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"You
are angry," Seven of Nine stated to Ensign Kin.
"I am uncertain as
to why. Do you not wish to assist me in determining what is causing my
hallucinations?"
"No, of course I do,
but--okay." Kim took a deep breath. "Ravens or some other
black bird, huh?"
"Correct."
Kim cocked his head and
thought. "Edgar Allan Poe. Nevermore. The Twa Corbie. Sing a
Song of Sixpence. The Ugly Duckling. No, wait, he turned into a
swan. Umm..."
But Seven had gone cold
inside. Around her, a chorus of shrieking birds had suddenly appeared.
They were flying about, their wings flying, hugely excited.
Yes. Sing a song of
sixpence, a pocket full of rye; four and twenty blackbirds--
Pain ripped through her,
exquisite in its agony. That awful smell of carrion filled her nostrils
and twisted her stomach into knots. Her knees buckled and with a low
groan she collapsed. Harry seized her elbows and tried to lift her. She
heard his voice, but faintly, as if he were far away: "Seven?
Seven, are you alright?"
Why was he calling her
Seven? She was the First of Six in her household--that was, until the
Great Destroyers came. And his face--hideous! Deformed! Frantically,
Amari seized his face and cried out, "What have the Destroyers done
to you? Oh, my love, my love...." She kissed him, and when she
pulled back, Sulmi's face was again the handsome, feathered visage she
so adored. His expression was confused, and the words he spoke were
curious:
"Doctor, I'm
bringing Seven in right now. It's happening again."
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