Too late now. Too painful to even consider.

If there was one last thing to do, she would do what her hero would do, and she would help, however she could.

⊙

The last pin was removed, dropped into a metal pan. Mr. Bough backed away, his arms and hands bandaged from when things had gone wrong in the last session.

Sveta drew in a deep breath, no longer concerned that it would make the pins dig in or poke the wrong thing. Her partially-intact stomach pressed against the cold table, as did her thighs, her toes. She twisted around, turning over, and winced as parts and flesh she’d never been old enough to have got in the way.

Victoria jumped forward to rearrange and reposition the towel that had been draped over Sveta’s back and buttocks.

There was still flesh missing, mostly in the area in front of and around missing, nonessential organs. A kidney, part of the liver. A bit of a Sidepiece aesthetic, but it crept up higher, framed by stiff ribbons of skin.

Her hair—she touched the back of her head, and she felt the short hair there.

And her power—she reached out, willed it, and her arm unzipped two dozen times between fingertip and elbow, unfurling and extending. Tendrils reached out, far thicker but flatter, with saw teeth at the edges. It zipped back up to normal a second later, with only a sharp smack at the back of her hand as one flat tendril was pulled in too fast.

Then, tears welling in her eyes, she allowed herself to relax, to let down her guard and be vulnerable in a way she hadn’t done for Weld, around anyone, in all the years she could remember existing, and all the vague years of her childhood she’d dreamed of.

Nobody died as a consequence.

Breaking 14.1

I could see Darnall from the far side of the space, past stairs, railings, gym equipment, and benches. He extended a hand in a wave, and I did the same.

He tended to always have two looks to him, like one minute he was the archetypical ‘movie dad’ in every way my dad hadn’t been, soft around the edges, bit of a belly, awkward, out of shape and with hair that was either short and noticeably imperfect or buzzed short enough that it couldn’t be that imperfect. The kind of movie dad who wore a fairy costume and who was trying so hard to play magical princess tea party with his daughter that his forehead was marked with lines from the effort and focus, tutu on and tiny teacup in hand.