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they bore a considerable weight. "You shouldn't throw Katsuro's reputation around. He was one of the best of us. There's no shortage of people in this room who owe their lives to the things he did alive, and to the sacrifice he made in death."
    "You think I don't know?" Maybe if she'd been stronger, she would be yelling. Instead, it came out as a harsh whisper. "You think I don't lay awake in the middle of the night thinking how disappointed he would be in me? Even before this happened, I couldn't live up to him. And now…"
    The tears fell heavily. She stood, too fast, and steadied herself on the table. Jason rose, his hands out to support her, but she batted them aside.
    "Sorry," she sniffled, but she was just saying it because she thought she should. In her heart, she didn't feel sorry. Everything she'd said was true. "Maybe I'm pushing myself too hard. I… I have to go."
    She rushed from the cafeteria as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.
    She allowed herself only fifteen minutes to cry in her room. She hated herself for it.
    Fuyuko just couldn't reconcile this emotionally and physically weakened creature with the vision of herself she had held for seventeen years. When Katsuro awakened as a Script, her parents had been very proud. They watched and waited for Fuyuko's awakening. Oddly, neither of her parents were Anunnakis, yet they just assumed after their son awakened as one their daughter would as well. When her time came, she was only a Fragment. Yes, she felt angry and disappointed. But she also saw it as an opportunity. If Katsuro succeeded and became strong, people wouldn't be surprised. He was a Script, strength was a given. If she could be just as strong, maybe even stronger, people would say it was because of her own spirit. She never said this to anyone, but Katsuro knew. Even though they were five years apart in age, they shared a bond that surpassed all barriers and secrets. It was wonderful and maddening all at the same time.
    Now he was dead, and losing him had felt as bad as having a piece of her own soul shattered. She knew that for certain. Now everything had changed. Her connection to the Veil had been severed. Her skin still bore runes, so she guessed somewhere inside she was still an Anunnaki, but that part of her remained out of reach. The weakness and sense of being small which had afflicted her only periodically now hung over her like a constant shroud. She had known the feeling of touching the divine and the limitless side of her. Now she wondered if she would ever capture that feeling again.
    Changing into a loose fitting white shirt and pant set, she made her way to the small room where most of her recovery had been taking place.
    With Prometheus rings and Ambrosia rings and thousands of years worth of knowledge, she thought the process of fixing her fractured soul would be simple. Perhaps a quick blast from the Ambrosia ring, or maybe some magic potion the Greeks, Norse, or maybe even Egyptians, had developed centuries ago, would restore her spirit. But no, simple solutions rarely existed, if they existed at all.
    As it turned out, fixing your soul was more like therapy for an emotional disorder. Hours of talking, meditating, and a few mood stabilizing drugs to take the edge off. No one promised it would be simple. They sure didn't promise it would be quick. Even though Jason made it sound like he thought her progress was faster than anticipated—she should really apologize to him—it wasn't fast enough. Some of the competitive Fuyuko still lived in her. If it took a Script a year to recover she would do it in less. Whatever it took.
    She entered the room known officially as The Therapy Room . Over the past few weeks she'd named it several other, less mentionable, names. Most often, she called it 'Waste of Time.'
    The walls were painted with earth tones—not too dark though, wouldn't want to promote feelings of depression.
    In the center of the room, Eir sat cross-legged on some