There had been a moment where-- wait. [i]Was[/i] it a moment? It might have been a long time, actually. But it felt so fleeting. It... still. It had happened, in spite of how much she'd been letting the ropes bite into her skin to stay focused, it had happened inside her mindscape that they'd come loose and on shaky feet she'd stood up in the middle of the herd and tried to run with them, run through the valley and over top the lakes and she could feel their heat and the vibrations of their thunder rattling through her when suddenly one wheeled about on her and it

"Mmmgh... uh."

There are words she is supposed to be saying. She can feel the timer ticking down inside her head, the same way it does inside of the arena. The countdown to the loss of her scoring window was blaring inside her skull. Funny how five seconds was so short and yet took so much time to pass, once you became aware of it. But long or short it's inevitable all the same. And her body feels heavier than it should, and she doesn't understand it. And her mouth feels drier than it should, and she doesn't understand that either. And her tongue feels bound and even more useless than when it had struggled against the bit the other night, and she understands that least of all. 

Why won't it move? Why won't it let her say the words? Doesn't it know she has to?

"Chhhhhhhhhhhhhhiron..." she coughs, for one terrifying instant sounding like there is no air inside of her at all, "Ch-Chiron runs with... fair ribbons through..."

But she knows. She feels the pang of guilt wrench her chest in half when it registers. Five seconds is several years too short for her to have finished in time. Her body unclenches, which is to say it unravels, all at once. She collapses into the embrace of the ropes holding her in place, sagging against them and well past the point where she can feel them scraping against her skin. The marks are turning slowly to burns and she can't even care because she can't feel it over the prickling jolts of lightning burning out her nerves. Her lungs feel hot and empty and her heart is exhausted as if she'd run for hours without ever letting up. 

She is drenched and trembling and so hungry she is hollow, and it's all for nothing because she failed.

"Grand many stars." she says stubbornly, with a voice full of acid.

Madeleine's eyes are glassy and unfocused as she looks up at Machia. She tries to pull herself up back into a sitting position but all she does is convulse; she would fall on the floor in the midst of an apparent seizure. All she is is spasms and dehydration and the sense of immanent unconsciousness.

"...Put me back in," she hisses, "Make it sharper this time."

Her fingernails curl into her palms and bite against the flesh. They are too flat to cause real harm, but they press hard enough that the indentations will be visible long after she relaxes again.

"Bite me. [i]Hurt[/i] me. When she touched me it was blinding pain. You can't serve me this doting dream if I'm to beat her. And you hardly had me under for a minute. Stop thinking of me... as weak. Give me another phrase. I'll do it right this time. I'll show you. I'll..."