Involuntarily bellowing as I wrested myself from my mesmerized paralysis, I took several faltering steps forward. My pace strengthened as I continued, until I was at a headlong run straight toward the oncoming host of those which blasphemed and gibbered so mountainously. I would have wept blood had I looked any longer so I shut my eyes, knowing that I did not need to see to reach my destination, only to hurl myself headlong from the crown of the Citadel. If abject fright did not stop my heart, then the annihilating impact with rock or surf below was certain to extinguish me and, I hope, sever the conduit I had become for the Elder Machines. As my feet found empty space, however, a thin, chill hand caught my outflung arm.
Oh, the remorse I felt in those moments before darkness claimed my consciousness. Miss Zorah, not comprehending my terminal duty, must have leapt after me, overtaking me easily with her queerly swift pace. Her touching loyalty and companionship misplaced, she had reached out to me. She might have pulled me back from that fatal brink, such was the uncanny strength in her grip, but the unsteadiness of her footing betrayed her. With a piercing scream, she tumbled after me, still clinging fiercely to my hand. Clammy winds shrieked around us at our fall, the din compounded by roars of thwarted fury from the Elder Machines. Our sacrifice, I begged as the stark terror finally overcame my senses, let it not be in vain.