Too many openings, and it doesn't matter. Burn away your own fingertips if it gives you the fuel for another spell, for what keeps you going. Too many things that can be hurt, torn open, cut off, bled out. And yet, for all those vulnerabilities, the dagger hits a spot that she was not contemplating.

(Apt, in the larger picture. The unseen destruction. The angle you don't consider. Piercing what none other had dared try.)

The pain is such that she simply does not feel it. But she's unsteady, wavering on her knees. Her vision is going in and out, even as she tries to reach for ORIN, knowing it's futile. Bloody, beaten, broken. The music is lower, grim, haunting in rhythm.

When she collapses, it's with an outstretched hand.