Mind the gap between her shoulders where the skin flares. The colour of fallen ships. Her folded feathers in the underworld. One day she’d like to throw herself against a wall where they could see her. Where they could gawp. She is not what they would wish to worship. Giggling in the crowded tunnels. Earthbound she is crow-faced. She is musty. A room that has been empty for far too long. She studies them. She is a soul-hoarder of the living people. To remain out of the clouds and within this darkness, she must take parts of the commuters and rearrange them within herself. She is a kaleidoscope of body parts. She barters; she is a shop. She contemplates how much of her soul she’s already sold.