Her abdomen was the globe. Ribs like foothills to her budding breasts. The tiny blonde hairs were a quiet field across her belly. And then the angry crimson rivers that traversed her middle, straight and purposeful. And here, a patch of skin made rough and pink by the seams of the dress.

She dipped an exploratory finger in her gash. It came out red-tipped and warm. The rivers were still flowing. As she touched the blood to her tongue, she remembered the delicate trails that had stained Buffy's cheeks.

Her fingers pushed across her stomach until they found the end.