It was an odd little bench. The girl was odd, too-that girl with her arm around air and her eyes wide open and her daemon yearning for the touch of a lover and her spark of consciousness focused and pulled into a knife that cut cut cut that Spectral wall and hugged and hugged and loved and they were forever atoms entwining worlds together and apart. They blinked, the girl and the daemon; stood up and blinked memory-not-tears. The Dust in the air sparkled and the wind whispered a far far far-away exhalation that might have been a name. The sun gleamed on retreating backs, and the world was still.