which was suddenly finding itself up against increasingly constricting boundaries, there was something in the joyfully apocalyptic tone of the poem, especially the final sequence with its vision of Heaven overthrown, that chimed with the mood she found herself in. The book was developing a crack in the spine from being opened to the start of the poem.
That night, as she had done every night of that week, Sylvia dreamt of Shelley’ s poem. She saw Panthea’ s vision of Heaven and Earth united, the air full of monstrous and bizarre beings, melting and reforming in the chaotic comet fires, until everything was consumed by the ravenous strands of voxsola.
*
Sylvia arrived back at her flat, wheeled the bike into the stairwell, chained it to the bannister and walked up the stairs. Opening the door to her flat, she was greeted by the familiar smell of stale washing up and cat. Twiggy came to greet her at the door and purred excitedly as she stroked her. Twinkle raised her head sleepily from the sofa, saw that her human was back, then curled back up to sleep again.
The flat was colder than the museum labs. Sylvia took off her coat and went to find another sweater. This would be Yrcalla’ s first winter without the benefits of central heating, and Sylvia hoped it would not get much colder.
Both of the creatures eagerly shoved at each other as she filled their dishes, then busied themselves with the messy business of eating as she lit the candles and began to prepare her own meal. She rummaged through the kitchen, trying to sort out the food that was still edible from the stuff that had gone off. She settled on some potatoes and
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