging; with successors, too, falling apart; the tally joined together again; in mania withal was she pained to separate ceaselessly what words and theories and susurrations she believed were of her very making, whence ought Maria herself be removed from the fire and stood alone in gladness away from inflamed tongue — yet as any adornment shall oblige, here had all mind been moulded reverse due this same woman before her, as conflux once more, merely to turn backwards again aloft the prompt, curiosity and focus now jarred in a draught by Maria’s intrigue with crusted eyes aflutter; she was unable to discern how long either of them had spent seated and arranged as they examined one another around the table. “Are— Are you from South America—?” Samantha wondered aloud in this swell before her. She had cut off her question too late.
	“Hah? Where? Oh, goodness, south’s not even an answer at all! Well, it's to nothing: If you’ve got to know,” she declared, standing again, twirling and providing her with a curtsey, this time in whole display. Her face shone with joy — Samantha gave a deep exhale due some sentiment of surprise and amusement, still somehow mute, but the vorticities of the woman’s expressions had urged Samantha herself be graciously permitted to lean forward on her seat with proper interest; closer, too, to the light, as Maria continued, arcing one of her arms above in elegant fashion while she turned aface — her lips seemed to beam aloud on their own behalf: “To your ever-courteous designation as stood here tonight, my name is Maria Ramona Cubillas, from the very most esteemed and stalwart Republic of Paraguay so hailing; within the crucible of the 19th century, 1866; abound thereof humanity’s dwelling-heart, as much permits God’s bestowal, His greatest, as much alights His covenant glorious,” and with another soft chuckle, she stood upon high and pointed a bent hand towards Samantha to asseverate, “and o brilliances to blessings; o soul for your grace: as dictates such courtesy, you I must ask give the name thus owned and respected, the birthright thus owned and respected, that nation-blood in full ownership and respect, o darling madam cherished!” to which Samantha gave out a little laugh, immediately curtailed it, and suddenly gazed back at Maria with wide eyes. “Aha!” Maria shouted with glee. “I didn’t expect to fulfil that promise in such a short time,” and she also laughed. Samantha could no longer keep from her own delight, and so with a grin, propped herself to form on her chair. “Fair enough: My name’s Samantha Halley, from the U.K. It’s 2026 for me.” Maria gave another short bow, clutching at her dress as naturally as had her countenance flashed out with happiness, sat once more, and finally took to her tea. “Quite the answer. I should call you Halley instead?” 
	“Nah, just ‘Samantha’ is alright.” 
	“Then, alright. I wasn’t able to guess which era you live in. In some of the other wardrobes around this tower have I seen that fashion so devilish; here only. And goodness— You could then take just one of these dresses and switch out? You’ll be really sick!” She whipped around and began to flick again through the clothes behind her. 
	“It’s fine, it really is. I’ll do it after I finish drinking this.” 
	Maria stopped with a grunt and carried her gaze briefly over Samantha’s hands up to her hairline, but Samantha had already reached and taken a sip of her own tea; realizing thence how parched she had become since waking, drank even more, relishing in its warmth and familiar taste. 
	“Don’t be silly, then, alright? Take at least another towel,” Maria smiled on, and tossed a second one over. “And these are the sort of clothes they wear in Europe in the future? The continent, even? That’s too much in the open all spilling out with how unbuttoned your blouse has been tonight, but I guess you’re still managing to look… interesting? Like something for which we’d drag out a camera. Most women would lose dignity wearing something like that, including me.”
	“Oh— It wasn’t meant—” Samantha hurriedly fastened her upper buttons. “I’m— When I was running, my top I think— I shouldn’t wear this right now, actually… It all depends, I’m not really sure about every girl I know putting something like this on— It’s really just everything and anything, what we wear,” she stammered in reply and swapped her towel for the drier fabric; held herself unsatisfied yet again to these words, but was somewhat unable to think of a better answer by the sickly florid blush of her cheeks. “These shorts aren’t even skimpy, right — we’ve got ways to mix and match, so we just go for whatever looks nice to us. All we need to do is search it up— Research, I mean. Kinda similar to you lot, really,” and as she observed, saw that Maria, akin to Evdokija — and per an onset of realization, also akin to Tsui — was of somewhat light stature in the alignment of her shoulders with her limbs and neck, albeit taller and more robust than them both; contoured better in fashion as well by the alterations of her dress than the former.
	“Ah, ‘Looks nice,’ is it so, is it so?” the woman chimed with great interest and moved close, though not without stifling a sharp smirk towards which Samantha decided best to respond only with a shy tremble of her mouth. “Things this basic don’t change much across time, then! Any notion of beauty has worth and placement. You have some idea about this, how nice. About that same concept, you know, I’ve read in books and accounts or paintings and all, but I guess talking to someone like you helps me understand much more. And our speech — I know we have all these voices overlapping, oh, how I can’t forget about them just like that, but imagine how different our conversations would be in reality — but our speech still makes sense to each other, talking about stuff like fashion! Oh, it’s good to talk so easily! Tell me what later centuries are like, then!” 
	Samantha blinked at her, in part to stifle her coursing heartbeat, and she puckered her lips. Her eyes flitted to empty spaces. “I guess… It’s much safer than what you’re used to— I dunno much about the 1800s, but,” she said as she strained to think, “… with medicine, I guess—? There’s a lot more convenience. I think that doctor of yours should know about it; he could probably be from my era based on the report you guys gave me. If you want to know about the century after yours, I guess it’s better to just ask Tsui once she’s out of the clinic. If it’s the 19th, though— Then, yeah, there’s a lot more ways for people in my time to do whatever they want— Like what I said, what I’m wearing— People wear stuff a ton more slutty than this, you know, to an extent. But yeah, there’s also a lot of things that could put you in danger if you go full send — there’s always someone exploiting someone cause of how much you can do with all the info out there. I guess we could relate to each other on that level. You know,” she glanced back with a steadier shift in her voice, “I think we’d be here for a ton of time if I listed everything. Ah, something that you’d probably find interesting is how easily we can talk to someone else in another country. We could be having this conversation right now if you were in Paraguay and I was back in the U.K., you know what I mean?”
	Maria narrowed her eyes. “Like one of those electric telegraphs? Those are a pain from far off. They’ve found out how to send responses overseas within a day, do you mean?”  
	“Nah, we don’t take time at all,” Samantha said after sipping from her cup, waving a hand. “It’s like a second— We’d be having it the same way like now, with something like this,” and she took out her phone to display it on the table. “We wouldn’t have to wait before saying anything back. Or writing anything back, really.”
	As Maria quickly took it in her grasp, she exclaimed with delight, “That sounds so good! Sending letters with that kind of speed, I’d dream only so…” She was turning over the phone this way and that, bringing her eyes close. “Wonderful, wonderful! So what’s the point of this little box, it’s just a mirror…?” She stared up at Samantha with a wide cheerful mouth, evidently unaware of how to proceed. “Oh! We’d write something on top?” she asked, skimming softly over its screen with her pen. 
	“I guess you could, but that one doesn’t work right now, it’s dead. Actually, now that we’re here,” Samantha shifted her gaze around the room, “Evdokija told me there was a way to fix that. D’you know if you have any chargers around here?”
	“Well, I don’t have any idea what that is in the slightest, but towards the shelves here was she referring, probably, the ones categorized for people— For your era, I mean,” she began — then she rose, hardly finishing her sentence before making her way to a nearby cabinet. “There’s one here I’m told is labelled for the… What century, again, dear girl, the 21st? 2026? The first we’ve met from so far into the future, so the storage is tucked away a little bit. A while…” And after searching inside for a brief moment, she waved out a hand and beckoned for Samantha, who at once stood and approached her side, clutching at her own arms as she left the lamp.
	“Not by us was this place organized, not this comms room. Is anything in here familiar?” 
	The drawer was filled with various items, packed with wires and objects, metal, plastic and glass contraptions bearing neither identification nor familiarity to even her own knowledge, but as Samantha began to push them aside and scour the box through, she chanced upon the exact charger needed since waking. “Ah, it’s there, this is it!” Pulling hence, she presented it towards Maria. 
	“That’s well, then. I hope it works properly in here.”
	“Oh, there’s nothing at all to it, I’m just happy you guys even have it.” She smiled and laughed with excitement, was then overcome with great shivers — whether to her new fervour or the cold, she could not specify, grabbing Maria’s arm instead and leading her to the table. “All I need’s an outlet now— Let’s go back, it’s fucking freezing—!”
	“That’s why I warned! Those trousers are so short, goodness— While standing now—” and as they returned, Maria began to forage through the pile of clothes for the third time that evening, before taking two separate pieces out and holding them aloft. “Here: on your figure, I’ve a good feeling it’ll fit nicely. Don’t bother anymore about the wet clothes, I’ll have them dried.”
	Samantha looked on and set the charger down. A presentiment came over her to refuse the dresses once again, but here did she accept Maria’s hospitality and take them thus in her hands. “Oh, fine, then.”
	“Wonderful! Take this— Yes, you’ll need to wear the chemise first, then wear this on top. Too bad I couldn’t find any corsets — or bodices, even — for you, especially. These’ll have to do you right with warmth, just about.”
	“Have you got a bra?”
	“What’s that, now?”
	“Anything to support my tits, I don’t want them flailing everywhere if I’ve got to run again.”
	“Oh yes, that’s what I mentioned just then.”
	“Oh, right — but if you haven’t got any, that’s—”
	“Nonsense, I can find whatever you need later. Wear those for now.” 
	“What— Right, that’s all good — anything’s better than the clothes I’ve got on right now. Could— Could you turn around, please?” she asked. Maria obliged. Thus had the dress been bestowed to her care in utmost deferral, and the thrift of these words wrought Samantha almost to twirl by the course of her new warmth as she also faced away from the little fire, feeling, perhaps, that any such chill would come prancing upon the minute cambric of her skin, and any shivers shall simply invigorate more, and excitement dwell by its tremors thither — perhaps no recourse necessitated she change her clothes at all. With her thumbs had she hooked the hem of her drenched blouse, clutched it so underneath, and with both hands began to raise the fabric up and over to expose the bare of her torso to the puncturing airs. She pressed down on her wet skin. Her damp mass of hair coiled densely, as had the cloth, across the strictures of her upper back, her spine, hollow bones or tightness or sudden rippling flesh withal due each consecutive strike she was unable to invoke beforehand for bracing but by a gasp, soever stifled for another sensation surmounting in clutch through the ills of her reluctance. Her pain had not again burgeoned, not in whole, yet all the fingers holding her blouse half-lifted seemed now to be fully restrained, and she could only dispose herself quivering to the dark of the room before her. The lamplight proffered a shift in parallax woven between the towers of compartments and cabinets, and Samantha leaned her body to trace the figures as much she dared beyond the stilled black, by the depths and mire of a mere second was engrossed to venture towards the standing monoliths and hide herself behind the pillars, away from Maria; though relenting, with a strangling exhale, bowed her head, trailed her hand along her waist, and began to remove her clothing with especial tenderness. The textiles caught cold around her shoulders, latched then around her elbows — she was forced to clamber through — with greater exertion, grunted aloud, nonetheless suppressed her voice again from crying out and abrading her raw throat as she continued to remove article by article in the very confines of the small flickering fire. She could not advance upon the notion she was disposing of all her attire to complete nudity. Her head remained craning over, though absent of any insistence to peer elsewhere but the blouse, its fabric, all her lower raiment, perhaps a finger or two should her bravery have mounted, even her arms if necessity arose, but did not chance any diversion further in this courting. Her eyelids were kept half-closed as she desired with a tremble not to accommodate the scenario in whole, and shying her vision straight forward, felt the clothes about for disposal; with every omitted shiver came forth another deluge of unsteady sound, whence had each reprimand had suffered the tendrils of sinewed lung to claw the skin above, would that the task be accomplished at once with more haste, more haste, and thus did her whimpers fret in travail. By whatever agreement with Maria preceding, there now clashed to mind prospect of hands, of mouths, laughter again, and shadowed in her sight were bleak walls and bleak slabs, and still she continued to shudder before the greater mass as had each morsel and all sensitivities of her naked musculature, fats, tendons been debrided amidst boundaries far beyond view — the scathe would allow no reprieve, naught shall ever be attained, never in complement, none would accentuate of any remnant true by the matters towards her intent: Samantha sought each piece and pulled to tear, watching every garment fall after wrenching it off, with eagerness only to be dressed again, away from the dark, and there she surrendered, submitting herself splayed replete by the heft of every sob upon the cold empty floors as exhibited for Maria’s provisions— 
	“Not you would say those clothes are unfamiliar a bit?” came the voice.
	Samantha gasped. “I— I don’t— We’ll just— See how it feels—” And though she had wished to compose herself firm, her struggles surged every impulse opposite and impelled all movement with even wilder flails as she wiped herself off with the towel, terribly and terribly; so had she taken the dress in her hands, thrashed it outwards, felt tender pain as she forced her arms inside the dress from below with naught to touch or sense but dying skin, death alone; Maria’s speech resounded in her breast, and some other scream echoed through, that these very grasps would remain there tormenting at the strike of an embrace so bound for these loveliest broken desires, and Samantha followed with cradling limb; but as she pulled the clothing over her head and shoved it down over her body, the cold disappeared, her hands were held steadfast gripping its waistline, and her knees no longer declined in stance: everything had ceded in this stupor for ease. Her own breath halted as well — yet during this brief lapse, to a step of her own accord, provoked somewhat by sharp lip, she chose to peer down regardless, knowing she would not perceive herself naked. Before her eyes fluttered the first dress fallen gracefully to frame. She beheld it in shock, but did not linger for such further affectation, pressing on; bending now and clasping some handfuls of cloth to unveil it more. Her fingers wavered in its sudden gentle warmth. The trailing moment granted she might exhale, and thus, Samantha deposed care of all from mind, relinquished even more for her to spin freely, return to the table, and beckon Maria to perhaps witness her image anew, and she settled herself there alone, as much she had permitted to rest her eyes in a long, unconcerned blink. Samantha smiled as she examined the dress along its very contours. She twisted herself about, with all attention enclosed on its make: soft and white, somewhat sheer, fallen gently across her physique. Her body acclimated quickly to its comforts. It was to her understanding what she now wore served as an undergarment in likeness, plain and unassuming as it could ever be appointed to a total ensemble; but even its current, initial arrangement — Samantha fancied — administered well enough leisure to allow she continue on with naught else. As she giggled to herself, keeping quiet, she held the other dress high and pulled it similarly over her head, crawling again inside the cloth, this time assured of the ease of such motion — but soon stopped, as it had collapsed crumpled down upon her chest. She could not feel for where the sleeves began.
	“Ah— M— Maria?” she called out, turning back with the dress obscuring her vision. A tremble of fear had seized her, but she heard the other woman’s voice and held onto her calm.
	“What on earth are you doing?” Maria laughed as she came closer.
	“Oh— I just— Can’t find the sleeves.”
	“Here— Lift your right arm, just so— My gosh, good girl, this first dress is supposed to be loose-fitting, but with the way it clings, looks sized down already— That’s it, you can run your hands through. Wait, there’s some cloth here tying up the whole thing…” 
	They fixed the second dress, and the whole garment was soon framed neatly past her head down to her hips, before flaring towards the floor due the heft of its hemline. Flat embellishing cap sleeves hugged each shoulder atop the cuffs of the first dress, leaving her arms bare, and she noticed she now wore something of a blouse attached to a long, ruffled skirt, which barely skirted by her ankles. Samantha found herself unable to refrain from smiling again. “Oh, the whole thing looks wonderful! Thank you.”
	“Oh, it’s not complete, even. Here.” She was handed a strip of dark cloth, which shone greener with every specular gleam of the lamp upon its fabric as she observed it close. After tying this sash around her waist, Maria gave a light squeal of satisfaction. “Ah, it looks wonderful! You’ve more than enough to the hips for it, and goodness, there was no need to measure, even.”
	“Nah, everything fits so nicely! I’m actually a bit surprised; where did you find this? Was it just… lying about?”
	Maria shrugged. “By a previous occupant was it left behind, probably. I guess we should be grateful for all the clothes in here to have been tidied so easily.”
	“Does it have anything I can put on for my arms, then, like a glove or something?”
	Maria stared at her for a moment, then slumped her shoulders down. “Damn, I forgot you need them.” She bent over the pile of clothing.
	“It’s just fine for me to wear anything for warmth— D’you have any loose outerwear? I love those.”
	“A coat’s what you’re referring to…?”
	“Yeah, yeah, just a loose coat.”
	“Loose? No, that wouldn’t complement your figure nearly well enough, no.”
	“But I’ve got the ribbon here to help show off my waist, I think that’s alright. Well, actually,” Samantha paused. “… I think you’re right, the silhouette’s gonna be thrown off with loose-on-loose on top.”
	“There, now you understand! Oh! Here we go.” She handed to Samantha a cropped jacket with long sleeves. “I’ve no idea what era it comes from, but the dark green should match the white of your dress and skin — you’d tell me, why are you so pale?” 
	“Oh, that’s—” Samantha flung her sudden focus with more ostentation towards Maria than she had wished or expected and looked away in a trice to the lamp, yet was unable to commit any detail amidst the light for designated measure, if measure at all truly had its place in her dialogue. “Well, I don’t… It’s what it is, I guess — my body…”
	“Do you have a sickness? Before arriving here, I mean, something chronic?”
	“No, no, um—”
	“Then you need sun, dear girl, it would be bad for your face to keep with pallor so poor.”
	Samantha’s face flushed with an ill heat.
	“Take now this coat — I guess we can call it a coat, see? The colour’s perfect, and won’t clash with your hair, either.”
	“Yeah, it’s— It’s like some sort of shrug,” Samantha was eager to point out, with a brisk loud voice. She took the clothing quickly and dressed herself. It was held along only the top portion of her torso and did not fall lower than her shoulder blades, clinging as well to her arms. A small set of laces had been attached to its front underneath the high collar, guided of its cut by the bony lines of her clavicles and downwards more to trace the full horizontal contour of her uppermost ribs. “Yeah, it’s really snug — I love how it looks.” Her eyes did not meet Maria’s, though she seized taut her shoulders and chest in anticipation for the woman to speak anew.
	“It’s not fixed quite yet, come here—” Maria gestured for her to come close as Samantha smiled weakly in response. She reached for the laces and tied them together. 
	“Is this the proper way to wear it?” Samantha asked as she raised her chin, again with excessive haste. With every care Maria took to tighten each string, the jacket’s collar was enclosed nearer and higher.
	“Should be. Strange, the hem ends much shorter in front than the back, almost as high as the yoke. Whole thing’s like a yoke, frankly. Is it supposed to frame your cleavage from the top, in a way? Like that French style, but upside-down. What a weird chemisette sort of thing— Go spin around, I wonder how it looks.”
	Samantha did so, and her attention was entranced once more by the new outfit adorning her body. She let out a small giggle. Maria gave a faint shallow gasp. “I think it’s elegant,” Samantha said, caressing the side of her neck.
	“I do, too! You could be painted now, the way I see it!” the other woman reciprocated with another sound of happiness and approached her again, tidying her dress here and there while interrupting herself with every displacement of Samantha’s sash. “I— Should— Try and look for more undergarments you could wear, really… but this should be alright for now. This neckline’s plunging still, but there’s allure even in that.”
	“No, no, it’s alright, I can make do, anyway. I’m pretty used to having none. I didn’t even have anything under my blouse earlier.”
	“That sounds like too much of a hassle,” Maria teased, “at least from my experience, but if it does well… In an hour or so, I’ll get your clothes dry, anyways.” She rose with the heft of yet another twirl, almost in step as Samantha flared her dress out with a kick. “Thanks, Maria.” “Oh, I should be thanking you, gorgeous! Nothing anymore for those short boyish pants all puffy. I knew you’d look even more beautiful in a dress.”   
	“Well, why don’t we switch your clothes, too?” Samantha exclaimed, but when she peered across, the woman exhaled deeply and sent another laugh her way, though it was not of carefree token, muttered, in part, by indiscretion on her behalf; it was hardly loud, scarce in mirth, and before Samantha was able to append more to her question, Maria turned to place dress atop dress more neatly onto the existing pile. She pulled at her chair and sat, and with both hands, began to brush over her own apparel, pressing down on any creases that had appeared. “Ay, can’t do so,” she muttered as she took her pen, craning herself over the paper and flattening it repeatedly, flattening it more, doing so as she grazed her other hand upon the table for her cup. “Should— Come sit here again. The tea might be turning cold.”
	Samantha joined her around the lamp, watching closely, but the woman did not look up and instead began to write. She was leaning her neck on a bent palm, pinning close the veil that had been pushed back overhead down to her shoulders. As this lapse in exchange proceeded, Samantha chanced away to wrap her fingers around her own cup, which was still quite warm.
	Maria scribbled a word with quick, broad movements of her wrist, and dotted some lines loudly as Samantha drank.
	It was not long after when she separated from the paper. Though the pen was still held firm, she smiled and sighed. “You look beautiful, dear girl, truly.”
	There appeared in her eyes a little cast of courtesy that seemed neither to behold her companion’s dress nor even her face, Samantha thought as she met her gaze. Though the tea was still held to her mouth, she did not drink more, instead teetering forward to set it down with a clatter. “Well, I really have you to thank,” she said in a blush, straightening high, obliging herself quickly to affix this exchange with another response.
	Before she could say anything more, however, Maria spoke anew, “How many years have you?”
	“Twenty.”
	“Huy, and you’re even younger than I am,” she groaned amidst a faint giggle.
	“Really? I thought— How old are you?”
	“Twenty-one.”
	“Oh, come off it, that’s only one year off. Shit, in the longer scheme of things, we’re pretty much the same age, to be fair — it’s nothing compared to centuries.”
	“You’re talking so sweetly, dear girl — I might as well be old bones and creaks at this point,” — and she gave another flourish of her arm, waving it by her elbow. “Flatter as much as you’d like, but all this is too much activity, too much.”
	“Well, I—!” Samantha said aloud, eager to interrupt as she raised her tea. “Well, I think— I think you’re pretty, too.” She gestured as well with her cup to Maria, yet was unable to remain aface, and shifted her eyes.
	The woman sat still to truncate even her swiftest blinks, then scoffed and frowned with subtle astonishment before returning to her paper. “Won’t deny the obvious, sure, but for all that prettiness on my behalf, don’t say anything about its endurance in this tower.”
	As she continued to write, Samantha reached over to her hand and beckoned, “What are you talking about? No, what— I’m not lying! I even thought you were a teenager, really! I know you’re tired and all, but shit, we all are, who cares? I swear you’re pretty, come on.” A smile in full bloom started to appear on Maria’s face, which she attempted to force into another blank expression, but blundering so, could only look off to the side as a grin broke through. Her little gestures shifted into other small gestures, and with a touch more slack, she rested down her forearms and began to tap her pen lightly on the table; the black dress she wore was furnished into relief and was now all the more entrancing as she was carried to her charm. Samantha felt it unfortunate that Maria was evidently unaware of the effects of her very own delight, for she had become even more attractive. After a short reprieve, she strained to calm her face back to the same stern demeanour Samantha saw prior — who, by her own claim, was already in preparation for a new retort — but Maria spoke first in a grating voice, “Oh, you young women know how to soften an old witch’s heart, really, but I’m afraid I don’t have any candies to reward,” and taking a fist to her chest, began to lean over in staggered lurches and dry groans as she fashioned her pen a minuscule cane, before pressing herself on the table in a fit of laughter. Samantha was bewildered, and could not refrain from laughing as well.  
	Maria whipped back up. “Stop distracting, I’m writing something of importance, extreme and dire,” punctuating every descriptor with a delay and a circling prod of the pen in the air.
	“Yeah? Is that why you’re taking ages?”
	“Well, not did I expect to attend you women coming in for an emergency all of a sudden.”
	“Oh? I thought that was the point of this whole building. You should do the same, then, you guys could’ve at least prepared something more urgent to distract us with.”
	“How clear, how clear, we should’ve had all three of you parading the halls to wake everyone else, yes.”
	“Oh, yeah, speaking of them,” Samantha smiled down at her own outfit, “you said they picked out clothes, right? Which ones did they get—?”but before even finishing her question, had already stifled it fallen to a low, sullen quaver, all enthusiasm soon bereft of heat by the sting of some odd bile along her throat to fester alone as she was reminded of the others. The thought of Maria’s face swept across the minute sutures of her intrigue with every caress, surging downwards, taking especial measure upon its lining to pluck and pluck; thus did Samantha cast her eyes from the table towards the endless dark of the room. Its ceiling was higher than she had first believed, where now the dimming silhouettes contained within seemed dimmer still, almost completely obscured away from any enduring evening light; but by the grace of this observation, marked her focus too heavily weathered for each rapid survey across its linings due the gas lamp without, ascertaining any broken corner or pillar or structure existed in her imagination — yet could only conclude the area entire would be enlarged regardless if any other person would delineate these misgivings separate — and so she broke off once more, saw a figure or object or another there stationed in stance close to a distant hallway, and felt disgust, naught else, nothing ever so vicious and vile in perpetuity that it could only ever be disgust she could perceive there seated in the middle of the room by a solitary glow; her head throbbed again, and she glanced at Maria with a puzzled look, slowly, obliging herself more fatigued in movement, even worse to refrain sharing another word about the room, unknowing of where else she could latch her sight. She discarded from her mind the beauty of the dress she wore.  
	“Tsui picked them out. If I recall…” Maria set aside her pen. She seemed not to be aware of Samantha’s worry. “Chose some of the dresses longer-sleeved, and for Aluhruna, some shawls… some of those fittings that were more loose — the ones you were talking about, actually. It’s unfortunate: they both have frames so pretty, but for her was she piling just one dress on top of another. Not do I know if even what she picked would look good enough on Aluhruna, that girl’s quite tall! Tsui herself was quite stubborn in being the one to choose, but— Well, considering she came here with apparel that lovely and how, after waking, held herself so wonderfully, I daresay she’s got the eye for presentation quite so. I’m not concerned much. Some of those styles in old Oriental used to be so gaudy before their war. Too much even for us women, but they’ve fallen out, I guess — no, she’s perfectly pleasant to admire! Could fix her dress to flatter her very well. She’s got a figure slender and gorgeous, and perhaps we can style her hair somewhat…”
	“… Well, knowing a bit how she’s like— I mean— How do I— She’s definitely not going to spare any clothing she can for Aluhruna,” came stumbling Samantha’s voice. 
	“Certainly. Agh, damn it! They’re both beautiful, but every time I meet with them, they’re either frightened or angry, miserable or…” Maria drifted off with a weak sigh. “I feel for them, really, I do. Want nothing more than to speak to them like— Well, as we are right now, just this! Like normal, with nothing else on our minds but a gathering elegant and cups of tea, at least. They deserve that much.”
	But staring away, too, was Samantha, who frowned without mind towards the table. “But— But it’s just like you said, then, that it’d be good to talk to them again when they leave the clinic.” She forced herself to smile, but did not lift her head.
	“Yeah, that’s just it! Yes, yes— We’ll do that exactly, once it happens. Say,” Maria clapped her hands together, “we’ve to see them in proper form, and meet them in the same way. The banquet that’s been planned could be our opportunity best— I mean—” She kept her mouth agape for a brief pause, though not for absent mind, for her eyes had begun to scour across the glass table. “No, well— I mean, if possible! For the guests, at least: Ought to dress those two with some decorum! I’d disturb that medical room right now to beg them immediately and start planning ensembles, just so. Even if they’re as simple as anything we can scrounge from this place. Anything with care put into choosing, even the tiniest bit more than something to keep them dry only. Don’t need any more misfortune— Hey, hey!” Maria suddenly raised her voice, “I’d love to see them in all their splendour full!” Her lilts echoed joyfully across and over to the far walls. “And Corsair— You saw earlier, no?” 
	Her question wrought to Samantha’s mind the immediate figure of the man’s entrance after he was previously called into the room, settling whence the memory of his gaze, stern throughout, and bleak upon her shivering body. Coiled seizing throbs strung what nerves in skin for dredge and new upheaval, and though embedded far, these were never to turn insensate, as thus had presided the extent of her courtesy. If maligned of rotting fever or of dead cold, she could not determine, however, keeping but the man’s face alone in thought. Only a grunt came as a response she believed most prudent for her answer, not to remedy, not by her mouth, as frivolous it might have been — how imperceptible the sound — and she listened less in comport but by the stirs of Maria’s continuation. “Such a man like him, so dashing? Come, him I’d never exclude for anything! He keeps coats unbuttoned always and doesn’t mind they’re the type meant for fastening to form, even! And he knows they’re double-breasted — who’d be so careless as to let wool flap around everywhere? They come with belts attached already! No, someone like him ought to find even a little bit of propriety in a party, no. You and I, too: we’d dress for the occasion!” The woman pointed excitedly between them both.
	“How about—” Samantha pursued not to speak of the doctor. “Well, if it’s us, what sort of clothes would we even wear, though?”
	“Come, dear girl, that’s the fun: I don’t have an idea! For you, I think you’d look good in anything, just about, you’re quite slender all through excepting the extremes. You know, when I saw you initially — properly, to be specific, after the situation with Aluhruna’d been treated already — I was really awestruck by the figure of that chest along with those hips, but even as contoured as everything is, dear girl, that body never steals the balance of its charm in drawing all an observer’s attention by the novelty of its extravagance. It adds up, rather, all of it! Features combining together well. And—! Such hair, lovely and long! I’m inspired to see you thrive with a radiance now, fully befitting.” To this, some slight traces in Samantha’s expression grew tender, almost to the frame of a proper smile in that instance, and she faced Maria. “But shouldn’t add garment and garment on the body just so: the approach immediate I’d have is to adorn, in a way, with any sort of fashion simplified that we’d use for chancing a visual, one that would start us off. Foundations for these things work always in favour of grandiosity, in the end. Anything would complement your facial features, too, they’re sharp. Hair all black’s also rather simple to match with clothes, and there’s that height perfect to carry whatever look we choose, moreover. Though — and this is where my theory might apply itself more intricately — if we were to add flourishes at all to the outfit, even one alone, we would abandon restraint throughout, really, adding flourishes everywhere. It’s not so much an air regal your visage would be perfect to pair with, but something more mythological than that. It’s why a spirit in the forest can even make herself naked completely for allure, and why, on the other hand, still catches your eye all dressed up in branches. A festival celebratory over ceremony, you see. If part of this apparel were to fall behind in these flourishes, a mistake in simplicity would be made obvious all the more, surrounded by elements so lively.”
	“A spirit? I don’t— Well…”
	“Thoughts?”
	“Sorry— … No, never mind. I mean, yeah, I guess… I guess I can see that.”
	Maria tilted her head slightly. 
	“… Well,” she continued, “for me— Ay! Anything! Anything, just about! Because I’m shorter and smaller than you, any style to contours this delicate can serve in favour — they really are delicate, I’d say, all in all. Compared to you, I don’t think it’d be well if I cobble together an ensemble so replete with extravagance likewise. Wouldn’t fit me, I’d be playing princess. Should leverage all the shapes my disposition forms little and tender whenever in public, even when doing something so benign as holding up my husband’s snuffbox aface. If going simpler, then, I’d find balance within complement of frame, mine natural, and contrariwise, need to fashion only grace by the excess of my bust, any of its sort, which is achieved easily enough with choices in clothing proper, in tailoring properly, even the type of material suitable! Options plentiful — oh, and for me, it’d be fortunate, I love experimenting this way and that. If I’m to assume more flair, though, I’d wager that in adding more pieces to supplement the whole thing, I’ll find expression all the better. That’s the rub, in that scenario: to add upon the strengths of all those elements of my frame, so little and subdued, instead of overshadowing them or of covering them altogether. No feature other than this chest that stands out physically for onlookers, but don’t misunderstand, not would I modify my body for any illusion, dear girl. Some of you Europeans would gossip all about this figure, and do the same even to you, Samantha, but why mind? Do their women know about anything outside their cities? My children will be nourished well, as will yours,” she laughed and nodded. “Should take off this veil, truly. If you could see how this hair looks outside of the bun all quaint and little, of the pins and of the cords and of the plaiting styled French, of everything dumb. I miss how wavy it gets…”
	“That’s… crazy that you’ve thought all about this,” Samantha mentioned, but what further words she was now eager to outline were disrupted in junction. No outcome could be determined in the persistence of any other remark, even ending here without desire from her to affect with words; instead, by a silent appeal, insisted with trailing breath only for Maria to resume speaking, and had wished Tsui and Aluhruna were anointed to listen amidst the other woman’s prefulgence and her prefulgence alone. 
	“Certainly: One must respect oneself, always! You’re as an ornament to heartscapes, an ornament great and shining! Even you’d agree that much; why else were you wearing earlier an outfit such as that?” Maria’s question was urged along by a different tone as her voice came brisker and sharper, and Samantha could not again bear to meet her expression. 
	She instead choked out a laugh, and her breath quickened. “Yeah— Um, I suppose you’re right, that does make sense. How… how about the others?”
	“Let’s see… Tsui— Go on, it’s like I said just earlier!” she replied, and in an instant, her light familiar lilts blossomed thence. Samantha clenched her lips tight. “That dress so simple she arrived in suited well already — red does seem to be her colour — so we could find inspiration somewhat of the sort. What do they call it over there…? Ma-something? Out of us all, regardless, her build’s the slightest, but it’s no less a harmony admirable, with all those features especially. Have the hair loosed much freer, though, like how she looked when you all first entered this room; I know women in China have their hair tied up every day, and at Corsair’s, to the back of her head did she tie up a braid again, all fastened high like so! Never could I understand a country whose peoples restrain hair so much despite the rest of their aesthetics. It frames her face structure well, I’ll credit that, at least — her face is as shaped nicely and sharp as yours, did you notice? Ah—! And I would not cover the legs entirely — a bit mischievous, yes, but come, don’t they seem to be quite delicate, quite shapely? Let’s see: I’m thinking… There’s a type of dress out there that serves to refine anything so minimally and formally should a degree even beyond, say, the lines specific to her physique turns it otherwise too ornate and overwhelming. Similar to me. Cut down those sleeves before we turn that red more vibrant. Narrow the waistline, too. Imagine your dress right now with its simplicity fashioned just a touch more for formality, with that kind of silhouette, never becoming too complex — dress her like that, while all the rest of her ensemble would be carried by that way so compelling with which she’d present naturally. In fact,” she scoffed and chuckled, “what I’m describing is removed not at all from the sort of style she’s wearing already, hah!” 
	“What, um— How do you mean ‘compelling’…?”
	“Come, you haven’t seen what she’s like? She’s not the type to remain unnoticed by a backdrop. Or rather, even if she keeps herself to the backdrop by shooing everyone away, she’d foster more curiosity with her rejections, quite simply. That’s the way she seems.” 
	“Alright, then, I think you’ve got the right idea for her,” Samantha only gestured with a nod she wished, somehow, did not meet Maria’s view. “How about Aluhruna?” What difficulty to speak of them both had become raw in sensation, ringing again of pure blank cold, and her very limbs were seized numb. 
	“On her behalf, now: I think she’s been gifted well for her body, it’s quite ideal, quite well-proportioned. Though with even more sturdiness than I’d first guessed; I think she exerts herself to labour replete, wherever she’s from. The girl needs to learn only how to hold to some poise. She wasn’t expressive at all when we met before, not to the sort of extent companions should inspire in a woman — but that was a situation entirely different, who can blame her for being confused? But no, in our gathering, you see, she must dress in as many a garment as elegant as we can spare! Those bracelets so odd she had around her wrists have influenced me enough already to say, decidedly so, that we must adorn her with jewellery and with necklaces even more than what she has right now— Hats and gloves and such. Ay, if she were willing, it’d be a treat! Her ensemble was a visual really well intriguing for impression, no? That golden torc she had? With that around her neck, was she running around the night entire? Agh, such a disservice to its beauty, our circumstances all awful. And that dress she wore has only straps around the shoulders, and nothing else for that neckline deep but brooches! Not anything for the sleeves, no undergarments, no blouse to pair with. That’s a bit too unbecoming, no? The plaiting was loose, too; imagine if you wore that, Samantha! I mean in saying, then, that everything looked really antiquated, but I think it worked as possibly much as any outfit could tease one’s interest! You would call anything I said just then a compliment to either of you two, dear girl? Hah! Hey, I’m not sure, it’s all very new. And to add: that belt in leather has designs of the most intricate I’ve seen for such make in simplicity, that silver embossed and lovely — and that dress, unfortunate that you two had to tear the fabrics a bit when she was unclothed earlier, that shouldn’t have done for a woman like her, not at all. Nothing to it, then — and this goes for you and Tsui, as well: I’ll make sure not one of you is disgraced more than we’ve already been, Aluhruna especially. By her countenance was I struck silly when I went introducing myself a couple of hours ago. I do wonder from where she came to have an outfit like that; you would know?” She flashed her eyes towards Samantha.
	“Oh— Aluhruna? Ah, I— No — actually, I would’ve asked you if you had any idea about her. Tsui said she figures her to be from Europe or so, and I mean, I guess she does look the part.”
	“And I would, how? I said already, I’ve decency left not to pry too much, dear girl. But Europe…”
	“Well, she’s got that blonde hair of hers, so I think that’s the best thing to go off on. I can’t tell what her accent is, though, so I guess— I think we’ll just need to speak more with her once she wakes up again. Oh, and that reminds me—” There flared a recklessness to ask Maria their whereabouts, but she forced herself to stop.
	“What was that, Samantha?”
	“Nah, I was— It’s nothing. Ah, I know: how about Evdokija, where’s she from? Have you two spoken to each other at all? I never got a chance to talk to her properly.”
	“Oh, that woman! Yes, a charm, but I don’t know where on earth she comes from, either. I guessed she was from Europe also, like Corsair is. She said yes, but we’ve tried the maps here for her sake, and it seems we can’t find her country. Somewhere from the east near those Ottomans so ill, a bit south… If you ask, though, she doesn’t look like one of The Turks at all.” As she paused here, Samantha immediately took upon her turn to speak.
	“Did you both wake up dressed that way?”
	Maria exclaimed with some frustration, “Agh, it would’ve been easier if we had been. See, for her situation,I wish we—” and ceasing here, faced Samantha with a slight frown, who looked away immediately. “I told already, dear girl, it’s easier to think of me and of her as this tower’s necessities. Unfortunate…” she concluded with a grunt. The pen was held between both hands by her fingertips, rather lightly, and as Maria rolled it with gentle effort backwards and forwards along the little breadth of her thumbs, she stared straight ahead, her lips parted by imperceptible degree fair fallen past Samantha’s own exchange in glance, stirred of no sudden movement, soever reluctant, as carefully as her companion now demonstrated for conduct. Maria was set seemingly upon the flame flickering within the glass case of lamp, prolonging the hitch and sway of her braced figure, but finally, the woman sighed, blinked, and uncapped her pen to continue writing, though with more vigour to this session.
	Thus had it come to Samantha’s own concern to feel as equally rushed towards no confusion, none sincere, believing naught of her mouth’s purpose in crippled chase and routed herself but to speak by the rapidity with which Maria had resumed her letter. “Is— Is it just you and her?” Samantha chose to ask between the loud striking of her pen. She stared at her tea and did not again risk attention cast across the table.
	“… Corsair’s involved, no?” she muttered.
	Her responses were repressed even further. “I’m glad he’s helping us, then.”
	Maria said nothing and lined her paper on and on, stopping only for small ranges in silence or drink.
	Samantha forced even her very stirrings to remain soundless — yet with another jolt and heave, she asked, “What’s that you’re working on?”
	The woman’s glance seized the tenuous bracing of Samantha’s shoulders. “Ah, this— A letter, just that. I’m going to send it later. Goodness, I’ve prolonged enough.”
	“Can we— Right, this is the communications room. I hope it actually works.” She chanced a stray hollow hiss to inflect these final words, and her realization dwelt soon on new murmurs, but her body was still tense.
	A frown appeared again on Maria’s face. “I’ve made clear its function already. Why on earth would we prepare the room at all if it were unreliable?” Her voice carried a blunter tone and she turned back to the paper. “You should send one as well. There’s got to be some tool or another that’ll be more familiar in here, I’m sure,” she huffed. Her writing shifted to a quiet, inscribing only two other words before she was compelled to slow down every one of her penstrokes, with yet another deep exhale. Samantha watched her take upon some nameless perplexity as she leaned back and brought the letter near her eyes, and she herself was importuned again to shut her lips however much she had stared at it from behind, caring neither for its words nor contents: what strain in clutch was thither brandished only unto Maria herself, her expressions borne through and through for what she had written, lest it be bargained of more she had left to write, or suffixed, or appended without regard, how hastily her fingers would trace; but they still held firm to the paper. Samantha thought them trembling by the very edges, with fierce grasp — and a sickening flare of grief dropped her eyes thence upon the sleeves and bodice of Maria’s black dress — she remembered the woman Evdokija in a trice, and gazed out towards the dark of the room. There continued the cold silence settling long past those shouts and perturbations she believed ought to have concluded already — whether of her own wish, she knew not and begged not, could scarce acknowledge so indulgent of the night’s incessant wracking within the tower passageways — variance subsumed of variance ever so harnessed to beckon her hushed across some prospect she knew nothing about, and this Samantha knew well would beleaguer; clawed thus her fingernails across the glass table surface as her glance was carried away by those black ambiguous fractals over unto the farthest wall in her view. She bit upon her inner cheek, for such would-be finalities must merely draw saliva unto nerve, as the beating blood exerts, come a-jaunting the scabbed heels, alongside that first jaunt with Tsui and Aluhruna — perhaps even earlier, when they had discussed the map leading to the area itself, or even when Evdokija had first entered her room, or even before she had been stolen at all in slumber — yet she could not purpose these truths, lesser and lesser their considerations withal, oscillating by exchange, that scarce resulted of her desires to foist mind on tongue.
	Maria was tapping the pen on the glass and perched her temple on the knuckles of her fist, and after remaining like this for a time, scribbled a few additional words before taking more sips from her cup.
	“Who’s it for?” Samantha asked, but the question spanned the aching brunt of her throat as she was all the while disoriented, to her own sudden regard. She faced Maria, who paused and placed the pen down with a terrible clatter.
	To her astonishment, however, the woman looked cheerful. “My husband, first, then one for family — my parents and siblings — and another for my friends. For when I’ve the time, planning as best I can — anyone I’d be able to reach, really. Got to let them know I’m alright.” And propping her elbows on the table, she lifted the half-finished letter closer to the lamp, scouring its lines over and over. There was a particular area to her notice where Samantha could see Maria’s eyes remain halted for a brief moment whenever she had crossed it by, that no matter how her focus diverted she would always return to whatever had been transcribed on the paper, in one procession turning her gaze down to the table, and in another swell and heft of impulse, coursed upon the twitches of her joints, her fingers, and blinks to break away from her review entirely. Staring off with a soft smile and a hand to her lips, she uttered only something she herself could hear, before taking the pen along with the letter, and in one swift movement, continuing it through. “They’ve fervour most wondrous. I hope they’ve come across nothing awful. I don’t mean to say there’s any risk involved for them right now — if they’ve followed through already our plans prior, not then especially — but they can be quite a handful whenever they’re grouped. If some other friends are involved, then even more so,” she sniggered under her breath. “Rosa is mad through and through — she’s the one who knows the most Europeans, actually, that’s how I know… She’s the one I told you about?” She flipped her pen and with it, pointed to Samantha, who on her own behalf had no likewise memory of this Rosa and was somewhat struggling to reciprocate. 
	“… Does she know a lot of them cause of… Cause of her line of work?”
	“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a socialite only, just one of those so awful. Not have I spoken about her? She’s a riot, anyway, no matter what! A riot and a rogue — I wish her dropped in this tower all the time, to see just how she’d react. I trust her enough not to be so stupid most of the time, anyway, and this is no exception. They should be safe in the city, I would think.” 
	“Who’s— Well, what’s going on with them, then? Is there— Has something happened?”
	“A conflict in our country, so silly…” Maria gave an abrupt grunt, smiled, but did not laugh.
	“… Is it war?”
	“Oh, you know of it! I’ve been eager to ask anyone here,” Maria shouted with passion and stood as she leaned in closer. “Well, tell us, what happens to our—” but immediately stopped. Her eyes took upon some twisted contortion. Though a wide smile still fell upon her face, she was repeatedly switching her gaze between the letter and Samantha. Her breaths had become more erratic. “No, no— Never mind, I got too excited, is all.”
	Samantha was confused. “Would you like me to search you guys up, then? I can learn a bit if I find a—”
	“No!” Maria said with more sudden force, curtailing her previous lunge to settle back in her chair. “Don’t, please! I’m sure we’ll be alright, anyway, things were— The way things were— Yeah, I don’t think there’s need to trouble yourself like that.” She sat with a slow staggering bend, retaining her odd expression. 
	Samantha peered down at the lamp, then once again towards Maria, of absent mind between these each with care only to keep both in view. She refused to look elsewhere in the room. “Well, tell me, then,” she responded with haste, “about your other friends.”
	“Oh, so I will!” Maria beamed and laughed, propping her head up again, this time supporting her chin with a bent wrist. “Let’s see… Rosa was mentioned, but I want to send this first to my Nicolás—”
	“And is Nicolás your husband, then?”
	“Ah… Yes. He is.” Maria turned to the lamplight. Her shoulders soon slumped down to frame, and collapsed gently. She was somewhat unable to curtail her very own words as she shifted and squirmed on her seat. As Samantha looked on watching her face and hands, she suddenly felt for her own heart’s courtesy a small happiness. Maria perked up. “He’s my love.” 
	She fell quiet again and remained gazing upon the fire. Samantha permitted herself only to wait. For a brief moment, she expected her to resume with further details of her Nicolás, or even any of her other friends, but upon the revelation she would not speak more, gave a small bemused noise. Maria glanced at Samantha with a jerking tilt of her head.
	“Oh, no, sorry— I thought you were gonna say something more about him. You’ve spoken a ton about everything else but your own husband.”
	Maria scoffed and her voice became even more high-pitched. “So well away from home and with these talks I’m being bombarded, still! I guess I should be glad you’ve had only one thing to ask, but if you’re to bring the dowry or the estate up now, for you I’ll share a paper to write and to ask him yourself!” Her giggles grew with every emphasis as she placed a hand to her chest with excessive flair. “What, do you have a daughter of your own to ask for our son’s hand in the future?”
	“You’ve got a baby?” Samantha’s words had been wrought more of a statement than a query, and she suddenly beamed. Her body relaxed. Her mouth appeared unable to falter in cheer, salutary thus on its own behalf, and fell somewhat agape. The night entire seemed wholly infused by those amber glowing refractions for which the woman seemed to wave aloft her letter — its corners, bare plane, markings, smudges, little crumples all blent and bending back and forth with contours reflected whence, as well the prismatics of her spinning pen — privy to Samantha’s own pleasure that any of the tower’s captives she had met so far could have been fashioned alight and amidst withal to keep warm, so was she more excited now for the conversation than she had expected. 
	Then Maria’s own smile fell upon their exchange with palpable radiance, and the room and its shadows swirled about the nidus grant of her bliss to burn away along the fervency of her joyful animation. “Yes, after marriage did we plan to have him, rather quickly. Need to ask if he’s well.” Her fingers trembled in grasp of the letter. “Agustín is his name, Agustín… Nicolás’ grandfather allowed his namesake, you see, and it suits him, it does! He’s curious, truly — most families describe newborns like that, sons even more, but no, no, Samantha, he’s got a spirit of adventure so mischievous and so lively, crawling even just around the garden of our estate, really! There’s a stream nearby, gentle enough for—” but here she stopped, almost coughing a little due the loveliness of her account, before chortling softly to say, “—Yes, he’s… He’s a boy wondrous to look after.”
	Samantha frowned, hesitating a little even to premeditate Maria’s attention to her response. “… Are you okay?” she chose to ask.
	“Certainly, dear girl. Would I not be?”
	“You said something about his health being well? He’s not ill, is he?” And again did Samantha’s limbs stiffen altogether as she crossed her arms.
	“No, no, I’m speaking generally. Correspondence just briefly about him and about Nicolas and about everyone else in Asunción I know. The things to ask … all so much more extensive than I accounted years ago.”
	“Oh, thank god,” she breathed out as much as she was able to protract her worries appeased, rather hoarsely — but brought her chair nearer nonetheless, sighed twicefold for conjecture’s timorous shiftings, its ailments by murmur, and wondered now in kind which of her inquiries she ought place forward no matter the misfortune of relinquishing the rest to immediate neglect. Samantha’s cluster of energy effused all the precipice downward to her fingernails tapping their range of giddy repose upon the table, without which she might have ever so slightly blushed to her own question: “… So what’s Nicolás like?”
	Maria did not say anything that would satisfy, however, and shook her head with a smile. “More than I could ever share in this room.”
	Samantha began to grin as well, but as her fleeting words trailed off, her joy was held in place, and she gestured with a simple nod. Maria was laughing, with brevity in heft and heave, that unto every flash of the woman’s unbroken happiness, a new question began to taper at the forefront of Samantha’s mind. “Oh, come on! I don’t think you’d be surprised to find out we’re still interested in this stuff in my time — a fair amount of us, at least. So what, you won’t talk about him? At least show me your wedding ring?” She folded her legs atop one other, leaned farther in her seat, and started bouncing her heel up and down as she waited for the coming reply.
	“Oh, there’s no ring. Bracelets for now, only,” Maria’s figure slackened, though she was evidently still invigorated. “Such a tease, dear girl — I’d tell you about him, of course; I’d tell anyone about him and about Agustín even without prompt, but it’s just— Right now—” but her words were professed with heavy articulation, caressed by whispers embedded in the degrees of her singsong lilts, and her eyes broke away from Samantha. She drifted all care to the letter before her. “I can’t— Can’t do so…”
	Samantha dropped her gaze. She wished to ask even more — could feel neither cold nor warmth any longer — and her foot continued to tap upon the ground. “How about your other friends, what about them?” she asked. 
	"… Let’s see— With Rosa, too, I’m thinking to send a letter addressing some others, Petrona and Eusavia, but those women? Oh, Petrona is so very uptight about everything, goodness. I remember when…" and she began to relay her memories to her companion, who had already contoured, for her own resolve, another sentiment come adjoined to sit at the table and drink away as audience, so coaxed her mind unwinding as bequeathed of the woman’s account. Maria had placed herself there, an arm’s length apart, speaking thoroughly by the brimming spirit of each her friends to impress her light chortles with luxuriance, in rebound and course gave new vigour to these gestures as every single appraisal passed the chapters by, beyond the cusp of any faculty due Samantha’s own; how, in this particular anecdote, Maria was involved in some mischief or another during a formal event. Samantha laughed alongside as her imagination drew wild every margin of the other woman’s longing. There again she spoke, thus flittered, made wide, high movements of her arms across open air, once for a plaint, another for disgust, thrust one after the other and charming any ostensible crowd from whence Samantha was entrapped already by mirth and sculpted as prettily as she had been favoured per conduct of soul, was since headway in story where apparatus could only release the patron spun and fearful and yonder to obstruction’s design. Hindrance has its tooling due leaflet cornerstone, and as her words had been supplied, were carried thence apace, fomented now not a language able to preclude what fibula had failed first for gallows, nor to uphold loftier for allotment by dais beneath, that prettiness withal was but sequestered yet to morgues and naught could be authenticated in the chart Maria was delineating of their disparities, so soon hanged, any remnant further to risk Samantha herself still fettered by reciprocant flourish at the forefront should ever her notation swing a null solemnly towards, amidst company seated around: lines whither for goodwill were kept unfurled, recklessness without, nails entwining, ink having seeped and radiated or this and that, neither for the letter at hand by the trip and traipse of Maria’s partner lips upon hoists of passion. How impassioned had it appeared to Samantha! His name, what was it… Nicolás, no? And manual equivocation had resulted in misalignment, shall ever these objects turn insignificant through course and treasured nostalgia be quantified as told by Maria, the scribe incumbent. The woman had been taken from an era that had since broken off and away — Tsui, Aluhruna, too — all of them from dead times — a feverish jolt had started to fester again within Samantha. In their company lay jests, soldered bones in disregard, obloquies; there unto trinkets of personal wasting had they been stood by every one of those circlets and set solid within depths whence a unitary tarnishes a unitary in kind; upon every victim persists the host for the molten furnace of cannibals, a parameter is taken, and swarmed thus to be ravished. Maria was describing the manner with which she and her group hoisted high a display they had toiled endlessly to finalize by social departure, how her lover — her tender love — had bravely stood himself in the centre, yet Samantha scarcely attended its details and its minutiae, believing all their efforts would never amount to substance — how Tsui must have left behind a terrible scenario to continue in her own solitary dread — wherefore the compound of Aluhruna's own longing could be excised in whole — and Samantha could not lift her hands, felt nothing in her very chest, for she was mouthless and fingerless, could neither smile or shout or weep together with them for brutalities far-flung in decay: always to defile these women, always to kill their men; always, always, always are they strung ceaselessly to carrion edifice for outsiders who understand nothing of explication, less still of happiness, but only of voids, terrors, ghosts, bleak minds, perhaps the wreckage of a soul or two or three thereupon shadows of no blessing — hide away now, turn and twirl should they be held bleeding, in a trice construpate another, come involutory should these retract from the bright blinding spark of worlds heedless for how an engagement may disintegrate, whence scattered, feeling fear, as even the empty dark holds no solace once all is abolished; their souls could never truly impassion for aggregate stature; they are corpses, corpses! Maria and her loved ones, Tsui with hers, Aluhruna with her own! Where might she find heart? Encapsulate the rest of them upon the emblazonry only a generation may proffer. These dear women ought never be abdicated by ruthlessness, this she clamours alone; never will she thus believe herself of similar prospect, with a century to call home, lest the territories dwindle and all collapses one over the other to reduction — yet, for reasons she could not justify, still did she smile as Maria narrated her story; still had she remained to listen, and was called forth: There was talk of the city proper, of scents in smoke and rain, and situated deep inside a bygone enclosure were benches and hedges and trees, as the woman had illustrated for Samantha with great excitement; thus had come appraised the mannerisms of misbegotten society and a figure in temptation, where bright precious lamplights shone above inside a fixture of deep orange, those fair pinks and scarlets, these fair caverns of violet, her promised dusk together in aftermath, in aftermath! A previous flood had drained itself prior, down the pathways. Maria told her how they had all ravaged throughout the wet paved brick, hurtling past its outskirts, but Samantha sat heedless, watching on as the sun bent closer to all roads and structures and gardens spread before them, that its pure sphere burnt the bloom for heaven, the skies beamed fiercer, had traced its relief across clouds to the descent of rays and warm soothing fires, more vibrant than she could ever know; the township alone smothered here in black; the world beyond turned to a great ember, and the land was brought alight. She was swallowed whole.
	“You could imagine in those days, how much fun we had?” Maria giggled.
	“Yeah— That— That was a beautiful story,” she gasped out without sharing a glance in courtesy. “You’ve— You’ve known each other a long time, then? Can’t believe you got away with it.” She despised how languid her own voice sounded.
	“Not that we did, I mentioned to you already. But of course, before becoming a lady have I known them. Rosa I knew younger still. We were around eighteen or nineteen or so, I can’t remember quite when that happened. Perhaps sixteen? Ay, so many things to tell! We’ve all a penchant for getting into so much mischief. I wish I’d have time to introduce you and those other girls, but damn, I know it’d be just unlikely to happen…”
	“Well, you could just tell them about us in the letter… They sound a bit mad, I’d love to have met them, too.”
	“I do wonder how much I should explain my situation here with all of you.” 
	“… Right, I don’t suppose it’d be easy to say anything about it.”
	“That’s why I’m addressing Nicolás first. I suppose if I contacted anyone else, things would turn complicated.” Her second voice had switched to her other language. “Oh, stories have I for telling, all theirs, blessing to them! Him but alone I’d inform, for now… This should just—” Maria interrupted herself with stifled breath as she peered blankly towards the table, before her grip faltered and she placed the paper down. Her eyes strained towards the lamplight. “Happens if… if sending these letters ought the case to be — the timeframe true, the location true.” 
	She crossed her arms and legs to lean back, watching the fire quiver. It smouldered, was soon caught in a dancing flare, thieving Samantha’s gaze as she took her cup and trailed Maria’s sight in tandem. She, too, sat farther into her chair, rising straight upon its back before cradling herself collapsed in embrace for better comfort, what little could be tendered. It was here she noticed the room was replete with the smell of wood and crisp old fabric, those clean outfits brought earlier by her companion, undercut all the same by the scent of tea every time she had raised it to drink — it was still equally as warm as when it had first been provided. The women did not speak for some time. The fire carried on, now in slower rhythm. Its glare fluttered, fluttered, at times upon its dispersed glow; and if at times imperceptibly, Samantha disdained for poor visual. With each blurring movement carried off star-thrown across half-finished tea, its bright little shimmers on metal and glass, diffusion cast upon each dress and limb to the curves of their fingers, thither for soft shadows, fallen by the features of their faces as much the remaining light could catch, so did Samantha’s thoughts sway to every tremor, appealing each easing billow with a little dream or vision well befitting its flame: peradventure a wisp come courting short-lived duets. There were many, many extrusions to Maria’s last statement, this she knew, yet, with spite towards a response for which her thoughts were hurled, Samantha decided, in passing, to care little for it. Her eyelids drooped. Each discrepancy by the twitch of her movements coiled, and she expected all to soon breach — but not for a time, never for a time could she bear to yield or slump her poise. Her little soughs upon her tongue fell slower by every heft of pleasure swelling her heart for rest; yet contrariwise, was by her very leisure and her exhales aggrieved, and could not assume anything more than to bow. From here on shall respect never be avowed for terrors to heart that would, in hysteria, unify — bear yourself against destitute leisure and this light withal, mademoiselle — it was a fleeting possibility, Samantha thought, this be where her mind would come upon greater reprieve, and so chose to refrain from speaking otherwise, perhaps even to stand and dance as gently as the lamplight would allow the heap of her body. She was urging herself to say something altogether removed from any reason or any discussion of theirs, yet did not begin anew, unable to imagine how to do so, for all visions and memories, all concepts to intimate and what solitary fevers impelled to come forth began to merge low in rumbling concussion, one she held with fondness; to that same strange contrary, one she had already come to despise. A quiet voice could now be heard: it was Maria who spoke again through the silence. “You, Samantha? To whom will you be writing?”
	Samantha did not answer at first and dared not make a sound. There were formed some of those bygone wisps unto her accompaniment, some design or another if she could have but acknowledged the spasm, and with concern, thus was her response issued, “Maybe… I’m— I’m not really quite sure…” but she at once turned fearful. Her eyes were wrought to alarm as she whirled about and faced Maria. She could not continue any speech, for all was ensnared upon the tremble of her lips — frustration laced through her exacerbating fright, and she had no testament for the distress into which she had fallen. A vast, heavy ache surmounted all feeling as she forced herself to smile. “I— I’m not sure why I don’t have anyone to write for.”    
	Maria straightened herself upwards with a perplexed face. “Hey, that can’t be,” she prodded. “Anyone you’d have in mind would be worried sick you’re missing, I’m sure.”
	“No, I’m not certain anyone would be.”
	“What? Family? Friends?” came her questions.
	“No— Nothing to that extent.”
	“What do you mean? You can’t write to your father and to your mother?” The woman was entirely troubled. “Is it dangerous in your country also?”
	“Not—! Not like yours, it’s just… I just can’t contact them right now.” Samantha wrenched out a small laugh.
	“Then?”
	She did not reply.
	“Dear girl?”
	“Nah, yes, I’m well, I’m good. I just— Whatever friends I’d be able to reach out to wouldn’t—” Samantha was shaking now as she spoke, stammering and stumbling and unable to construct even the simplest of words. “Well— I don’t— Um, I truly don’t think they’d be… of any help…”
	Maria tilted her head down slightly as she watched her face. She held upon high a disposition craning over in silence, in solemnity — possibly even of expectance — but it was nonetheless to Samantha’s trembling cadence that the woman’s pause was short-lived and she instead asked, “Will you… Won’t you attempt to do so?”
	“… Probably not, no.” Her heartbeat had coursed along the haul of her breath, and her eyes began to throb.
	“But that won’t do!” Maria cried out and placed down her paper. “What if— What if you were to send a letter out, however short? Anything, anything at all! I know you woke only a few hours ago, but you’ve got no idea how long in here we’ll be staying! Won’t you write?” 
	“Why— Why the hell would you care—?” Her voice had become weak. She latched onto her crossed arms nearer and tighter around her torso.
	“Wh— You can’t understand how it’s awful for no one to have an idea of your whereabouts?” Maria grew louder. “To go months and months and months without a piece of news about anyone held to heart, it’s horrible! Occasions to the million with how much you’re kept separate, all of it’s so degrading! Just— Please! Send a letter for your sake, please.”
	“Why are you— I don’t even know if that would—! I— I’m sorry—” Samantha gasped out as she began to weep. She raised her hand to her mouth, not knowing what more of her face, what more of her body ought she must cover in front of the other woman, so bent down her head to sob and convulse, telling her repeatedly, “I’m sorry— I can’t—” Her other hand strained against her wet eyes to turn them red for propriety, all tender, and she exceeded herself twicefold and twicefold of inflicted pain to expose the lark of her furies, stifling her cries all the while. A sudden scrape then resounded beside her — she blinked and cowered, peered over, and through her tears saw Maria was seated now to her right, having moved her chair across. The woman reached out to her elbow, and in concern, was speaking with words Samantha could not wholly understand, but knew were nothing she was desirous to hear. She pushed her arm away.
	“Come, dear girl, we can—”
	“Don’t come closer. Please…” Samantha turned and angled her body from Maria. She remained with her face in her hands, forcing herself to cease at once and keep from choking on rotten spit, disgusting bile, mucus; her fucking tears did not abate and continued to fall down. She wailed and wailed, increasingly with hate, contorted with malice by her every trembling touch that she would but finally bleed her face with resenting nail — there was a soft hold upon her shoulder as Maria reached again, but she did not discard her hand in this instance, permitting her arm grasped as she was pulled thither to follow this sensation aface with the other woman, yet ensured throughout, throughout, throughout her gaze was kept to the floor away from all eyes; but Maria took another arm and cradled it around to her back, embracing her thus. Samantha obliged with relief. 
	“You can’t have a face like that while wearing an ensemble so pretty,” Maria said in a shaking voice. Samantha buried herself in her arms to strangle out all her noise, contriving her throat and mouth to be cut away for a single moment — everything did she blame to be sorrowful; each drop of her blood frail — though quieter and quieter came her cries as they held one another and she was gradually soothed.
	When she began to ease aloft, it was then she directed herself towards Maria. “Thank you,” she said, with soft sniffling. “I’m sorry, I just broke down— Damn it…”
	“Don’t worry, dear girl, this is difficult for all,” Maria shared a deep exhale, rubbing Samantha’s back. “Alright now?”
	“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I can’t believe I’ve cried so much tonight,” Samantha said with a bitter smile. “Gah, that hardly ever happens, fuck me.” She dried her tears with the stiff brunt of her wrist.
	“Most of us feel the same, from what I’ve seen. We’ll endure, I tell you now. Need to continue on, that’s all,” — and Maria wove their fingers together.
	“Whatever you and Corsair have planned for us, I hope… Oh, I don’t want us to die…”
	Maria suddenly beckoned with a squeeze and stared deep into her eyes. “I promise, dear girl, we’ll leave. We will.” To this reassurance, the woman stood and leaned forward for another hug. Samantha exchanged it in kind, faltering for a trice as they touched, but Maria had been kept firm and so pressed with increasing force, her arms and hands curled more tautly across Samantha’s back. The woman’s figure was cast in its entirety upon her frame; though with great care, in great relief, Samantha was still able to hold herself upright, for much like her companion, she remained feeble with every heft. With one final coax in embrace, Maria separated and returned to the empty chair, trailing a stroke along her arm all the bare length unto her fingertips before she broke away. 
	The two women drew themselves adjacent without speaking further. The wounds on Samantha’s feet were seizing continuously, now writhed her heated blood with more terrible pace, and the bruises on her forehead seem to pound all the worse due the ills of her surging heartbeat. Maria reached for the paper and began anew, however, writing down a sentence and tapping the pen about during every interval without another glance her way, and Samantha watched on, to no courtesy for provocation, to no ignorance for how disconcerted her anatomy had been unravelling; nonetheless felt it yet pertinent to attend their previous subject. She steadied herself, but was only able to ask in a rough weak voice, “What— So are you going to tell Nicolás about the tower?”
	Maria craned her neck slowly, though broke not her focus — yet began to move with inconsistent measure, stopping and starting halfway through in writing individual words. She gave pause for a slight frown. “I’ve decided not to. I’d— I’d imagine they’d involve themselves recklessly to guarantee I’d come back safe if they knew what kind of situation I was in.” Her voice seemed rather harsh and had addressed this finality with less emotion than for any of her prior topics, but to another bout of Samantha’s surprise, again to the contrary, Maria began to look entirely pleased with her own conjecture. Her face flashed with an especial radiance. “Yes, he’d do that… But! No, Samantha, no, I’ll still be telling them I’m quite alright — I am healthy, really, and I’m not hurt — that with them I’ll meet soon, assuming they keep safe also. I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can help with back home…” 
	Samantha felt another heave of guilt, and she was helpless to move or speak. 
	“Maybe if they were to relocate—”
	“Are you sure—! Are you really sure you wouldn’t like me to research as well on this?” she cried, staring at her with a pained grimace. “I can— I really can help.”
	Maria looked back with a bewildered smile, which soon faded as she observed Samantha’s demeanour. She turned away to the letter. “You’re troubling yourself too much. This concern isn’t something you should be fretting about, not somebody from your era. Not somebody from your country, even.”
	“But I’ve got— I have the means! I can do it if this building has what I need, so please—”
	“Why are you so worried for this, dear girl?” Maria responded with a swift tilt of her head and placed down the pen. Though she spoke softly, Samantha faltered upon her response as she viewed the other woman in full breadth. There was no distinguishable expression on Maria’s face. “I said already, it’s unnecessary.”
	“I’m— I’m sorry, I—”
	“You can speak honestly — I’d ask only for that, in fact. But worry for yourself, instead. Your family, too.”
	But Samantha was no longer looking at her and bent her gaze, grasping tight her cup. Another hand laid itself on her thigh — Maria had extended her arm to beckon once more, with gentle force. She had angled herself upon a slight bow, to which Samantha released her words, “I just want to help, but I’m not even sure— I am— I’m just so confused…”
	“Ah! And you will be helpful. You can help us in this building just by sitting still, while we Corsair, Evdokija and I organize everything as best as we can. That’s all any one of us needs to do right now. Nothing for the rest of our circumstances, I say — our problems are only within this tower; think of it that way.”
	“But— Once we head back to our countries, then,” — she whipped herself around to meet Maria with full regard — “wouldn’t it be all the better for you and your family to know what to do in the future?”
	Maria shifted her body completely towards her and did not respond, instead keeping the extent of her attention upon the letter as she pondered something without word. Before long, her voice trailed over, “There is— There’s no need—”
	“Why, then? I’d like it if you were honest with me as well, I really would… Just this one time.”
	Whatever Maria’s eyes had left to persist in sentiment failed at first with the volatile flicker of her lashes, but she said quickly, “I just— I’m sure we won’t need to involve a foreigner so extreme as you for help. It would be asking too much. We’ve resolve enough back home, Samantha, you can drop this conversation,” and by concluding so, was found in bearing replete with the tenor of these strung ringing words, fixing herself more sturdily upon each exchange due the beating swell of their movements. Neither broke from the other’s esteem. “Besides, dear girl, even if it’s research you can give, I’d have difficulty convincing everybody else that information would be reliable. Not a problem you should keep to mind.”
	“But it is a problem! They might be killed, won’t they? And Agustín, too—! Please, let me do this. Don’t lead them to their deaths, no! Never!”
	“Samantha, don’t—”
	“You’re going to condemn them to dangers you know nothing about!” Samantha trembled.
	The other woman took a protracted, shaking breath. “Take care with what you’re saying,” she said in a low voice and gestured with another tilt of her head, before portending some secondary unspoken response with a hand wave. Maria’s body shifted in tension — Samantha could see she was glaring. “For you to say I don’t understand the evil my family is facing, that position’s quite arrogant.”
	There came no response. Samantha felt ill. 
	Maria’s expression then faltered, was deflected away in part, come upon a slight tremble to her lips as she bent downwards looking at her knees, stilling this momentary lapse by however much her poise would affect in display and once again drew her head high. Her chest, her shoulder and arms found but no reprieve, for they began to constrict all imbalance as she continued, “I’m— I am not certain you can understand the range in full of a situation like mine — I do not mean to insult, that’s not my intent — I am sure the details of the troubles you have would elude me as mine would elude you— But never— Never dare accuse someone else of neglect.” She spoke in a voice that carried naught of prosody, not as had been urged prior, scraping now these lilts and echoes from bare articulation as she choked down her words. “I would never imposition your heart to be the source of any burden such as that, nor of debility. I ask — I ask only with all my soul, dear girl — for you to place faith in my virtue, my own.”
	“I wouldn’t want—!” Samantha cried out — and immediately quelled her outburst with a gasp. “I never wanted to wound you in that way! I’m sorry— All the blame lies with me, I am sorry— No, no, you’re not like that at all, you have been so kind to me, so kind to all of us. Forgive me— Why— I don’t understand myself, I could never believe for a single instance what a disgusting thing I said just now—!” her tongue festered. “It’s all me— I have done nothing but hurt all of you, every one of you here—” and she bowed, lurching pathetically, turning aside from Maria—
	“Samantha—! I asked just now, did I not? Never dare accuse one of neglect — you must keep also from doing so upon yourself—! Don’t hurt yourself in this way, please!” Maria leaned close and pressed on her shoulder with a palm.
	“But I can’t, I cannot!” she said aloud and twisted away. “What use is any care for my own right if it amounts to all this misery and I succumb to degrade another? I’d be a lesser woman, a monstrous corpse to drag people away. Where shall I take myself, then? Tell me, tell me!”
	“Misery—! Of what could you be speaking?”
	“It always happens, it always does! Connections and falsehoods — nothing I can do at all — I pursued it with Tsui, I pursued it with Aluhruna, but we almost yielded to this tower—! I hurt them Maria; it is my fault they’ve gone off with their wounds and blood. I hope, I hope, I hope— Oh, I hope they are safe, I hope I haven’t thrown them to their sorrows — I treated them as if they were dregs of women — and just now I treated you unfairly, as if you were vile! But you’re not; every single one of you lot has been a kindness to me. I ought to bow, I ought to love you all, yet I have done nothing but suffer you cruelties, like the rot of the world — it would suffice for me to disappear instead, I’ve never once belonged here—!” she shrieked with exhaustion.
	Maria knelt on the floor. “No, you have not hurt me, my dear Samantha, no! I’d never think you terrible for that! Never would I find any person to be of depraved, evil heart — the others, too, don’t think of you in that manner! That sincerity is—”
	“You’re wrong!” She conceived thence to shove her onto the floor, all splayed further along for degradation. “You and your sincerity! What good is heart? I can never see for myself how to oppose what they might oppose, nor how to love what they might love — what purpose does it have anymore? You tell me of virtue, but would it not be bastardized? How can I place faith in that? Tell me!” she whimpered. “Go back to your letter; go back to the others. Leave me be to wander the halls.”   
	“No— Stop talking nonsense,” the woman told her firmly. “Until you stand, I shall stay here.”
	“Ah, so that’s what you want of me! What a valiant spirit you display! Tell me, then: if you’re so stalwart as to remain behind for such a cruel, rotten creature, this bitch you see here before you, then why, why, why won’t you simply relinquish it all and lay waste to this tower? There is no reason to heed it. Why will you not warn your dear sweet love of the horrors you might face? Are you afraid, are you fearful? The damn whore from the 1800s lacks creativity — who would have thought? Oh, how surprised I am! No, you speak of heart, but you lack one, you lack one—!”
	Maria stared into her tear-filled eyes. Her grasp upon her shoulders did not abate, clamping instead with tenser and tenser force as they faced one another and she restrained her own shivers. There came a sudden answer, an afflicted heft rousing her quietly to say, “Very well, then,” and though she finally stood and Samantha expected her to leave, she spun around, pulled her chair closer, and with sonorous rambunction declared outwards to the room entire, “I will show my love.” 
	There came thrifts of verve and heat Samantha could not abide. A response of hers had faltered as Maria imparted between them the carriage of her black-garbed form, the composition of her dress, every slackening or stiffening movement towards the outlined space in their midst and upon the demeanour chosen for rally. “When you perceive strife, what do you think of?” She began. “All these conflicts and hazards? I would believe you first to be examining terrors dealt by man unto man — you have this mindset for anything I might undertake, no? Of your contemptibility were you telling me just then; how a sin disposes so utterly the perpetrator as to divide a victim’s heart between the two, and if not by the outcome lesser, then by the victim alone deprived. Naught else. Do these failings of humanity divest, then, the whole of our hopes — everything they could amount to, soever possible — by these constancies of sin throughout? Has the world’s worth been abandoned?”
	Samantha scoffed with a crude laugh. The wounds on her legs and feet throbbed hotly. “Well, what else could conflict ever result in? It’s all a patchwork — the grand struggle and grand toil of all humanity are all ruins. What a fucking lark— There is no virtue to be found.” 
	“A sin, my dear girl—!” Maria braced her voice, “does not set one man to violate another, and no, neither is it permissible believing either should succumb to abuse, whether as its wielder or its sufferer. A sin imputes humanity upon humanity. Cannot persist in simplification; and neither still is each man categorized by the principles of conflict. That judgment so awful from earlier, where you insisted I discover what happens— In the future, what would become of my country—” and she took a deep breath. The woman was staring elsewhere. “I— Hah! That war— Where you insisted I discover what’s to befall my country, nothing of fear, but of solidarity with me did I understand those appeals. For you to have ascribed my course perplexing, it is not wrong, and to have suggested I uncover the future, it is sinful even less, for on your behalf was it a conclusion virtuous — I understand that much — you are not a woman cruel. Ever could a man or woman be truly cruel? Not do I know, but I will never bear to think of any life in such a fashion, for my part. That is why I uphold the brilliance of humanity within conflict, dear girl: I am unable to forgive, without forgiveness always, in the same way you are without fault, for what you discern as infringement in all I value is rooted nonetheless in love, in compassion.”
	“Me—! Who gives a damn about my role in this?” Samantha spoke bitterly. “It is not worth anything, not compared to the vast fogs of violence or the horrible ringing of the world. What would you say of that? You called your war evil beforehand, it must surely be sinful to you! Dare never assuage the matter by aligning it with human values, for naught is to be found but hearts and bodies — all refuse and defilement! Here are relations restrained by fear, by delirium, by lust to kill even a child should the terrors arise. That is what love turns into! You would kill your enemy’s darling son if it guaranteed Agustín would survive! Nicolás, too! If this is to be the mankind’s most virtuous principle, then it reasons that every fucking individual ought to be affected so. But— I cannot see any of your love there—! All bereft of hope— Yet even so, even so, I will treasure it endlessly! How hypocritical I am— How can you not see me as cruel—!?”
	She had emphasized this with great force and watched Maria turn away to the letter with clumsy pausing scrapes to her movement, believing the woman had been utterly silenced, by her poise so diminished, peradventure amidst some sorrow having dredged a relevant anecdote or another in disgrace— With a wistful smile, Maria drew herself tangent to the table as she leaned further backwards and enclosed together both palms atop its surface, however affected of her soughs by each faint lurch of her figure. Thus were composed solemn the traces of her respite over to the Englishwoman opposite, thereunto the frail warding breadths of quiet that yet prevailed what had remained of Samantha’s disposition. “Why do you suppose I am writing this letter? Think now: never would I relinquish what I hold beloved, not to any defilement in misery or in fright. What could it amount to, on my part, if I am to discard so thoroughly one person’s precept unto another? It is faith we must each abide by in the end, my dear girl. Otherwise, how would my friends call upon their blessings, those to my character once vouchsafed? I spoke to you about this earlier: One’s partition shall be the ornament of another’s spirit — I believe with all my heart that this bears with it the conscience of a human being dutiful; even more, a companion in goodness! And a million blessings anew would voice judgment as much they bestow testimonies to my worth — to yours as well, for we are both unique — and I hold faith in my capacity to provide equally for these obligations. Would endeavour to excommunicate everyone on this world of sin in due part to the rationalities comprising us each, even. Love cannot exist alone, that much is certain: how may one formulate the concept should he be void of reference at all? A man enlivens his worth by the extent of every relation bound. No regard belies worthlessness, and one figurehead is of value equivalent to the other. Unto his morality does compassion attend; unto his vigour, valiance; unto disparagements, calumnies; and unto violence, hatred — but the adherence of our covenant lies in love, always, always: If we would set forth to prove our love, know this proliferates whenever men and women nameless each genuflect before us; and if man impugns his vilified to disregard them so utterly, the accruement disgraces in concourse, hostilities aggravated more so, and love subsumes itself no less realized — either degrade this excerpt if you wish or despair for its sake like you have done already this evening; uphold however you would please.” Maria’s voice turned rapid and shallow. “If our legacy thus compounds, understand henceforth this is inculcate by the souls I speak of verily; yet if you would place shame for these partitions so dear for survival, be rid of conceit. Regarding the troubles of my country, I spoke too rashly earlier, forgive me now: never will I excommunicate anyone for being evil. See that we are personative as children and as descendants of a hierarchy that never ceases to shift. How can you contemn man for sin or for love? That is who we are! Neither one of us is superior. You asked me where I may find hope in such a position as has befallen me, but I point you to that truth — I find it in them! For all my family, and for all my friends — why, I have not even spoken to you in full of these people — my heart is kept by them, and theirs reside with me.”
	“So you would kill for them even without a threat to your safety, then, if all value to you is equal? You would murder!” Samantha admonished, and as she remembered Tsui’s words, repeated with greater ferocity: “You have nothing to hold sacred?” She beheld the woman, by this view believed she had never prior observed an equally contemptible figure imprisoned inside the tower, or otherwise roaming elsewhere in memories she wished never to recall again, and began to feel faint. 
	But some vile guttural strain caused Maria to continue loudly after a brief silence. “You do not have experience of the love to which I am referring, do you, Samantha?” 
	“What the hell do you— I—! Yes, I— I have!”
	“Anyone to heart? But you have not mentioned your kin, not one at all, let alone your betrothed. Then how could you dare think of me in that way? For you to act like this, what must have transpired?”
	“Nothing— All is lost to me, who cares anything of that nonsense?”
	“Tell me!” 
	“There was a man—! I loved a man once, and before that— Debasement, more debasement— I was in love with another girl when I was young! When we were children! And now… now I would kill them both! Why must you know this?”
	“Ah—You might be right in calling it nonsense, then! And you remember what of them each?”
	“Don’t fucking— I— I harbour a lesson from both; I have taken what was necessary for me to take — they have done so as well… against me! But for all the rest— No one can help me anymore! I would discard the rest of them away—” 
	“There, it’s clear, then! Yes, you are lost, and have nothing to cherish. How can you disparage anyone when you choose not to apportion yourself of the principles shared with you, even those most basic? The concept of man is devout incontrovertibly to another human being — our parents must accomplish this for us, lest our prospects end poorly; our predecessors must accomplish this to reconcile the waning of their era transitional into ours; we must persist in this for our peers, as our own selfishness may make an exploit of commune — unto violence, perhaps; and we guide each other, no? There in passage, by which our ideals are administered, as variable as they are tangible: Come, if we as parents turn cruel at the close of our war, then it behoves Agustín to keep our hearts in care and propitiate in kindness for love’s sake! Naught more but the fundament anointed first, unspoken, that which permeates mankind’s worth before one another! Not do I know if you are a Catholic, or if you are even a Christian at all, but shall we go deeper, still? I will use you as an example, Samantha, but through your efforts and your efforts only will result the answer you ought find in my words: The relations you pursue are far too linear. They dispute value must originate from the woman Samantha, and if not her alone, you believe they dispute her worth in subservience with the worth of an individual separate, aligned pure, but you must realize, dear girl, that mediation dictates self-reference excluded of matter. View yourself with what focus by which you might appraise an appeal, but reciprocating with others proves you consider these notions devoid of substance. Love is authenticated following clarity external; if we are not scorned of our iniquity in solitude, as ought ever accrue the quality under God, not then should we be permitted either to surmount our character with love unfounded. I cannot fathom why humanity is worthy of His love. No, I disagree with that tenet, but what I may confide in you is this: Towards that man of whom you spoke earlier as someone who debased you once before, you are lashing out, and from conscience withal neither towards introspection nor towards him, removed entirely. That girl you loved when you both were young — even the concept itself of that love is manic here in its obstinacy and its ignorance of woman unto woman — but you have rescinded her substantiate just as well of limit so poor, and thus, your obloquies and remarks of them each are without value, and of morality, even less. Not do I think as you do, to declare I shall kill another—! It is cruel to me you would even determine anything that way. I would acknowledge regardless my enemies in reciprocity, with full consideration, for I was so taught, all my years of living; from engaging with others have I learned, too, and conflict in its intricacy replete has been a model most pertinent to base any measure of sin a human would contend his blessings. Why must I hate others with differences so dire from my standing? Why does love exist contrariwise between persons so separate in soul? It is redundant to cycle my ruminations through, and lest I am to consume this bearing mine, therein lies no truth as prominent as would we deign. All we may value must come due these schisms of thought, or those separations voluntary; challenges alike, so a nation may fight against nations, so a man may ask for a woman’s hand in betrothal, and she would agree happily and kiss him and promise to love him forevermore…!” 
	Maria did not waver in the lamplight; even Samantha felt briefly she could admire the woman before her, but was thence accosted, stolen of her disposition, and so turned resentful. Her mind thrashed in a furore and threw her reason further along in dread with a sudden interrogative burst, “You believe all I have done for love has no value? Are you that rotten to think yourself superior? Then, where is your love? Why have you not changed out of that dress? Why are you not in clothes that suit you better? Why do you not wear your wedding ring, or whatever the hell you both exchanged?”
	“What could possibly— You would have what implication now?” Maria came upon a slight shriek.
	“How is there conferral in a belligerent’s action when the possibility lies greater that a belligerent would wish to utterly degrade you? Your cities might soon be ravaged, and here you sit, uncaring whether or not it will transpire! Does that not betray the hopes placed upon you by those you cherish? You would only lose them— Do not cast aside what I know of love when you cannot uphold your own!”
	It was then Maria held back what words she had prior readied and immediately turned her eyes down. “Those— Those hopes ought establish action only when love is understood— Understood to the extreme of its depths. How could I deny their efforts? But— I know… this is impossible: people are complex, so do not take me for a fool, and neither still, a fool as vile and as awful as you have described. I am not— I am not like that at all!”  
	Samantha sobbed in remorse, “I know you are not—! I know— Why must we even speak to one another like this…? You’re here for my sake— I’ve made it all wrong…” Every sentence wrought her further in sickly pains. She could not tell if she truly despised Maria. “It pulls me down, down, down— I will strive upon this crux to eternity — that is what it seems to me, for the least of its abuse, its terrible abuse! I will tell you again: your faulty reasoning will gather about the spirit of a great, heaving mass, and abandon itself for new corpses by sublimation — it does not assimilate in this way, it is not assimilated by anything in turn, and devolves into something more bleak. Besiege its workings, wound them if you must, cripple its very advent as you would please! Even unto an ideology, you would still fail to extinguish the dimensions they inhabit, and only desecrate a principle by the rudiment — no, it is freedom for which I am sorrowful — fingers borne of artifice I cannot name or curate by heart, for these were forced upon me; I find myself yearning them hither to my present whenever I am exposed, those concepts and dead faces and visions and displays I had never once sought, but now wish would accompany me forevermore. It is a vicious, guttural yearning! Distress thereupon its passage; apprehension to string me by my limbs; such passions to my account shall descend into a black tongueless savagery — horizons are fearfully vulnerable, Maria — even you would watch on with reluctance, even you would subdue that faith of yours in the absence of love and compassion. That fissure may only be called as such by the dread of its participants. And how could it not? It is a plague dwelling in our minds— How can it be that I ought entrust all my heart to someone in a crisis such as ours? We have met with too many horrors, whatever trust there lies is entirely frail; no words we might speak to one another would tender forward our resolve, nor any nuance for engraving, regardless of how closely we might gather by a ballroom, a fire, a banquet; to say nothing of your untold plans with Corsair! Why must you subject each of your matters clandestine? We are strangers, yes, but beyond those inside this tower, you withhold yourself from your own dear companions, your family! I must be a hypocrite for even speaking about this at all, for I have never kept a love — such a hopeless whore surrendered from nerve — but if there is to be strife in the most fundamental of conversations, then so be it: let me share in its strife. I will upend all for that very strife and give it to you. I cannot remain ignorant in that willingness; I must approach the pathway and trounce upon its shatterings with naught but unclad skin to every step. I want freedom— Oh, how I do—! Many a labyrinth has restrained me alongside other women, other men, but I will never suffer it to molest me or torment me or kill me while I am inside! Ah, to have that freedom—!” Samantha breathed deeply. Her eyes were hot and raw as she blinked, but no tears had remained. She felt fatigue as she spoke, “It seems I truly do want to attend that banquet, after all.”
	“How can—!” Maria began in a thrift of anger, but halted upon this rush. Samantha waited for her to continue. “… How can you submit yourself in that way, with such hopelessness? Never would they find honour as humans at all! Neither those degraded nor those eager to degrade. Not do I believe there exists an enemy so blasphemous as to affect without love, and if he exists, then the Devil with him: he is weak. But you, Samantha… not are you weak! You said you would share with another those burdens, but must you uphold strife alone? Why must your resolve remain heedless to all sentiment by which it is constituted? You cannot acknowledge the inverse, where sadness may reflect joy, or where turmoil advances compassion? Cannot exist simultaneously with each of these results?”
	“No! There is no reasoning behind that, none we may subsist alone by the capacities of an individual: Humans must always converge upon the most potent of ideations, they cannot help but be struck along. Tell me, then, when was it last you had memory of any joyful influence? If you are to mention love— If you must praise it, I will not believe you. I will disagree, for you refuse to even tell your fiancé of your situation now! Your love has grown fearful—”
	“It has not—! Don’t—!” Maria leaned forward and grabbed her companion’s wrist, with force enough to wrench from Samantha a small whimpering noise. “Do not test me! Never speak of him in that way—! Not within the limitations of an individual am I discussing this, Samantha, I am asking you to consider everything amidst that conflux of yours!” And she let her go. 
	“Then why—?” Samantha choked, “—why are you restricting yourself so much? Just tell him everything, everything!”
	“Never will I think my standing greater than theirs!” Maria cried out and gestured before Samantha with a swift wild flail of her palm. “They have enough to torment themselves over! I need only tell them I am alive— Whatever else I append must be a decision on my account, and mine alone. I ought to hold myself responsible… Agh, how our struggles are numerous!”
	“And that— Oh, Maria, that is why I can express with you such companionship—” came her immediate reply. With a soft gasp, Maria tilted her head and stressed upon her a look of worry, one Samantha herself held in fondness as she trembled. “You listen to me so dearly, so dearly, even though I have been so cruel— I am scared, just like you, and all I can do for us is follow this cowardice — our hearts necessitate it — but you have righted me enough to embark again in the passages of this tower… If you cannot tell me what you have purposed for us, and if you believe us dependent on your intentions, then I will relinquish every mandate of my conjecture to you. Our concerns are without reference, as you told me; I can already observe how indefinite the result can ever amount to, yet in the service of this complexity, I suggest now I refrain from any further secrecies and gather the rest to join the banquet. I have already talked about this at length with Tsui and Aluhruna, but they have not… No, that does not matter anymore. I was the one at fault, then. Your approval is all I need now. Please, I only wish to help.” As she finished, Maria moved to respond with haste, yet trailed in a trice at the close of this action, and refused to say anything. Samantha brought her eyes low. She gazed at her own thin fingers. “Please, please…”
	She could hear the woman exhale and shift in her seat — for a lengthy reprieve, Samantha could but only remain staring at her hands. Maria then spoke, “… The banquet—! I— No! With Corsair will I discuss things first, before we come to any decision. We sought to be patient until inhabitants wake all the more. The tower must we contend with. You can decide for yourself even to neglect the banquet, but we cannot have you walking around again so needlessly in the halls—!”
	Samantha had already formed her response before Maria ended. “But that would not be ideal,” — she raised her head — “especially not for you. Evdokija told me every person adhering to this tower is far too occupied in duty to do anything else. I do not understand the details, but I am sure you cannot afford to separate yourself even more from it, can you?”
	Maria frowned and turned away, protracting her blink to the extent of a single unsteady breath. She did not exchange Samantha’s glance. “That idea is abhorrent, I can’t allow—”
	“It is just as you described: If I am to be involved, I would like my responsibility to be presented with my own hands,” she said with finality. Maria still did not meet her eyes. “Is that not the case with you? Is that not the prerogative of us here? I will not do anything foolish or reckless! I only want to bring the others together for your consideration,” she inserted with a faltering lilt.
	Maria tapped on her letter.
	“Your plans with Corsair will be discussed with us regardless, will they not?”
	“I— Certainly… Yes.” Maria gave a stern look. “For all of you will we send, that much I ensure.” 
	“Then once you are both able to deliberate, would it not be simpler to have someone unimpeded by the tower gather us all? Especially someone who has prior knowledge of its dangers? You even mentioned it earlier, how some of the others are in conditions similar to Aluhruna’s; we must start quickly to prevent it from happening again, if these incidents have now occurred twice.” 
	Maria continued fretting with the paper, with half-lidded eyes. She gave another deep sigh. “What happened to Aluhruna… The other man to whom I was referring has, upon his body, suffered only one attack. Unlike Aluhruna’s condition, his seems far more localized, but all the same: not will I deny it would be a convenience for us… Yet— not do I desire for anyone to trouble themselves so.”
	“This is borne of my own willingness! You should not find yourself guilty by giving me this task, I have asked for it!”
	“And what type of resolve have you in sincerity? The logistics of this suggestion are even uncertain: you are still too unfamiliar with this place to continue with that object.”
	“But I came here already with two others— I understand they have been hurt, that we were exposed so terribly to danger, but I have been brought to an even more vigorous understanding for the caution of my behaviour, of all decisions I am to make, especially out in those halls! I have more information now for what I may encounter. Who else may give to this function? This would be of great assistance to us, so please, please involve me however you would!” Samantha called out. 
	“… There are still too many factors we cannot apprehend; we do not know where they have all gone! You could not— Gah, why will you not choose simply to rest? This is too much an enterprise to impose upon you. What if you get wounded even more? What would happen then?”
	“It is within the same virtue of a challenge you spoke of earlier—!” said Samantha. She leaned forward. “You would find no remorse in allowing me its assignment. It is a duty. I would—” and she paused here with hesitation. “I would even add: You may think of all this as another war, so can I not fight as well? Can I not fight together with you all?”
	Thus did Maria yield in her seat. Her prior agitations and twistings faltered by all diverted casts of concern once foisted onto Samantha, and she leaned her head heavily atop a fist; with weariness, so prolonged this display, from fading expression to perilous balance, that she could not but breath out in sorrow. “That is the reason I am so reluctant,” — and with gentleness, Maria reached over to place a hand around Samantha’s arm. “By that notion am I halted. Neither simple nor treasurable for one encumbered to oppose something that may relieve encumbrance. I, too, have a duty to take care of you each, even as you say this.” 
	“Why must you be the only ones to attend our problems? We ought to be included just as equally.”
	“… Do you comprehend what it is you are asking, truly?”
	“With all my integrity—” Samantha began, intending to resume with greater urgency, yet could only proceed by the choke and heft of her dialogue’s sudden distension. “… I do not know how far my efforts shall extend, but I would nonetheless obtain what we need. I promise, I— I would never abolish it, Maria — I would never bear such a consequence, for humans are already so rotten—!”
	There was another lapse of silence. Samantha pleaded to her through the guise of this same quiet, but before long, the woman continued, “This is what you believe with all your heart?”
	“Yes. Do not neglect me, do not neglect us. I am speaking with all my spirit.” 
	“I understand, my dear, I understand. I know very well the feelings with which you are honouring us. By others am I told ofttimes the same, but not would my wish have anyone assume these roles so difficult.” She glanced away to the letter. “And if you keep this so dearly to heart— If that is what you want to do… How must I hold myself to obstruct those words, now that you’ve said them aloud? I have, for a lifetime, heard them too countlessly; cannot neglect you, either…”
	Samantha sat for a moment without word, then, gradually, her face was cast with mirth, subdued as it came to notice that she had also been wrought of Maria’s answer in excitement, down towards deep writhing. “… I’m thankful, then.” Thither she upheld any faint happiness to her new throbs and aches, though she no longer felt anymore exhaustion, hollowing her breath instead with delight — but as she regarded Maria once more, could not endeavour to mind any obscurities or succeeding resumptions of previous issue, could not distinguish any recompense from prosperous clarity, and neither still, know how to conduct gratitude before the woman per prudence of sentiment. On Maria’s behalf could no reaction be descried, for she refrained from any further activity to observe her companion in reticence, even as Samantha herself drank the final remnants of her tea — but after a time, she shifted back to her letter and slowly uncapped the pen in full. 
	“Damn it all…” came her voice. “I wished to speak to everyone more discreetly during the banquet, but there is no telling what might happen now, when we cannot plan for what might befall the others here inside, most especially. Wait just until after I finish this, please. Only a few sentences. I have some things to share with you, now that you’re involved to some degree.”
	Samantha looked upon her with distress, and where conferral had enclosed what memories adventitious only of remorse, panic, shivering gasps, fingers twisting thence and twisting and twisting for even Maria’s image smothered in detested sequence, the very mass of Samantha’s body and her thoughts in whole were unable now to commence a single action — naught compelled to propriety in this instance — and it was not her labour for which she felt tearful, but Maria herself, Maria alone, as she continued to write.
	“I ought to tell you something more of my concern, Samantha, while I’m writing this.”
	There was no response.
	“My dear girl, I worry for you.”
	“What—? Why— Why would you be worried?” she beseeched, hating how flimsily her voice resounded and strained. “I am the one who must trouble herself — I have been thinking to ask for your forgiveness, but I cannot bring myself to do so.”
	“I told earlier: never shall anyone deign to forgive. I know you are struggling on your own right — we are, all of us — but that is the reason precisely for which I feel concern.” She glanced over, but was not looking at Samantha’s face. She took another drink of her own tea, and seemed to have emptied it. “Pay attention in full to everything before we depart.”
	“I— I will…”
	“I ought to finish this now…” Maria met her gaze bare. “Understand there is, in company, virtue found. Never will I abide your ideas, they are far too dangerous to persist with. To neglect so much of humanity— Well, I have said what was necessary. Think not yourself lesser than another. There is always a way to value the workings of all involved.”
	Samantha felt some strength to exchange her attention. “… I am thankful you are here to help me, then,” she replied with sadness.
	Maria tilted down her head and nodded once before turning back to the letter. This she held aface and reviewed over and over as she rested herself upon the table. Samantha continued watching — Maria’s shoulders had slackened, but the frame of her torso entire seemed only to catch itself by the fretful agitation of her hips upon her shaking legs, or the anxious repositioning of her craned neck; the woman’s murmurs turned slow and inconstant, turning restless as did her every finger caress. When Maria finished, her eyes were still fixated on the paper. “Not of our circumstances inside this place will I make mention…” 
	“… I suppose you’ll have time later to edit the letter however you would like.”
	“We shall see — but pay no mind anymore — I ask you again, you’re certain you wish to do this?” 
	“Yes. In fact, I think it is best if I do it as immediately as possible.”
	“You must do so without having rested?” 
	“I’ve rested enough,” she lied. 
	Maria took one final moment to observe her again. “… We have been here for a little over an hour, so it is a time proper as any to share those details I mentioned before leaving. Wait here, I will provide necessaries, if only few.” She stood to walk back towards the corner of the room where she had prepared the tea, and upon her return, carried over a woven basket no lengthier than her thigh, draped with white cloth. An uncovered metal canister had been angled upright inside. Samantha was beckoned to survey the items as Maria set them down. “This basket,” the woman began, and lifted a corner of the cloth, “as you can see here, contains bread. I imagine everyone would have started to feel hunger somewhat, but this is all we may spare for tonight. Should suffice: for tonight’s newcomers had it been rationed, but our plans have changed since, evidently. Meet me here again at around six in the morning with anyone else you find — there are clocks aplenty set up in the safe rooms. The banquet is three nights away, still, so you have time to decide whether or not to attend. As for the inhabitants of the tower at present,” she continued, huffing briefly, “excluding me, Evdokija, Corsair, and your group, there are four others who have been admitted, while two more are to wake within the evening. The instructions from Corsair given to me involve waiting a month more to build our numbers well enough and force our leave,” — though at the close of this sentence, upon observing Samantha’s immediate reaction, held out a palm to silence her. “That is all I shall say until later, anything more and you might place yourself in danger again. I have included a map anew for the establishment and marked locations down that you might use if need be, so you should have no worries about navigation. This container of metal holds water. There are medical supplies, as well, though rudimentary. Once you come across someone else, fix yourselves as you please. And now, Samantha—” She touched her companion’s wrist. The woman’s disposition had once more become sombre. Samantha gestured only with mutual concern of her own and inclined her head imploringly towards Maria, who began to fix the items, take them aloft, and place them in her hands. “If whoever you do encounter is wearing a dress in black like mine or like Evdokija’s, and you are certain beyond any and all doubt that what you are approaching truly is not either one of us, give it no attention; bow down your head; look sideways.” She kept her voice low and close and suddenly countenanced the extent of her forethought with a slight tremble. Before Samantha could respond, she appended to her briefing: “There are other workers in this tower. I say ‘workers’, not ‘women’ — they are of locomotion somewhat in puppetry, altogether strange, dolls walking that may look human initially upon glance, but act hardly in manner alike. You are involved in this way now, and I beseech you, please, walk past them. If they question you… I have told already, you must play ignorant. Promise me this.” She took Samantha’s hands and pressed them in a small embrace that soon steadied herself in kind. “I will, yes,” Samantha said. Her voice ran shallow and she felt a strike of anguish, though she did not understand why. “I will, I will! If that is what you want of me…” “If there’s any trouble, come back here at once. If you have to rest, go to any of the havens disclosed. Use the map as needed — take it out already, in fact. It is better to be safe.” Maria reached inside the basket with haste. By these throes of noise, Samantha decided only to giggle, feeling it right to do so as she watched her fuss through the provisions, and when she had been presented with the map, told Maria, “Yes, I really must feel fortunate for your help…”
	“Whatever are you now implying?” 
	“Nothing, you must simply discard my words. There’s no benefit for anyone to listen to my ramblings… Maria, I truly am sorry—” 
	Maria held out a palm and interrupted her a third time, grunting with annoyance. “Say not a thing for it. Worry only about yourself in the halls, dear girl.” She took her letter and folded it into the sash around her waist. “I will tell Corsair what happened. I doubt he would agree at all with this development, but our options are really limited now. Incidents countless…” As her mutters trailed off, she took upon another thought, bearing to converge unto every hesitant display of her composure, and gestured again towards Samantha. “If I may ask a favour, you could prioritize a guest for us?”
	Samantha obliged instantly. 
	“There is a woman named ‘Cristina’ whom Evdokija and I both attended before everyone else. The other three were accounted for half a day ago with Corsair, but not has there been anyone to accompany her at all. Not for two days have we seen the girl — in truth, she is one of the main factors why I feel it so helpful you have volunteered in this way. If you are able to find her, keep close, please. Her room was located two floors above, and those areas have space much wider and more bare for traversal, though no less winding. We are scared for her whereabouts.”
	As Maria held to her this request, Samantha was unable to keep fettered the sudden rush of her courtesy. “Of course, I’d be able to do that,” she said with a seizing chill.
	“Come, then,” called the reply, and picking up the lamp, Maria led her off to the entrance of an adjacent corridor. It was similar to the first passageways Samantha had walked through, but did not have curtains, though less moonlight shone through its windows on the right — as she observed nearer, she saw shadows thrown across the hall, of trees and leaves swaying to the wind outside in erratic quivers. Maria pointed to the farthest end as she held out the map. “This path connects to two of the areas I have marked down: a library of sorts, and a courtyard. If to guess, most of whoever might wander the halls would travel most likely along the routes linking all these locations together, but I cannot guarantee how anyone might behave in practice; I would suffice you, Tsui, and Aluhruna as examples.” To this, Samantha suspended all thought upon her breath and set herself forward with a flagging brace in her stance, having separated unexpectedly from Maria. She chose not to reply — yet there had alighted an immediate cold on her arm to startle wrangled nerve, some touch brought settling in the new warmth of cradled skin, and she felt the woman grasp once more around her wrist to tug lightly onward. Thither was she coaxed by Maria’s trace from limb to palm, who, having taken her other hand alongside, was now wrapping them both around Samantha’s, and enclosed it between. “Sorry.” She had switched to her second tongue. “I’m joking poorly in taste.” As Maria squeezed, Samantha, too, exhorted herself in the same manner, pressing tightly. They let each other go — Maria indicated for her to lower her head, and as Samantha reciprocated, the woman rose up on the tips of her shoes to offer her brow a small kiss. “Prayer mine to you, dear,” she said in a quiet voice, and broke off with a step. There remained in her words a trailing waver. She set herself removed by a stride for farewell before the entrance, yet her eyes were not beset as accorded her poise, blinking and flitting between Samantha and the black passage; in recurrence towards the map, at times to her white dress; when, finally, upon shifting the subtleties of her demeanour, said in the softest charm of a whisper since given to assuage, “Run not, Samantha. If run you shall, the tower would chase and will do so.” Her expression was solemn. “Keep yourself away from harm, I plead. To you I entrust.”
	Samantha kept her head bowed, could but only suffice Maria this frail gesture in acknowledgment, yet bereft of pulse, inhaling naught by aridity so hollowing, curtailed it thus with a sudden grimace to arrogate her vacillations with nods and shivers. She could not bear any longer to remain unmoving and began to walk as well as she was able. Her figure cradled itself of no surge, presiding the route ahead for its every glare by each undulate roil in dissolve, that her little motions, too, assumed this departure less by Maria’s warnings than had the flitting figures in shadow seized the peripheries erst due her focus; even vision seemed once again blurred, to wither and wilt. As she braced each of her steps, her spasms, consumptions, veins wrought adust — soever adventitious — there remained a constant impelling shift to direct herself angled away towards the scatter of lamplight from the entrance she knew Maria to be standing, where she could go and rest with her, however much the woman’s delicate dear promise would prove her safety upon return; and Samantha quietly insisted she still watched on, in preparation should anything happen. She lifted herself upright in the hall and was anointed to the forefront. “Do not look behind, don’t look—” Samantha reminded as she dredged Maria’s words from resonance and decay, but fear, fear, fear was too prosperous in solitude, whither had pain been stood across, breached of vileness for sickly heat, hostilities, gashing vomit, fats infected due these deepest of hearts splayed to falter withal by conceding duty be burned with rough putrid billows; she desired to shout, yet would not dare frenzy the winds — grew nonetheless contemptuous for the crippling of her whispers and the theft of her role, longed to look back after all and see the other woman, to see anyone by her sides and feel another’s touch, so turned around— And Maria was there, still where she had left her, lifting an arm now to wave her by and urging her to do the same. To this courtesy did Samantha fathom the very balance of her limbs seize inflamed upon her shudders and her flesh, where crept naught but thrills bereft of cold excepting pale convulsion; her spine contorted with sudden vigorous arcs and turned all else numb as her fingers gestured with a vague point. There came an immediate desire to run along the hall, but she did not suffer herself the fury. The measures to her walk she restrained and ensured were carried well over shadow, but here had the night conjoined even the very exchange of her boots and ankles, her dress, basket, trickling and tapping to cavort thence the path backwards and backwards by the cycle of her own dry whispers — would ever-more the woman’s oath advance with hers — shall no frost catch now the rheum of her disease, and though the lamplight was fading past view, from far beyond the walls and windows there graced the passage a wave of moon in equal churn. Oh, did sweet Dance propose these silhouettes roam the boundless dusk again for slumber, that across ground might be unfurled her spare basket cloth in soporific charms of harvest, amidst storm, where leaves had accompanied dead forests and stones and constellations flooding away the winter ash from whence continued her pursuit to illuminate prospect each, by conviction, no more to a project than what shall be given to disparity; less to jubilance than what a lamentation is denied; she would remain sombre for a portent unto the cavalcade of a premise, for premises may only corrupt! Where stands a ruin in the sea, dear? Repeat it again: Where do sun-scorched fossils sleep? No mind can rest, no desire is fulfilled, and neither still can they be ascertained together with the imperial crownings of humanity. Thus are they beset to flicker and flicker— And yet, Samantha thought, it pleads only they must recuperate in wisdom; there is neither affliction all the while no turmoil is compounded, and before her were steps coiling and coiling more — forsooth, these shadows truly were shadows; bile amounts to naught but bile! Diminished is the stitching for worldly swarm’s herald heedless her dreamscape — only the very extremes remain, her lovely extremes, their designations spun in imminence — she would maim herself if even a single one is forgotten — and it was then she recalled Maria’s words, those regarding love with her companions and the darlings of her soul, and Samantha conceived these roars of emotion must assuredly have been what she was speaking towards — but as she twirled around with clamour, of such excess, by due fracture, the room behind was in fair darkness, and she had nobody to tell of her discoveries.