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The little god with the bleeding sockets cast its gaze away, the skewers in its eyes darting down to point to one side, and it chewed its lip. Clutching the wet dress in its arms as if to hide its tension (an unsuccessful endeavor by any means), it slowly looked up again, trying to catch the exact line where the Architect's throne met the back of his head.

It tried, once more, to speak to the one that had spoken for it.

[color=wheat]"I-I..."[/color]

Too late.

A blaze threw apart the dim of the throne room. With no real knowledge of how to balance itself, the little god yelped and reeled from the light, falling sidelong into the water. Wet again from head to toe, it emerged from the rushing streams on all fours, carrying its dress in its teeth. Teetering one way and another, it scuttled through the water, crawling away to the safety of a pillar, where-

[color=424141]c r a c k[/color]

Whether a sound or a dream or a thing altogether different, the pulse that ricocheted from the unseen black bead struck the godlet and it hit the ground, crouching with its hands over its ears, eyes wide and full of splinters. This, it seemed, was the safest way to stay the sensory assault. Yet even without eyes, the creature could feel things moving in the throne room.

Its peace was not to last.

A third sense burned as the tides of water grew stronger around the god-gremlin's body. Something foul was thrashing in the water, rising upon the air. With greater poise than it had ever shown yet, the little god scuttled away from the scent of slaughter, splashing and loping across the floor with all seven of its limbs.

But the foulness was congealing, and the flesh it grew was laughing, laughing to quake the worlds and lash the seas...

Caught in the gargantuan shadow of the Iron One, the little god lost its grip and tumbled, tumbled away on a wave of dark water.

[hider=Edit: time to start summarising]
Still very shaky on her feet and with little idea of where or who she is, Chopstick tries to answer the Architect's command, but doesn't manage to get the words out.

Frightened by Asceal's brightness, she falls into the water and scurries off, then hides behind a pillar from the sound of Melantha's bead-form taking root. 

Finally, the stench of Narzhak's sludge frightens her again, and she runs, only to be swept away by the waves thrown up by the sound of his laughter. Now there's no telling where she'll wash up.

Ed: this post was made before Sartravius's birth edit came in.
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