Trainwreck

Lillian wakes when the train groans and shudders, something metal screaming as it slows. She blinks, rubs at her face, and contemplates just going back to bed. Probably just a hop on the tracks, or a new branch forming -

'Oh come on, darling, where's your sense of adventure?' whispers the voice in her head.

"Asleep. It's too early," Lillian mutters, pressing her face into the pillow. The thin mattress and scratchy fabrics aren't helping her get back to sleep, though, so she levers herself up and reaches into her trunk for her night-robe, swinging it around her shoulders as she climbs down from the bunk. Her mother would have a conniption if she saw Lillian going about in nothing but a gown and robe, not even slippers on her feet. Lillian stops and huffs at the reminder.

There's a sigh in her head. 'Oh, don't mind that old bat,' Moira says. 'She'd flay you for being here at all.'

Lillian rolls her eyes - Moira hardly helps, does she - but does jump down the rest of the way. The screeching is getting louder, joined by a chorus of creaks and cracks, and the other girls in the cabin are stirring. The voidscape outside the curtains peaks in through gaps and small worn holes, a dizzying array of depths and textures and tastes. It doesn't seem more agitated than normal, though Lillian has hardly been out of the city before.

"Wha's'a matter?" one girl mutters.

"I'm looking into it," Lillian says, and the girl hums sleepily then settles. She takes the lantern down from its hook, Moira managing bringing the wick-spit to life while Lillian mutters imprecations at the door handle until it stops whining when she tries to open it. The corridor beyond is lit dimly by wick-spits in lanterns held by other girls investigating the same thing Lillian is. The lamps that usually sit glowing between doors are dark.

"What do you mean, the train's stopping?" a high voice comes from the front of a slowly growing crowd, towards the head of the train. "You don't stop between cities! Everyone knows that!"

"Ladies, please return to your beds, the crew has this handled - " a deeper voice calls over her protestations. "The stoppage is merely momentary, and there is no reason to be alarmed - "

Lillian eyes the crowd, figures she can't get through, the looks the other way, down the long corridor to the door at the car's end. She can't see the car behind them past the roiling black. The little window seems almost covered with something.

Moira hums in her mind. 'Something's wrong,' the voice says. 'Well, moreso than usual.'

Lillian narrows her eyes, looking around, since as horrible as Moira's opinions usually are the voice has a better sense for these things -

The ground sways, and Lillian falls into the wall, just barely keeping ahold of her lantern. Several women aren't so lucky, and the sound of shattering glass fills the air as wick-spits swirl outwards and dart for the windows. Lillian drops to the heaving ground so none try passing through her.

She glances up.

There's an eye in the window.

-

The next few things happen quite quickly.

Someone screams. More voices join hers.

The metal wails as it rends apart.

The rug under Lillian's hands melts and swirls into oil.

And Moira steps forward into their shared body.

-

Lillian isn't aware of what happens next, beyond a few scattered impressions of jagged motion.