[Lace knows the silhouette that appears, once her eyes adjust enough to see the dim outlines of shapes in the darkness. from her vantage point where she walks, beastly on all fours, atop the bookcases, her eyes narrow. it's ... that one Iris that she kissed, once. why is that the part that springs to mind, right now ... the Iris who laughed at her pawing through the scrap heap.]

[she was lucky. whatever crashed through that set of bookcases and knocked them over let her get on top of them without having to leap up the shelves.]

[the anger boils over. now. now. she should strike now. but wait.]

[... this is an Iris, and she has a better idea.]

[slowly, methodically, she sheds her clothes, sheds her person-thinking, steps into the mind of her monster. and when she sets foot on the surface of the bookcase with bare feet, her legs start to twist and warp. feathery cracks sprout in the smooth lines of skin.]

[in the air above Rena's stalking footsteps, a web of violence stretches out between the shelves, its tattered edges hanging down in afterthought.]