Anthy blinked for a long beat when she stepped outside of her room; no flashlight in hand and no roommate to speak to. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she stepped forward, pushed out of her fear by that old familiar numbness that she had supplemented through strategic use of eyeglasses and false smiles. She rather wished for a pair of glass frames now; somehow even the worst carnage didn't seem so bad when framed with wiry steel rims like a perpetual moving picture.

Nothing was ever truly chaotic. That was perhaps what devastated her most about the troubles she'd experienced here. It wasn't random, or completely unrelated to herself. There was a reason why her ribs were still broken and her neck was scarred and she was slowly beginning to feel like her old self; pierced, controlled, torn up inside in a quite literal sense.

But she didn't even have power here. These injuries gave her nothing for their trouble.

So she walked the halls, musing on how poetically anti-climatic it would be to simply end, after thousands of years of struggle, in an arbitrary aimless wander.