Isn't there a chance Lynia could endure it? She's sacrificed so much for Eve. Can't she suffer one more thing? Isn't it better to try and find out?

No.

She tears herself out of Lynia's arms, and withdraws, facing away from her. Facing the window, and the curtains, and the sun.

Lynia is...saddened by it. Not shocked. Not angry. Not in pain, really. Just sad.

It looks like Eve isn't okay. And Lynia really, really wants Eve to be okay.

There is a very simple reason why Eve won't hurt Lynia, even though she loves her. It's true that the wounds would heal, that the cuts would close. And she is very, very brave. But --

She thinks of the way Lynia's body seizes up when there's a spider, or a beetle. The way she sat in her room and hugged herself that one week after a classmate slapped her, until Teresa coaxed her out. The way she held Eve, a month after she and Teresa had saved her from the orphanage, when she'd finally realized just how Eve had been treated -- and cried, and cried, and cried...

Brave. But not strong.

Not nearly strong enough to face what Eve is.

Her body would heal, but the thing that is Lynia would be gone forever.

And the possibility of a world which does not contain Lynia cannot be allowed to exist.

Maybe... Maybe it's time she finally wielded the knife against herself.

A world without Lynia is unthinkable, but a world without Eve would get along just fine.

Eve is shaking again. Lynia bites her lip. She wants to say --

Why aren't you okay? Stop being not-okay.

But she knows that's not how okayness works.

She'll have to do it herself. So she says:

"You know I'd do anything, don't you?"

Eve turns her head, meets Lynia's eyes. They are wide and brown and pleading.

Eve has a terrible feeling.

"I want you to be safe and happy. Please. I'd feel awful if you were hurting. And I'll do anything, endure anything, no matter what it is, so please just tell me how I can make you okay."

Eve lunges across the bed and takes Lynia in her arms. She falls back and lands upon the mattress, with Eve atop her. She's squeezing Lynia tightly. More tightly than before.

So tightly it very nearly hurts. A tiny gasp escapes Lynia's lips.

She places a hand on Lynia's head and forces her down, so that she is snuggled up beneath Eve's chin. They have hugged like this before, when Lynia has been vulnerable, but Eve has never felt so desperate about it before.

Eve can't end her life. She realizes that now. That would annihilate Lynia just as surely as the hurting.

No way through. Tear Lynia to shreds with blades, or tear her to shreds with death and failure. Those are the options.

Lynia can feel Eve's heart hammering away against her chest. Her arm is still wrapped around Lynia's body, and it seems to her as if she's clutching far more tightly than ought to be possible.

But it feels...comforting. She squirms very slightly, and murmurs something soft and gentle.

Eve tightens her grip. It doesn't matter if there's no way through. She'll just have to make one anyway.

She brings her lips to Lynia's ear.

"I'll protect you," she whispers. "I'll save you. I promise. No matter what. You're going to be okay."

Another gentle murmur. Affirmation, mostly. She doesn't understand what Eve is saying, but she doesn't need to. It's important to Eve, and that's what matters.

Eve's hand on Lynia's head clenches tighter, her fingers turning white.

"You trust me, don't you, Lynia? Tell me you trust me."

"I trust you, Eve," Lynia murmurs.

Tears leak from Eve's eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you."

She's gone from the house three minutes later.

Teresa sits within a crystal womb.

The light of the data-harvest shines in from all around, multicolored, refracting, comprehensible only to her refined eyes. And each of her ten slender fingers is a sharp-winged drone out upon the battlefield. Their eyes are her eyes, and she watches as they dart in against the enemy, their brane-scythes flashing, adjusting their paths just so with every twitch of her fingers to keep ahead of the sxelanth tendrils --

She kills, and kills, and kills. As many as possible. As quickly as possible. They will never stop coming.

The sound of a bell.

Her shift is over. It has been six hours. The drones disconnect: the data-harvest going dark, the lasers that track the gems upon her fingers cutting out. Her flock will be transferred to the next pilot.

She rises to her feet within the dark crystal chamber. She is exhausted. She does not let this slow her movements.

The door slides open on her approach, and outside, the guard (in his glittering armor, long gun by his side) salutes her.

Her heart is pounding. As usual, it does not quite feel real that the killing is done for now. How many times during this last shift did she nearly err? A single mistake, and the enemy could get close enough --

No, she knows that there is no way to defend a city but unbroken vigilance. She doesn't need to remind herself.

She does not let it show on her face. Any of it. Her posture is strict and elegant, and her cheeks do not flush. She only gives a soft, serene smile to her guard, and nods.

Then she is down the lift from the top of the tower, and out upon the street. Home, next. To Lynia, and Eve.

The streets wind between corkscrew spires and gleaming domes, all glass and crystal. It is a wealthy part of the city, here toward the center, so the jewels upon Teresa's fingers and the diamond on its silver chain about her neck and the strings of pearls around her wrists draw only admiration and envy, not anything darker. She does not really like wearing all this jewelry, but there is nothing to be done. As far as technicalities go, it is only the control gems on her fingers which are really crucial, but the others are symbols of her station and her status. And she must never, ever allow appearances to slip.

She reaches her home easily. It is tall and elegant, and bears three towers, one for each of them, because she bought it years ago with the first of her generous pay, and she had not realized then how closely she and Lynia and Eve would depend upon each other. How rarely they would sleep apart.

The door knows her, so it slides open, and she enters.

Lynia is in the kitchen. She is taking clean cookware from the washbasin and tucking it away in the white cabinets that line the circular room.