The Vision hadn't left her.
No matter how much time passed, how much she focused on other things and how loud campus grew around her, that world — Charcoal sky, river of blood and bodies, the figure with fire in his eyes – lingered like smoke in her lungs 🫁. It wasn't fading, it was waiting. Waiting for her.
Professor St. John stood in from and already writing on the board in neat, cursive, flowing handwriting like at ancient time.