I can't take it anymore.

Boggs tunes out the flat droning voice coming out from the man sitting in front of her. She instead clutches hard at both her trouser legs, nearly tearing apart the fabric. Beads of sweat dot Boggs's forehead as the restaurant's sommelier brings them their choice of wine. The man murmurs thanks to the sommelier as a pair of fluted glasses are filled with rich, red liquid.

Overpriced but decent quality. Boggs hadn't spent all that time in her bar for nothing. She tries reaching for one of the glasses but a terrible impulse seizes her at the last minute. The impulse to speak those magic words.

The words that will set the wheel of her destiny turning once again.

"Huk." Boggs bites down on her own lip, drawing blood. Her vision swims for the moment as her heart barely manages to shake off destiny's iron grasp.

"Its nice having the evening to ourselves." the drone warbles pointlessly, his flashy suit a rude contrast to how utterly nondescript he otherwise looks.

Boggs replies with a indifferent grunt, her glazed eyes roaming about the restaurant for any hope of reprieve. Boggs shouldn't be here. On any other night, she would be at her bar right now. Cozy and safe.

"Shame about the power outage though." the drone continues rambling, "You think the city will be able to fix the connection by tomorrow night?"

"I hope so." Boggs manages a soft groan, realizing she can't keep silent for much longer. The proverbial demon was already scratching away at her front door.

"Yeah, that bar is your life." the drone laughs lightly, "Still, you really need to make some time for your family."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Don't talk. Destrudo. The death urge. I feel it. Creeping up on me, like a black spot burrowing into the back of my head.

"I'll try my best." Boggs sighs wearily, a strained smile on her face. The fire of Baiji, its everywhere. And in the flames, I saw my own death.

"I -" Boggs begins to speak but quickly silences herself. She needs to find her center before she flips out completely. And does something that can never be taken back.

Death by my own hand. That was the vision the fire of Baiji showed me. The woman I reconciled with -

There was no woman.

Boggs's mind cracks ever so slightly as she plays with the appetizers laid out on the table. Boggs had recalled her previous life after a near death experience. There was no woman she reconciled with. They were the same person.

The same person now.

Lies. Boggs knew what kind of person she is. She would never perform a reconciliation on someone else. The very idea of cannibalizing, violating someone else on such a level was utterly repulsive to Boggs.

But needs must.

"Are you alright, Cynthia?" the drone asks kindly, concern written all over his indistinguishable face.

Can't even tell I'm not his real wife. Completely blind. Not awake like me.

"Cynthia." Boggs slowly repeats her name. Which isn't my real name. But Boggs knew that anyway. She had always known that. Boggs was the name of the woman she is now. Not the one I was before.

"The accident with the truck." Boggs murmurs to herself, trying to sort through the memories of her past life.

"Cynthia? Is your headache acting up again?" the husband reaches out and touches Boggs's elbow.

Not Cynthia. Not a past life. My original life.

"I just want things to go back to normal between us." the husband pleads, "I know something's eating at you, Cynthia."

NO! He's going to say the words. He's going to say the WORDS!

Blinking dimly, Boggs recalls something Delacroix had told her a long time ago. That how all Awakened could sense whenever they were in mortal danger. Having being touched by death once, an Awakened was uniquely sensitive to the reaper's approach.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." the husband says earnestly, "There should be no secrets between us."

And like a key turning a long rusted lock, the last defenses of Cynthia's mind are finally blown wide open.

Cynthia realized that she could not continue living this lie. Her heart belonged to another and it was high time to do the right thing. That meant telling -

"Oh, god." Cynthia begins to cry, holding her face between both hands. The hand of the narrative had started to move, this time with inexorable force.

The book. The book she remembered from the past life. There had to be some kind of hint in the plot that could help her to escape this fate.

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Why won't you listen there was no -

Cynthia realized that she could not continue living this lie. Her heart belonged to another and it was high time to do the right thing. That meant telling -

Something, anything, that could keep Cynthia's fated end from triggering. Boggs needed to get out of the restaurant. And somehow run to the bar. The bar was her safe place. The narrative could not touch her there.

Accept what you did, work with me so that we can live -

Cynthia realized that she could not continue living this lie. Her heart belonged to another and it was high time to do the right thing. That meant telling -

"Kristof." Cynthia finally manages to sputter that name to her husband. The husband merely frowns, not recognizing the person she's referring to.

Kristof Delacroix. I should have followed after you when I had the chance. But I was afraid.

"The old grandmaster from Phoenix Guild." Cynthia explains with a shaking voice to her husband. A trace of suspicion crosses the man's face but his

expression remains gentle.

"I -" Cynthia struggles mightily against the death urge, battling with all her might to keep those fatal words from tumbling from her mouth.

Kristof. Where could you be now? Did you manage to escape your fated end?

In desperation, Cynthia grabs a nearby napkin and bites into it, stopping her treacherous mouth from betraying her.

That meant telling her husband the truth. Even now, Cynthia's true love faithfully waits and her heart yearns to be with him, no matter the cost -

I should have gone with Kristof. No matter what happened to him, we could have faced it together. Better than dying like this, alone.

Kristof survived. This Boggs knew. Even now he waits for her. Faithfully. And all Cynthia needs to do is tell her husband the truth, make a clean break and the path to a clear shining future would open up.

Cynthia knew what needed to be done. Squaring her shoulders, she looks her husband in the eye and composes herself for this long overdue confrontation.

STOP!

The restaurant's house violinist begins to play, the music drowning out the voice of Cynthia's heart. Weak. Too weak. For Cynthia had not fed for too long. She could barely hear her own voice. Our destrudo rises to its apex, crowing in triumph, savoring the imminent victory.

"There's something I need to confess." Cynthia tells her husband evenly, drying the tears in her eyes.

Help me.

Someone. Please help me.

Because I can no longer help myself.

The smell of soot and barbequing meat fills the air. Cynthia's mouth waters as her vision swims, the entire restaurant dissolving into a multi colored slurry. The music of the violin becomes a long wheezy groan as Cynthia's own senses run riot. Her head snaps backward as an invisible force threatens to tear Cynthia in two.

"This ... this is ..." Cynthia screams hoarsely, the agony unbearable. The world had ceased to make sense, breaking apart into non Euclidean shapes. Cynthia's consciousness begins to fracture, new memories blooming as old ones sputtered out like dying stars.

And like an unwelcome friend, the past tears its way into the present.

--------

The fire of Baiji burns as Delacroix and Aga Khan lock horns. Even at the fullness of his power, Aga Khan is no match for the titanic strength wielded by the grandmaster. Cynthia knows this. After all, this fight is an event that had already happened in the past. But as the hot wind whispers treacherously in Cynthia's ears, she realizes that this was no longer the past she had originally experienced.

"Marked by the Starfall," Aga Khan sneers, "And you still dare to challenge me?"

Delacroix screams as his body erupts in bright green flame, revealing burn scars that had been roused to wakefulness by the Aga Khan's power. With a great heave, Delacroix sends the Aga Khan flying into the churning shadows. But the green flames afflicting Delacroix only grow in intensity, forcing the grandmaster to flop on his belly.

Delacrox's eyes are blind from the pain, yet his mind remains sharp. The consciousness of an Awakened, stretching across time and space, feeds him with terrible knowledge.

"My past! Someone has changed my past!" Delacroix yells out in fury and despair, helpless against the tsunami of shifting reality unleashed against him.

"For the Occulted One stirs in the shadows, guiding the faithful in their hour of need." Aga Khan's voice resounds in the shadows and the burning men get to their knees in prayer.

Cynthia stands silently by herself, utterly stunned by this turn of events. But the fractures in her mind continue to multiply and she finally understands the deadly peril she is in. Delacroix will probably die today. And if he dies, Cynthia too will be swept up in the shifting tides of reality, with no guarantee of her safety. Such was the impact Delacroix had on her life.

Gritting her teeth, Cynthia lunges at Delacroix and grabs him, ignoring the flames that hungrily start travelling up her arms. The pain is excruciating as she drags Delacroix away from the eternally burning hellscape of Baiji but she endures, knowing that the alternative could be so much worse. Delacroix frantically pumps his own legs, lending his own speed to the effort.

Aga Khan leads the prayer of the burned men, the churning fires whipping itself into a hurricane. Both Delacroix and Cynthia plunge blindly into the flame with nothing more than their will to survive.

"Cynthia, you need to know something important." Delacriox croaks pitifully.

"Save it for when we're safe." Cynthia bites back a scream as she struggles through the scorching tempest.

"I need to say it now, while I can still hear the voice of my heart." Delacroix pronounces, "Cynthia, I'll betray the Sensorium in the future. And they will send an agent to pursue me."

"Are you mad? I thought you were working with them!" Cynthia nearly explodes from the stress of dealing with this unexpected bullshit.

"I saw the truth of this world," Delacroix wails, "And understood the path to our salvation. Andrew. Remember that name. He will seek you out!"

"If we survive this." Cynthia curses as both of them make the final sprint to safety.

-----

And make it to safety they did.

Cynthia rolls up her sleeve, looking at the old burn scars adorning her arm. Her husband raises an eyebrow at this display. Cynthia had always been sensitive about her scars. The restaurant's waiter politely turns his gaze away, trying not to blanch at the sight. The mounting compulsion of Cynthia's destrudo returns, annoyed at the rude interruption.

But then Cynthia's cell phone rings. She accepts the call, grateful for the distraction.

"Boggs." a greasy male voice is on the other line, "My name is Andrew."

Cynthia merely grunts, too busy wrestling with her destrudo to do much else.

"I know of your problem," Andrew continues, "And I can help you with it. But I need a favor from you in return."

"How do I know that I can trust you?" Cynthia squeezes out an unhappy snark.

"Because I'm stabilizing your condition right now." Andrew's voice is smug, "You should feel your death urge abate in a few moments."

Boggs takes a deep breath in trepidation. She's not sure whether its just a placebo effect, but Andrew is right, the grinding voice of the narrative had been silenced.

"I've enough soul gems to stave off your condition for decades." Andrew remarks, "Interested now?"

"What do I need to do?" Cynthia asks, knowing that the price of such help would not be cheap.

And likely not measured in mere money.