The woman's voice seemed distant to Alexander, almost like an echo, but he knew she was close. He could feel her footsteps, the heat of his body intensifying as she drew near. His pain was crippling now; he could not avoid her. Despite this, he still had the mind--just barely--to fight, however futile that was.

He wished he had a gun. His recovery after the war had been so difficult that he hadn't trusted himself with carrying one. Now, all he wanted was the reassurance of being able to pump this bitch full of bullets.

Why was he so afraid of her? She hadn't done anything to him yet. He hadn't seen her destroy the store as it happened. But he could hear the screams of the store owner and knew that she had done something to the man. This woman was dangerous.

He grabbed a can of soup that had rolled beside him in the destruction and threw it as best he could at the woman's head. Such pain, however, gave him horrendous aim--the can sailed cleanly past her with inches to spare--and she was practically at point-blank range. He cursed and scooted back, but his body was so insufferably slow...

Her hand clamped around his wrist, and Alexander's world changed. Her grip was like ice, simultaneously chasing away his pain. The world around him froze in place, dribbling puddles of liquid on the shelves pausing in mid-drip, the shop owner's body and face locked into agony as he clutched a completely charred arm. The colors around Alexander had faded, too, as though the world were compelled to more closely match the pallet of this woman's appearance. 

Slowly, Alexander rose to his feet. The skin where this woman gripped him glowed a bright, burning red, though all he felt was a sharp chill, like wrapping his wrist in ice, uncomfortable instead of painful. He wasn't sure if he should be frightened or intrigued.

The woman's outward appearance certainly did not make her seem approachable. She was meant to instill fear, to be menacing, this he could gather. Yet he could not overlook the beauty beyond the leather, the wings, the sharp teeth, and what she was trying to do to his arm. In typical ignorant male fashion, he wondered how someone such as her could be mixed up in...whatever menacing strangeness this all was. 

The world seemed to take a breath, time resuming in a rush of color and sound, reminding Alexander that he was in danger and that he ought to be fearful above all else. He wrenched his arm free, the arm completely unharmed. Already pressed against the magazine display shelf, he stepped to the side, keeping his gaze on her while his hands blindly and frantically searched for something to defend himself with.