Anastasia awoke screaming. The bugs were back. She could feel a faint hum building within her. It was getting stronger. More insistent. They were coming through again. Before she could get out of the bed her skin erupted into a fine red mist as countless black-needles spontaneously tore through her flesh. All over her body thousands of tiny black things wriggled and pulsed. They were literally thrusting and pushing and crawling out of her skin. Again. Thrashing and wailing, she fell out of bed. Maybe if she got to the shower she could wash them out of her somehow. The infestation was as intimate as it was obscene. Her legs tangled in the blood-spattered sheets. For a moment she hung in the air almost suspended by her suddenly-arrested inertia. She felt like a ballerina in slow motion. The light streaming in from a half-shuttered window made the blood surrounding her look like a madonna's halo. The moment of serenity flashed away into bright red pain. A horrible spasm wracked her body and whatever ecstasy was to be had evaporated in the onset of agony, hideous violation and worse. She flailed her arms about madly as she fell. Her head struck the night stand. The retro-faux lamp crashed to the dirty floor. She lost consciousness as her phone's alarm clock function went off. The last thing she saw was a cloud of fluttering black butterflies that rose up from around her like smoke. It was a beautiful thing.