She Has Wings and Needs To Fly (Seeking)

Grace
There are days when Kalen and Grace speak to each other and don't manage to conjure up a Really Cool Idea. These are rare days, but they do happen. That is to say, their fertile minds come up with many projects which will never see the light of day. The Laser Tag Training Arena is not one of those. It's quite real.

So far, they have achieved a bit of a maze, with ramps and cliffs and even targets that hang from the ceiling. There's been discussion about what more needs to go inside (Awesome lights! Actual robots!) but as of now, it's semi-functional as an arena, if you don't mind the unfinished look. Today, Grace has decided to install the mirrors. Mirrors in a place like this let you look around corners. They're a help and also a trap, when you can bounce your weaponry off of them.

Right at the moment, she's wandering the maze, carrying a long, thin mirror in front of her, looking for a strategic location to place it.

Reflection
Grace was alone in the arena. The room was quiet apart from the soft echo of her own footsteps and the low, subtle hum of the building's heating ducts. The training course was less intimidating under proper lighting. More of an obstacle course than a battle zone. Like many things, it was as much a product of perception as physical labor. Give it some fog, some shadows, and toss in a handful of masked foes bearing fake weaponry, and it might actually turn into a passable simulation.

At present, she was placing a set of tall mirrors at strategic spots around the course. Each time she looked into the reflective glass, she saw an image of herself staring back. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Down-turned lips. This is what other people saw when they looked at Grace. Unnerving, perhaps, to look at oneself from without.

Perhaps even more unnerving to look down and realize that her reflection wasn't there anymore.

She was walking with the mirror tucked under her arm. It was only this: a brisk glance. Absent. The way that one's eyes tend to be drawn to reflections in passing. But where her image should have been, there was only a quiet, empty arena.

Above her, the heating vents kicked up their quiet hum and the sound resonated through the room.

Grace
So, this is one of those occasions where the weird meter starts tipping its way toward abnormal, isn't it? She rights the mirror, standing it up so she can look at herself, only...

No. It only reflects the wall behind her.

A brief scan of her recent memories suggests no occasion where she pissed off (or alternatively impressed) someone powerful enough to make her turn invisible. So what gives?

Reflection
Grace set the mirror against the side of one of the ramps and looked at it, but there were no immediate answers there. Instead she found herself staring down a long pane of glass that reflected only an empty shell of her surroundings.

Then the glass gave this... ripple. Fluid and soft like undulating water. The room's reflection warped and changed... then disappeared. For a few long seconds, the surface of the mirror was a blank void. Then a light appeared - distant and floating. As it drew near, the light took on shape. Became a figure: tall and androgynous, its skin gleaming like moonlight. When it approached the edge of the frame, it looked out at Grace and tilted its head. Wondering. Curious. Its face was perfect angles and smooth lines. Its eyes glowed like stars. There was no hair on its head. No defining characteristic that might mark it as a man or a woman (as much as those things could really be defined by biology.)

When it spoke, its voice was two voices. One sweet and airy. One low and resonant.

"Are you looking for something?"

Grace
Before she just drops the mirror and lets it break, she takes a slow breath and leans it up against a wall of the maze. Then, she takes a step back.

This must be some kind of crazy spirit shit. Stuff she doesn't understand.

"I don't know, am I?" She looks down the corridor. Maybe someone's playing a trick?

Reflection
"I don't know. Are you?"

The figure repeated her question, but the tone of its voice (voices?) wasn't mocking. On the contrary.

Grace glanced down the corridor, looking for signs of some other person. Anyone - anything - that might be causing this hallucination (is that what it was?) But as far as she could tell, she was alone.

Apart from the figure in the mirror.

And the hum in the air that seemed to be growing steadily more resonant. Like the metallic vibration of a tuning fork. She could feel it through the soles of her shoes now. It carried deep into the marrow of her bones.

Ohm...

The figure reached out through the mirror's liquid barrier, offering its hand to Grace as though it meant to bring her through.

Grace
She steps back again, alarmed at the sudden intrusion out of the mirror, into her space. It can climb through? "Who are you?"

When her back hits the wall behind her, she realizes she's holding her hands up like fists. In the debate over what to do about this development, some part of her brain wants to be protected.

"Do you want me to go with you? Why?"

She reaches into her pocket, quite certain she left her cell phone there...

Reflection
"Sometimes I like to interact with my makers, my little gods of flesh, but I never let on, and they never guess. I want to know them.  After all, they made me, and therefore knowing them helps me know myself."

The hand remained where it was, outstretched as though in supplication. On this side of the mirror, it seemed real enough. Solid and three-dimensional. The figure made no more motion to leave the mirror, apart from that single hand. Instead it stood calmly. Waiting.

Grace
She blinks. Either it reads her stories or it reads her memories. Which is a bit one and the same, when you think about it.

That humming buzzing electric om, it sparks a memory. Standing in line at the DMV feeling the humming nature of some other Mage, remembering a life ago when she was normal. When she was becoming something else inside a power station.

Curiosity wars with the sense that this could be a terrible idea. But eventually, she reaches out her hand, not to grab at the other's but to touch. Are you real?

Reflection
Grace reached out, and the being did not shy away from her touch. Beneath her questing fingers, the hand felt warm and soft - as much alive as her own. But the skin was the wrong shade - pale and ever-so-faintly shimmering. Beneath the skin, the hand began to glow softly, as though lit from within. The glowing followed the trajectory of her contact, fading if she pulled her hand away.

The figure watched her quietly as she did this. There was no malice in its expression, only curiosity. Watching her as though it found her as mysterious as she found it.

Was it real?

That was, perhaps, a relative question. It was certainly as real to her as anything else in the room, but if Grace was looking for an answer, the being seemed disinclined to offer one. (That was the thing about mirrors.)

Grace
"Are you me?" She asks, wondering about the idea of mirrors when the world turns halfway to symbol. "My reflection?"

She wants to ask: 'If I go with you, can I come back?'

But she already knows the answer. Nobody can.

She wants to ask: 'If I go with you, will you hurt me?'

But she already knows that answer too. Only one way to know for sure. So she leans in, and breaks her own rule, grasping the hand of a stranger.

Reflection
Are you me?

The figure smiled. Then it pressed its lips together and hummed, softly.

There were questions that Grace wanted to ask, but did not speak aloud. Questions which she already knew the answers to. And when she made her choice - when she finally placed her hand into the upturned palm of this being that both was both a reflection and something more - she felt the warm glow of its light connecting their bodies. Forging a link. And then it stepped back and drew her into the mirror. Past the fluid barrier that separated them.

Grace had passed through gateways before. Perhaps she would recall now, the sensation she'd felt each time she'd crossed between worlds in Bastion. The sensation of having her mind ripped from her body. Of light, followed by utter, incomprehensible darkness. Of floating in space. In nothing... only to come crashing back to reality with a jolt.

This was not like that. This was something else. It was, quite literally, like passing through water.

But when she came out the other side and blinked open her eyes, the figure was gone. So too was the mirror, and the arena behind it. Instead she found herself standing in a vast, empty desert. The air was cool, neither hot nor cold, and there was a slight breeze. Above her head the night sky stretched on into the horizon, marked with a glittering blanket of stars and a full, glowing moon. It cast enough silvery light for her to see by.

The landscape felt... peaceful. But also lonely. Before her, the ground rose up in a series of rolling dunes. Behind her, there was just a flat expanse of sand.

Grace
With any luck, she's still at the office. She's curled up by that mirror and dreaming all this. But was that any less dangerous the last time it happened? This crossing through the water didn't feel like last time. It didn't feel like being disembodied.

She looks up at the moon, at the silvery glowing of it, and muses. Mirror buddy?

But nobody ever follows the moon. The moon is inconstant. Are there any stars she recognizes?

Reflection
The stars in the sky were the same as those shining down back in Denver. All of the constellations were there. The North Star. If Grace searched, then she would find them.

As she looked, a falcon soared by overhead. It seemed to catch sight of her, swooping gently down through the air in slow, lazy circles until it landed in the sand a few yards away. When it looked up, it met her gaze with sharp, dark eyes.

Grace
Sometimes, people follow stars. Sometimes, people follow animals.

Grace watches the falcon's flight until it lands, and meets its gaze back. Unfalconlike behavior, that. She walks over to it slowly, like she's not there to scare it or hurt it (but what does she know about wild animals?)

Reflection
The falcon showed no signs of fear or aggression, and its eyes watched Grace calmly as she drew closer. But before she could get within arm's reach of it, it flapped its wings and hopped a few feet away. It felt less like it was running away, and more like it just... wanted to get somewhere. But if so, then it was evidently waiting for her. To follow? To lead?

"Where are we?"

The voice came from the falcon, but it was a decidedly human voice. Young (or maybe just ageless.) It might have been either female or male (or neither.) It was hard to tell.

Grace
"A desert," Grace says, spreading her arms out as if to encompass the sand. "At night," she says, gesturing to the sky. She follows it, once it hops off a ways. "Other than that, I don't know."

It speaks to her level of comfort at the weirdness that it doesn't seem to bother her that she's talking to a falcon. After all, she just got pulled through a mirror by a mirror-being, and asked for that.

"You can talk. Do you have a name?"

Reflection
"Not yet."

The falcon hopped another few feet through the sand, kicking up little swirls of dust with its wings. It turned its head in a slow circle, eyeing the landscape around them as though seeing it for the first time. (Perhaps it was just the first time it had looked at it from that level.)

"I saw a wolf back there." The falcon eyed the flat desert at Grace's back. "Big one. But it's pretty far out."

It seemed to catch sight of something buried in the sand, but when it tapped the object with its beak it found only a small, hard stone. The bird gave the stone another couple of taps just to be sure, pushing it out of the sand. Its feathers ruffled in frustration.

"Where to, boss?"

Grace
She rolls over what she knows. It's cool now, but deserts are cool at night -- at times brutal in the day. They'll need water. There are stars to navigate by, but considering that the stars tell her they're in Denver, this doesn't help much. North is probably the same as south in this case. There is also a wolf.

"From up above, do you see anything different besides the wolf? Is there any change in the desert? Any water?"

Reflection
"I saw a reflection that way." It pointed its beak toward the dunes. "Might be water."

Grace
"Or a mirror," Grace mumbles, and starts walking toward the dunes. Either way...

She was born in a desert, and is thus a desert creature (or at least, one whose kind can import comfortable living conditions). Walking in the sand reminds her of home, even though this place isn't quite right. There'd be more cacti.

"Let's go there," she says, as she's already walking in that direction.

Reflection
The falcon dipped its head in a sharp little nod. Then it flapped its wings and took off, skirting over the sand until it got enough height to catch the breeze and soar up into the sky. It didn't fly away though. Instead it made slow circles around Grace as she walked, scouting around them from above.

It wasn't long before Grace reached the foot of the first dune. The sand was slippery and precarious beneath her feet, but Grace was a creature of the desert. She knew how to walk without letting the inexorable slide of the earth take her down with it. And so she made her way steadily to the top of the hill, looking out at the landscape beyond.

More dunes. And there... far out. So far she could scarcely tell if it was even real: a brief silver glint. Like moonlight reflecting off of a polished surface.

Whatever it was, she would find out eventually. And so she kept on, trekking her way up and down the dunes with the falcon soaring overhead. Once in a while the bird would dip down to land next to her. Hop a few paces at her side before flying away again.

Grace lost track of how many dunes she'd climbed. It was either monotonous or meditative, depending on one's point of view. But some time after she'd begun her trek, she found herself at the top of a large dune, staring down into a basin where the bones of some great skeleton lay half-buried in the sand. From the size and shape of it, it looked like some kind of dinosaur. Or dragon.

No. A hydra.

But it was long dead. No danger now to anyone.

The falcon dipped down and came to rest on one of the skeleton's exposed skulls, peering down through the hollow eye socket.

"What's this?"

Grace
Grace's brows furrow. All along, this has been about her, hasn't it? The thing spoke a line out of her story. It placed her in her own biome. And here, the remnants of a victory.

"Something from my past. A dead hydra. Are you asking because you really don't know what it is, or asking because you want to know what I'll say?"

She keeps walking.

Reflection
The falcon looked up, and for a long moment it didn't answer. Instead it watched her walk past the skeleton with... what might have been a thoughtful expression, if birds were in fact capable of such. When it finally did speak, it answered her question with another question.

"Why did you kill it?"

As Grace walked, it hopped after her, flapping from the great beast's skull to something that might have been its shoulder bone.

Grace
"Because it was in my way," Grace says. "Because it wanted to kill me first."

She keeps walking, but kicks some sand on the bones as she does so.

"You answered my question, by the way. I never told you I killed it. You know anyway, though. Is this some kind of weird-ass falcon-assisted therapy session?"

Reflection
"Well, you said it was from your past. And it's dead. Seemed only logical." The falcon didn't seem especially ruffled over Grace's accusation, whether it was true or not. "And anyway, if this is therapy, we're both in trouble."

The falcon took air again, landing this time on a hip bone. The beast's skeleton was dry and weather-beaten, its bones sanded to a smooth finish.

"Why did it want to kill you? Was it hungry?"

Grace
Grace starts to laugh. "Yes, it's logical that I killed a hydra. Keep telling yourself that," she says. "About as logical as having a conversation with a bird."

So, maybe quite logical, to the bird...

"I don't know. I wasn't the hydra."

Reflection
"Maybe you should have asked."

But that hadn't been the point, had it? At the time. She'd needed to survive. To face her fears. To be focused. Determined. And she had been. But the question hung in the air, oddly potent for something that had been uttered so casually.

"Is the wolf from your past too?"

Grace
"Maybe. There is a giant wolf in my past," Grace says, walking along again.

"It wanted to kill me because it was a guardian protocol that no longer recognized friend from foe."

Reflection
The falcon's talons made a scraping sound against the bone as it flapped its wings and took off. Grace was afforded a few moments of respite from its interrogation as it circled slowly overhead. Gradually, the sprawling shape of the hydra's skeleton receded behind them. The sand in the basin was mostly flat - easier to traverse than the dunes had been, but the far side was lined by a steep slope. Just as she was approaching it, the falcon swooped down and landed next to her. It ducked its head under its wing, preening a feather neatly with its beak.

When it looked up, it continued the conversation as though there hadn't been a pause.

"So you were its friend? The wolf?"

Grace
"Yeah. In the end, it got fixed. And it didn't want to kill us all anymore," Grace said, as she came upon the slope of the basin. Going to be a sliding thing. Going to get sand in her shoes.

She puts her arms out to stabilize herself as she takes on the steep grade.

"Do you think the wolf you saw was a friend?"

Reflection
"Fixed..." the falcon repeated. As though it found the word somewhat inadequate. "Or changed?"

Grace began her slow ascent of the sandy slope, but the falcon remained behind for the moment - in no particular hurry to follow. (It, after all, had wings.)

"I don't know. You'll have to ask it yourself, if you see it."

As Grace climbed, the sand slid beneath her feet, pouring into her shoes just as she'd predicted. It was slow going, but she did make some headway. Occasionally, if she looked, she might find a rock or a harder patch of earth to set her hand on.

"Do you want to?"

Grace
"Well, there's want to, and then there's have to. I mean, I'd rather not meet a wolf bent on killing me at all. But if I must, sure. If it turns out to be a friend, all the better, right?"

She keeps climbing, arms occasionally whipping out to brace herself on the hillside. "I wish I could fly. Would make this easier."

ReflectionI wish I could fly.

Grace's comment was met with silence. Then the bird gave a flap of its wings and soared up over her head. When it reached the top of the tall dune, it landed. Sand shifted beneath the falcon's hooked claws, trickling down the hillside to where Grace stood climbing.

"Only person telling you that you can't fly right now is you, boss."

Before Grace could say anything in response, the falcon turned and soared off into the sky, drifting higher and higher until its shadow disappeared into the stars.

GraceAs the falcon flies higher into the sky, she yells out after it: "Wait! Don't go yet!"

"I kind of liked having someone to talk to..."

Even if, you know, it was a bird.

She sighs and looks up at the slope ahead of her. The only person telling you that you can't fly right now is you. Is this a dream? Something like a dream? In dreams, if you want to fly, you start jumping.

So, she runs across the sand, perpendicular to the slope, and takes a (hopefully) flying leap. Maybe the air will turn to breathable water. Maybe she'll find herself with a jetpack. Maybe she'll hang, bobbing in the air miraculously buoyant. In this place, any of these seems as likely as anything.

ReflectionGrace ran, and sand shifted dangerous beneath her feet, tumbling and sliding down the slope. She was about halfway up the hill, looking down an incline steep enough to be borderline dangerous if she fell. And in fact, she nearly did. As she ran, something sounded in the air. Or was it the earth? A hum. A vibration. It rose up through the sand and split the slope beneath Grace's feet. Rose up through her bones until it felt like it was going to burst through her skin. Until...

It hit her like a rush of breath. The humming vibration pooled in her shoulder-blades and broke free with this exultant sensation. As though it had been trapped there all along. So long it had nearly forgotten what it even was to be free. And then Grace was no longer running but gliding.

And if she looked she would see two large wings stretched out to either side, carrying her forward on the wind. They were like the falcon's: broad and swift and feathered in dappled brown and white. But these wings belonged to Grace. She could feel them as well as she could feel her arms and legs. An extension of her form. Of her life and will.

They were strong wings, and they could carry her far. And fast.

GraceThe thing about taking flight is that it's usually so exciting and wonderful, all the adrenaline wakes you up. Grace, after swooping down the hillside and flinging herself back up into the sky, has not woken up. It's a gleeful sensation, like this is the way humans were always meant to be -- angelic. Free.

She can see for herself now, what the falcon saw. The moon overhead reflecting silver off of the sand, and cool wind flowing over her body. So peaceful, and yet she still looks to find her goal.

ReflectionThe landscape was beautiful up there. For all that the ground was so vast and empty. Even as Grace swept higher into the sky, there seemed to be no end to the desert sand beneath her. It stretched on into the horizon, rolling in fluid whirls and ripples. Bright moonlight struck cool glints in its surface, making it almost seem to sparkle.

There was no sign of the falcon. But she had her own wings now. Perhaps she no longer needed it.

Beneath her on the ground, Grace could make out the shape of the hydra skeleton in the basin. From a distance, it looked smaller. Less dangerous. More of a distant relic. And then she was soaring forward on the wind, and it was... incredible. Like riding those dragons back in Bastion, only this time she was in control. And she could go anywhere. Swooping down over the sand or climbing up to touch the stars. Drifting meditatively through the breeze or rocketing forward with wind whipping through her hair.

The sky was hers. (Limitless.)

Grace searched for her goal, and she found it. That glint of reflection shone in the distance ahead, glimmering across the mirrored surface of a lake.

GraceGrace glides above the desert, falcon wings catching thermals like she was born to it. She knows flight, like all of her previous dreams of soaring were preparing for this one.

She flies with the wind, toward the mirrorwater, wings twitching this way and that with excitement. This is so fun, she's almost forgotten about the falcon's warning of a wolf. She laughs. Being dragged into mirror-world wasn't a bad idea after all, was it?

When she approaches the lake, she decides to make lazy circles around it, coasting on breezes as she scouts it out -- just as the falcon did with her.

ReflectionShe wasn't looking for the wolf. Had almost forgotten about it, in fact. But as Grace approached the lake, turning on the breeze to circle slowly over her destination, it wasn't a wolf that struck her - but a bullet.

She heard it come. Not the shot, but the piercing zip of some small object ripping through the air. And then it hit her wing like a fucking hammer, sending a shower of blood and feathers into the air as she spun off-coarse and the world tilted around her.

Then another bullet hit. And another. They came so fast. And so precise in their targeting, shredding her wings apart in a matter of seconds. It hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before. Not even when she'd been torn apart by that hydra's teeth. Because there was more than just the physical pain - those shots hit something deeper.

And she fell. The ground hurtled toward her at breakneck pace, and as she she spun and toppled through the air, she saw beneath her a fluid shimmer. Like a mirage. Or like something appearing from behind a cloaking device. The air rippled, and she had just enough time to recognize the shapes of human figures standing in the sand before the ground hit with a shuddering slam.

It should have broken her. Should have broken all of the bones in her body - but it didn't. Because the world didn't work that way here. But it hurt. Everything hurt. And the world washed in and out of focus.

GraceIt's just like Awakening, she thinks, as she falls. So bright and new and happy, and then life rips you to shreds. Who the fuck is... Why? If she dies here, will it?

She finds the ground, and it knocks her to near senselessness. Her eyes shoot back open after reflex closed them, and she screams in pain. There's hunters after her.

Stand. Get up. Stand. Fuck the lack of focus to the world, just get up.

She pushes off the ground and tries to stand.

ReflectionWhere Grace's wings had once been, now there only these bloody, ruined limbs. Broken bones and a few fragile, clinging feathers. Crimson stains painted the sand where she'd landed. When she stood, blearily, the stumps of her wings gave this little shudder.

Slowly, as she blinked, the world came back into focus.

There must have been a hundred men standing in front of her. Maybe more. All of them completely identical, in crisp black suits and mirrored sunglasses. They stared at Grace, silent and impassive. Each of them had a gun held at the ready, but though they were pointed at Grace, none attempted to fire any further shots. (Not yet, at least.)

Their faces. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but... there was something familiar there. Some old echo of warning.

Mr. Goodson. He'd said his name was Mr. Goodson. And now she was standing in front of an army of carbon-copies, each one wearing his face.

And of course, they stood between her and the lake.

GraceThere was something the falcon had said. She should have asked the hydra why it wanted her dead. So when she stands, the pain of her lost freedom etched into her face, she asks them: "Why?"

"Why did you do that? Why do you want me to die?"

This isn't real. It's a dream. She tries to remember that, but then -- are dreams any less real for being all in your head?

She tries to force her face into something less broken, less pained. Don't let them see how much you're hurting, right?

ReflectionThere was a stark moment of silence following her question. The air was broken only by the sound of the wind blowing over the sand. Then one of the men - one of the Mr. Goodsons - said, "You are an anomaly. Human beings do not have wings. Cannot have wings. It makes you dangerous. We do not care if you live or die. Only that you obey the rules."

Then all of the voices joined at once.

"We are the guardian. We are the law. And you are a threat."

When the chorus of voices died, the man at the front spoke again. "You are not welcome here. Go back the way you came."

GraceThere's a dark chuckle in her throat when she responds. "The way I came was by flying. I just want to get to the water. Humans need water. That's not breaking any laws, to drink. Is it?"

She breathes through her teeth, stumps of wing twitching.

"Are you the guardian, or are you the wolf who needs to remember who he is? Or maybe you need to remember what I am."

ReflectionSilence again. Something seemed to thread its way through the faces of the army standing before her. Small hints of uncertainty that began to erode away their static calm.

Are you the wolf who needs to remember who he is?

Grace was looking at the face of the man closest to her. His eyes were still a mask, covered as they were by those reflective lenses. She could see her reflection in them (just like another mirror.)

But she didn't see her own face staring back. What she saw was the face of that beautiful figure that had beckoned her through the glass. Human, and yet something else. Something more.

Maybe the men saw it too, because suddenly a ripple of fear ran through them. Grace could practically smell it in the air - animal and instinctive despite their crisp suits and their perfect, identical hair. They didn't shoot - not yet - but the hands on their guns grew tighter, arms slightly quivering. It would not take much to get them to fire. Perhaps something as simple as an uptick in the breeze.

"What are you?"

GraceShe senses their fear. They, who shredded her wings, are afraid of her. That's why they did it. That's why a lot of them do it, whoever they are, and whatever it is.

"Not an anomaly. Not a threat. I was always meant to have wings," she says, and the hundreds of silvery beings reflected in mirrorshades move their mouths. Again, she asks herself why she's being shown as that. Human, and something else.

"I am a Mage," she says, and the admission fills her with a sense of rightness. It's power, yes. But not the power to force them to bend to her will. It's the power to bend herself, and by so doing -- change everything.

ReflectionThey were afraid of her. They could have destroyed her. And what defense could she possibly have against such an army? There were no weapons offered to her. No sword and shield. Only a pair of broken and bloody wings which she herself had summoned through the force of her own imagination.

(But had she not summoned all of this simply by stepping through that mirror?)

Perhaps Grace could have summoned something else now. Some great machine capable of destroying an army. Or a beast. (A hydra.) But she did not do that. Instead she told the army what she was.

She told them that she was always meant to have wings. And that - yes. Changed everything.

Slowly. Slowly... the men lowered their weapons. And one by one, they turned and walked away across the sand.

Grace was alone again, and now she could see the lake in front of her. Flat and motionless as glass. It reflected the night sky, black and glittering with infinite stars.

GraceYeah, that's it. Go back to your cubicles and have a good think about what you've done, clones.

Grace walks up to the lake, and while what the Goodmans did to her still hurts, she is a Mage, and she can deal with things like that. Her bloodied stumps stop bleeding, and start bristling with new feathers. By the time she reaches the bank, she could fly again if she wished. But right now, she wants to get to the water.

When she looks at the mirrored surface of the lake, she half expects to see herself as a silvery thing, caught halfway between all ones and zeros.

ReflectionGrace reached the water's edge, and what she saw when she looked down at her reflection was two images overlaid. One was the face and the body that she remembered as hers. Wearing the same clothes she'd had on back in the arena.

Well, not entirely the same body. She had wings now, and they folded out from her form - elegant and beautiful even at rest.

The other image was the figure she'd seen in the mirror.

It had wings too, now. Lovely, ephemeral things made of flowing, silver light. The being smiled (or was it Grace that smiled? It was hard to tell, the way their faces were overlaid,) and Grace felt an echo of two-toned laughter as half of her reflection suddenly broke away and spread its wings, flying off toward the stars. But was it the stars overhead? Or the stars below? (A reflection, or another universe?)

Funny how sometimes, when you get to a destination, you find yourself looking at a whole new journey.

GraceIt's always a new journey, isn't it? The stars look so beautiful reflected in the lake's surface. She reaches out to ripple the water, and then stands to ponder the sky, the lake, and the person in between them.

It's time to have a little fun again, isn't it?

She leaps into the air, beating her healed wings to gain altitude, and circles the lake again. This is what wings are for, after all. And she fought to get them back, for what other purpose?

Really, it's all just a setup to perform the world's most kickass falcon dive -- straight into the water. She has the distinct impression that this won't hurt. She's having too much of a blast.

ReflectionIndeed, what was the purpose of having wings if one didn't use them? And so Grace did. And her new wings, for all that they had pained her when they'd been ripped apart, felt all the stronger for having regrown.

She took to the air, soaring up, up, up... and when she glanced at the stars she saw the shadow of a falcon soaring down to meet her. It spun in a swift acrobatic circle, calling out to her with a triumphant shriek that echoed across the landscape. For a few moments they flew together, side by side, before the bird gave one last goodbye trill and drifted away.

And Grace looked down at the lake, glistening beneath her far below. Then she folded back her wings and dove.

The wind shot past her, whistling as she hurtled toward the water. And when she hit, it was like a cold blast. Like bursting through a dream into wakefulness.

Her lungs gasped, and she opened her eyes. And she was standing once more in the arena, looking at her reflection in a mirror. But for a brief instant, she could still see a glimmer of those wings at her back. (They would be there, even if she couldn't see them.)

GraceGrace reaches out to touch her reflection again, mouth hanging slightly open, slightly smiling. Wings on her, flexing and sleek, fading into invisibility.

Her hand shakes, and her pulse is racing, but it's pure excitement and not fear that drives her right now. Her other hand goes out to touch wings that she knows are there. Falcon's wings, or wisps of silver light, or both -- she can feel them, even if she can't see them.

She leaves the mirror where it is, propped up on the side of the maze wall. Despite its rather non-strategic location, it's going to stay there if she has anything to say about it.

It's time for a new journey. So she goes off to find someone. Maybe Kalen, maybe Elijah, or Danny or whoever the hell is close and, for once, will drag them out to do something, experience something, talk about something.

She has wings. And needs to fly.