Inside the swirling, white-hot abyss of Cassandra's consciousness, the concept of "self" was dissolving. Her thoughts were no longer a coherent stream of logic but a frantic, drowning scramble for meaning.
'How? How did the world tilt so violently?' she wondered, her mind lurching through the dark. 'One moment, I was the demon queen of the underlayer, the untouchable shadow of the demon realm... and now... presently I am just a container for his heat.'
She tried to reach back for her dignity, for the cold, calculating poise that had defined her for centuries, but every time she tried to grasp a thought, a violent thrust from Rex would shatter it like glass. 'It's too late... there is no path back to the throne... there is only the fire... there is only him...'
SLAP! SQUELCH! THUD!
