There is this state that she passes through on occasion just south of Confusion, but not quite past the border of Delusion. She knows when she gets there because the pain stops. It’s not like a red octagon, screeching-tires finish. It’s more like an exit ramp that gradually takes you to one of those pastoral rest areas that has a scenic view, but still smells like piss and garbage.

No one has perfected the perfect means of teleportation yet. So she requires a pretty pill and a stiff drink, or two. She knows she isn’t supposed to mix them up, but if it were really that toxic to her organs (she reasons) then it wouldn’t feel so good.

They say that life is about the journey, not the destination. ‘They’ don’t know pain. Her pain doesn’t incapacitate her (unfortunately). If it did she wouldn’t have to “work through it” daily and listen to people say things like, “Put your big girl pants on, and get on with it!”

She calls it “Fugue” because it’s music and magic and even she can’t hear her screams.