Chapter III

And even more tightly when you tase her voice(s)box. This is the opposite effect you were shooting for.
"So it seems," she choruses (though the choir seems somewhat diminished), "you do not want to live."
You still do not know what to say. You weigh your options:
1) Apologize for the attack, excuse it as panicked indecision, and inquire as to the woman's origin and intent.
2) Come up with a biting retort.
3) Maintain silence and hope she reads it as cool unconcern.
4) Peel her fishfingers from your hand and run.
4 seems like the obvious choice, but where to run? Where are you? Did the Cathedral of Learning turn into a beach? Are there still chimeras running at you? What percentage imagination are they? You make a mental note to investigate your surroundings once you've made this decision.
2 also seems good--not practical, perhaps, but gratifying. No, this is no time for indulgence, and besides, you'll probably botch it. Your capacity for clever discourse is buried beneath a river of hormones at the moment. In fact, let's rule out talking altogether. Scratch 1. 3 it is.
The woman is gone. And, as if she had been holding a conch shell to your ear, so is the sound of the ocean. You would have noticed that, though. Maybe you can't hear the ocean anymore because the barking has gotten a lot louder. Or closer.

You look to your left. There's a snake-dog sprint-slithering towards your foot and another mid-bound, its three faces pointed straight at you. It is three, two seconds away. The door latch behind you won't move. Cursing fate for designating you a key holder rather than a knock knower, you plunge your hand into your pocket as you fall.