The closest analogy, the one her brain reached for and rejected and reached for again, was splashing into a lake. It was cold, but not cold. There was a smell, rich and loamy. The smell of growth and decay. She was aware of her body, the skin, the sinew, the curl of her gut. She was aware of the nerves that were firing in her brain as she became aware of the nerves firing in her brain. Furthermore, she unmade herself and watched herself being unmade. All the bacteria on her skin and in her blood, the viii in her tissues. The woman who had been Elvis Okay became a landscape. A world. She fell farther in.

Cibola Burn