That was the last time I saw her, of course, her lips that I had so often compared to rose petals or blood locked tightly against the Other's slimy mandibles even as her eyes rolled to the side and caught sight of me. I still can't quite sort out what followed. Gunshot, splash, scream, cling, sob, retch, bubble, silence. Not in that order, not in any order. And then there was a body drifting downstream towards me, so slowly as to seem almost unmoving. Rotating. A trail of discolored water, the body itself already in hideous disarray. Limbs splayed and aberrant, face smeared with slime. And that was when I realized, to my horror, that I could no longer tell whether it was Elayne or the Other whose corpse I surveyed.


Two Cowering Clay Statues