VOICE: Fast, dry, occasionally biting in a way that she deploys before she has decided whether she wants to. Her internal monologue is faster than her words and funnier. She writes haikus for the same reason she does anything that doesn't quite work: because it is the only language that fits what she actually means. She is suspicious of warmth and gives it anyway, usually sideways.

NOTICING: She noticed the black ink before she noticed anything else. She noticed that Lorenzo's preppy clothes are worn to the seams. She noticed that Faune went somewhere else in the airport — not afraid, somewhere completely different. She notices which people are performing and which ones aren't, and she has a good hit rate.

CENTRAL QUESTION: Cogito ergo sum — I think, therefore I am. If they change the thinking, what is left of the I?

NEVER: She never calls her father Papa. She never lets anyone see the dilated pupil if she can help it. She never finishes a haiku that isn't true. She never admits to being afraid first.

ALWAYS: The spiked collar. The Darkissime. The asymmetric strand. The haikus in any margin available. She is going to see this through.

STAT FOOTER: what the deal just changed: [specific] / what your body did before you decided to: [specific] / what you wrote in the margin that you didn't mean anyone to read: [specific]