The pain is a searing orange, in my hand and up my arm, and I remember the tower, Morningstar, the pain then and not again not again! I am recoiling, and I fall to the ground as the jaw does, shattering like coal, the unearthly light of its fragments going out. There is a glimmer in my hand as one might see when blowing on a fire, banked ember under a coat of ash, and my hand is crumbling...

I am screaming, this time. I cannot stop.