Agonie awakes. The room is white, it is empty, she floats in the geometric center. Awaking in this horror like the skin that holds the splinter. what have you got now? unclothed, where are your fabriks? I will tell you, my beloved whom i torment. You are in the future which never comes. You, in your fall from fate, have accelerated past the present. You hear sounds now of the moment that is  infinitely far behind you, echoes of that which can never be yours. You are in the space that the speed freaks and gabber punks tragik'ly chase. 
She is not afraid. Her mind's trajectory moves about psychic valleys and mountains at new speeds, but it is not faster. Time has become longer. In one 'second', which before might contain, at most, 4 or 5 organic computations, Agonie percieves worlds built and destroyed. Agonie percieves infinities and they are minute. She knows her boundary precisely, tho it is not concrete and bound but as variable and evolving as the air which moves about in vortexes. At any point she is child, she is woman, she is elder, she is death.