The spiral leads her to the center of everything. And there it, they end. Abruptly. The command is so fierce it almost frightens her. Halt, halt! Stop what you're doing right fucking now!

And so she does.

Bella drags her claws through the first available object (a banquet table overladen with toxic smelling liquors) and pulls herself from full speed to dead stop in a fraction of a second. Wood and metal shavings spray everywhere, splinters pound the floor like darts, bottles crash every which way and fill the room with a truly toxic miasma that even the very greatest of assassins would struggle to replicate, and her dress is almost certainly ruined forever. But she has obeyed; the innocent is spared. 

Her shoulders sag with the fatigue of a creature that could only maintain its power through its constant expression, suddenly brought to a halt all at once and forced to comprehend how tired it truly was. She glances to her left, and there is nothing but variously stunned and angry faces. To her right, the same. The Hunt has abandoned her. No, that's not quite right. The Hunt has commanded that she wait. Cut off from the path, there is nothing else to do but look.

It is a strange creature that looks back at her. Its scales are beautiful and shimmering even in this murky light, but to her they seem more like facets on a jewel than anything that belongs to a living creature. Every ridge and crest is fascinating to look at. Its wings remind her of nothing so much as her old camera. Well, no, it's the eyes that call to mind the camera. But from there it's hard not to think about projector screens, about taking what she'd made and daring to let it blow up to the size of a wall and seeing, for once, the actual shape of her journey. 

It is colorless. Almost odorless, she has to specifically look to find the faint tinge of silicon and glass. And then suddenly it is anything but colorless. Not blood, but living light, a prism with no need for outside help to split the colors. It shivers with bursts of firework light, all of the flash with none of the heat or sound. It cranes its neck and flashes rainbow waves, as though it were exalting Zeus and Poseidon in the same luxuriant motion. It flaps a wing, and in that gesture are the ideas and words of long dead or dormant civilizations Bella has no names for. 

She calls it Gaia, because nothing else will stick. Her breath catches in her throat. In this moment, in spite of everything, the rest of the world slides out of view. Her feelings recede from her heart, and this time there is not even the incoherent joy of Motion to bring her outside of herself. The little creature opens its mouth, and sparks tumble out instead of sounds. She is barely aware that her face is growing warmer in response. 

There is wonder, trapped inside her eye. Wonder, waging war with the sharp, predatory instinct of a beast still desperate for a name to devour. Her mouth hangs open, only slightly, showing fang. She is wary, but she is spellbound all the same. Her finger shakes almost uncontrollably as it reaches for the beast's neck. Just a little more. A little more. That's it, just one moment farther and she'll have it.

It is warm to the touch. But it's a soft and gentle heat when compared to the inferno even now threatening to devour her. It feels like a wine glass when she strokes it. Even the bumps and ridges along its surface only feel smooth, stimulating, fascinating. She strokes one fingertip down across the length of its back and all the way past its tail. When it shivers, she smiles.

A deep throated purr escapes her, but for this single moment, she's too fixated to notice it.