There is no place to run anymore except to oblivion. To ease her plunge into dissolution. The walking illusion of life, the fine white line that vanished inside awakens. In a flash it appears. December is frightened.
Ambiguities are the last resident evil.
The mass takes form, hideous, it vanishes. A death knell. Her hair cascades down her back in a tangled mess of golden curls. Fleeting moments of times to live for wrap her in a blanket of blissful harmony with Creation. I don't know if it's just because I'm already familiar with part 1, but it was much easier to flow along with the stream of consciousness in this piece.