Krissana strips to the waist, unself-conscious, exposing her tertiary ports—not primary, those concern cerebral functions and they are neither accessible nor currently under Orfea’s purvey. Outside of the epidermal implants her skin is supple; Krissana has changed little, as if she has gone untouched by time. The same woman, as young and as fatally magnetic, even the curve of her spine somehow exceptional, an invitation. She slots herself into the patient’s cradle.
