All of this fell away, and, in the end, there was only the head of the fox on the wall, staring benevolent down on her, shining with that blue, unfading, eternal light, that beatific agony, and the compass that still lived within her and pulsed in secret and had hidden itself from the Magician. It pulsed known to her alone and she could not scratch the itch, and yet the compass by its distraction, its presence, let her know she was still alive. Transformed from compass in her mind to a beacon, calling out to the southeast, to a place remote, communicating that she could not come there, but the
...more
