She waits, lost in soft shadows that rustle and hiss with the susurration of feather on talon, realities shifting and merging in a tangled web.

She is impersonal, a cold, distant power beyond human ability to harness. 

She is the hailstorm, the tearing, icy sting of fate. Unforgiving, unavoidable, uncontrollable- the howling chaos of nature unleashed upon the world. 

“Don’t try to fix what we should break before it breaks us”, her voice, bone dry, rattles on the wind.