The skin they flayed from her crackles just under human flesh; the blood they drained pumps warm through human veins. This is no true reunion, but the last, undying spark of Shiva finds some comfort in this jumbled collection of her lost pieces.

Their host raises Shiva to chapped human lips, washes her with damp human breath. It carries the rhythm of the human heart that renders her magic wet and muddled.

"I'm sorry" is not what Shiva expected to hear.

She does not forgive, but she pulses with a promise: I will allow us to be closer to whole.