From a dimly-glowing chrysalis tucked into a corner, an owl broke out. Wings crumpled with phosphophyllite and talons scratching against the cave floor. Willow couldn't quite remember what she had been doing here when she fell asleep-- but hell, when could she ever remember anything?

She had a faint recollection of the room. The mirrors were ominous and when she got close enough, it looked like there were a dozen other Willows staring back at her. It was difficult to navigate, the ceiling streched on forever and it almost seemed to wind like a snake. When she flew, she risked ramming into the crystalline walls.

There was something new, though-- dappled white fungus that lined the walls and burrowed into corners. Very interesting.

Her talons clicked against the smooth floor as she approached them. A hundred thousand ivory bubbles reflected in the crystal. They didn't look like any mushrooms that she could remember: and the actual number of them was difficult to tell. How did they get here? Why where they here?

She stuck her beak close, checking the undersides thoughtfully.

There was something unusual about the fungus-- it didn't have much smell or texture, and she soon realized that it was perfectly symmetrical. Not just the cap itself, but the way it'd been placed: nothing about it was even a fraction out of place. Willow did not have the time to analyze further, however.

She was dimly aware that someone was behind her and approaching; she did not anticipate promptly being set on fire.

Like flames to gasoline, her feathers lit up in violet-black flames. She drew back from the mushrooms-- fuck the mushrooms --and bat her wings, unintentionally spreading the fire to those, too. The crystals of Gemini were alight with black fire and thick smoke; she had a great many plans running through her mind.

Roll on the floor to put out the flames; claw the attacker's eyes out, scream for help. The one that won out was trying to get away. She took off, wings silent but claws scrabbling against the cave floor. By some miracle or another, she didn't slam into any of walls.

She just had to clear the room and get out of sight-- though it was increasingly difficult. Pain flared all around her. She had to survive.

Shit.

Smoke plumed in the air, filling the spot where Willow was just a heartbeat before as the tentacle slid around her ankle and dragged her back against the wall. She thrashed, twisting back. Her feathers were burning up, now-- even if she tried to fly, she was uncertain she would make it.

Fuck. It hurt. What the hell was around her leg, anyway? Something thick and oily and all muscle. She fell limp against the wall, squealing. Unless the thing dropped her, she hung there like a blackened lantern. She twisted again, white feathers turning black.

Too far to bite. Too restrained to claw at. Damn.

Was this how it ends?

People who say that their lives flashed before their eyes are such liars. People who say that they see a light are liars, too.

Willow saw nothing but a hulking mass of violet fur as she felt more pressed into her body, claws piercing past feathers and skin and into her meat. She didn't see the almost-forgotten faces of her friends or loved ones; she only saw the black smoke churning off her own body and crackling, violet-black electricity striking the air.

Pain, then-- worse than the fire searing her flesh had been. Every nerve running through her screamed, and she did, too-- for a heartbeat, she thought to lash out and bite and do anything that might save her, but by then it was already too late. As the lighting struck her heart and she fell limp, there was only one last thought that rattled through her mind before it was gone forever.

What happens now?