She looks through the shrouded window carefully, not wanting to be seen, but wanting to see. Watching, waiting. What can she see? A hint, perhaps, of things untold? A clue of the grand mystery that we are lost in? The harsh cruelty of the heart of the race? Perhaps. But it may be that there is no mystery to uncover. It may be that she is not seeing anything twisted or evil that revolts. She may be seeing truth. Shocking, revealing, simple, unthinkable truth. Perhaps she is being enveloped by a greater power, one that will alter the very course of her existance even as she waits in the misty frames. Perhaps. We can not know. All we can do is speculate. Perhaps.
