"Hm?" 

The train of thought continues on without her. It sails elegantly out the door and down along the road. A vision of a future no longer within the boundary categories of the world's possibilities, to be severed from the skein of fate by the machines of the moon. Macha's control is in her eyes, and they blink. Her control is in her lips, and they are silenced by immanent sugar and cream. Her control is in her mind, and it is blank.

Her cheeks slowly start to tinge and glow. Her breath gently disturbs the cream held close to her lips. Her eyes are lowered, the power of seeing broken by the power of being seen. Her hands caress the remote as they might midnight hair. For a moment there is stillness.

Then focus returns. 

"You haven't won yet," said Machia, soft fingers becoming hard again. It wasn't about Khan or Sammy or anyone else in this moment. She wasn't anywhere but here. She wasn't even thinking about your training. She wasn't fighting for anything but to break open your lips.