Her spirit can only obey, tethered to this place. It has been commanded, and so it shall be. But instead of what might be restrictive, crushing - there is safety, there is no need to move, to leave. Here is where it is meant to be. Here is where it is commanded to be.

Not a moment too soon, for something else has been seeking an opening, following threads that connect to another and hiding in their shadows. Malice that cloaks itself in night, that preys upon death, that destroys without defined purpose. The grating of a knife drawn across a sharpening stone, across bone. The silent footsteps of an assassin slipping in before the gate is shut. Reaching forth, to where a pulsing spark hides, rooting itself there.

What sustains and fuels Fever, what ensures she lives. The cosmology that binds will not go gentle, no matter how willing her soul is. And it will wait, patient, until it is exposed. For it will fight to survive even as it hates life itself.