She blinks.
The cool darkness of the night swirls around her, embracing and smothering all at once. Pinpricks of light from the lamps lining the street blur into squiggles, lines of soft gold. The stars quicken their movement, beginning to race across the night sky with the fervor of wild animals.
There is richness, a peace to that night that has been stripped away. She is yanked upward into a sea of unforgiving honks and blares of horns. The mangled state of her body is tossed like a rag doll through the air; there is fire and death lurking in the dark.
The cars are whirlwinds, tornados, vicious creations of Aeolus, god of the air. They rush past her, the wind screaming after them. Or maybe that is her. She cannot tell the difference. Even the bridge seems to wiggle, descending into the insanity of the night.
As the world continues its frenzied dance, her own movement, even her heartbeat, slows down. Miraculously, the dance has healed her; gleaming ivory shards no longer stick out from her legs. The thick crimson blood pouring from her body has vanished. A sense of deja vu washes over her, along with a sense of absolute terror, which tightens her chest.
Out of nowhere everything feels as though it is slow motion as she turns and the lights shine into her eyes. The grate of the truck makes contact with her ribs, and
She blinks.