She can see her silhouetted against the sky. This house is like a circulatory system, a living thing, a huge electronically simulated organism that looks like it is made from wire and light and Zilith stands inside it and seems to be covered with something like a wireframe herself. Arathusa peers closer in the haze of the dream and sees that Zilith is dressed in a corset or vest and panniers made from something unfamiliar that looks like 18th century undergarments, but encases her body like protective armor. What had been inside has turned out. Zilith has a problem - her inability to find a target, a center of power, something or someone to blame.
Power seems to disperse like smoke.
No visible locus of power. Cryptography is the new munition. Public keys and secret keys. Codes of access and their gates. Identity in her world is constructed through these codes.