“You aren’t supposed to see this,” says the end of the world.

Aniridia looks out at the auditorium and the dead filling its seats, quiet and still.  “I didn’t intend to,” she says.  “I want to go home.”

“Have you walked the maze?” The end of the world straightens from her sutures. “Have you named names and dug at the cracks? There’s no home for you anymore.”

“Dead dear fear feed fled,” Aniridia whispers, then grips the curtain, forcing glossolalia back down her throat.

“Which will you be?” she asks. “The end of the house?  Or the girl in the world?”