She falls into the pit below. It was supposed to be animal parts raining down; instead it's just her. The gears at the top aren't turning anymore, and all of her meanest fighters now surround her. Some of them already have chunks nipped out from each other. They act as if they're hungry; so hungry that it's what's making their eye-marks water. She'd set it up, after all, to make it luxurious for them.

It's all the ones with the sharpest teeth; the cruelest bites, the most leisurely predation. Time goes slow and she knows too much. She's yanked apart into little threads. She's squeezed out like a tube of toothpaste, and with the swell from the fever throb, just like that tube, there always seems to be a little bit left in her to go.

The heat from the flames that she now feels behind them is already hot enough to make her bones (exposed) sweat gold; it's too familiar, too familiar.