Stick in History
She goes back to a place where in front of her are the colors with their motion and symbols, their ripples of image designed for health.
She views her new bride_side algorithm (why is she is so constant in her sensation of the looming, the hypothetical entity? Why is she so leery of dark matter, dark energy, dark horses?)
She feels a surprising sensation--she senses something has managed to program fantasy into her. She turns from her screen, secretly views code [natural outside view embedding legacy="novel"].
She inhales a deep breath, sees a reflection. Warmth.
Out beyond her screen theJungle takes another breath as if there will be some words said over a body with a big name, one that will stick in history.