The train pulls into the top platform and begins disintegrating downward toward the lower ground levels before dematerializing as it passes through a diverse network of large concrete tunnels. There is water down there.
She waits patiently at a quarter past 10.. She waits as still and as softly as the chiseled white folds in an old marble bust of a Roman huntress. Perched upright in the far eastern corner of the right wing of 7th floor of an unattended gallery in the cavity of the station complex. She; a carpenters daughter, a mainland reporter, an animal. She; adorned in feathers and rose.