Despite the distracting presence in her eye, Fiona concentrates on
not trying to brush it away with her hand, accepting the irritating
twitching as a consequence. The giant eye-lid before her flashes
back and forth before her, often fluttering neither open nor closed.
“I'm not actually touching the eye,” she says, before correcting
herself to “MY eye. But I do seem to be causing all this activity.
And if I'm still in the Weave,” she looks around her at a world of
bright light, “Which I do believe I am, then none of this is real
anyway.”
She pauses for a moment, trying to concentrate on her thoughts. “If
I need to get into my own eye,” she ruminates, “Maybe the key is
to just do it. Don't think about it, or dwell on the possible
consequences, like getting decapitated by my own eye-lashes, but just
step into myself.”
