Harrow pats her face carefully, absorbing the blood without disturbing her makeup too much, although the skull is somewhat blurry. The slices across her fingertips scab over under her imperative gaze, although it sends another pang up her arm.

She sags against the cold stone, which feels amazing on her hot face. "There is a skeleton inside us all," she says, a little light-headed. "And one day yours will be mine, Griddle."