She's a dragon of people, an ambassador for the unclawed. Other dragons call her quicksilver, a beautiful poison, with treacherous connotations. She is nothing mercurial, though, steadfast as starlight, there even when they cannot be seen. A little lightning, a little ice; hailfire. She sparks in shadows and weaves the air with ozone, her loyalty constant to her but perhaps not to everybody else. As if she operates at different angles the minute and hour hands make. She is the ever-present god of the humans who sing stories of "She did this for a reason."

Count Bodies Like Sheep (to the Rhythm of the War Drums), A Perfect Circle