What no one seems to understand about Lydia is that she's in two places. It's as if someone has peeled her apart and set one part of her here, and the other beyond where she can really understand– somewhere time and life and dream have no meaning. She's in a sea of thunderous sound, of a thousand echoing deaths, and it feels a lot like chaos. But then, on that razor's edge of here and beyond, time is unmoored and she has power. She can make order from all that chaos. She screams.

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