She constructed her nightmares like a chess opening. With chemistry, engineering, psychology, and pain she stepwise sculpted the negative space of the night as the adversarial twin of her day's habits.
Her waking life she arranged with the patience of an endgame, systematically exchanging desire for entropy until the only thing moving were the spiraling crows cawing from her virtual windows in a Fibonacci staccato.
One undecidable twilight hour her tactics merged and she could no longer be sure whether she was dreaming her excruciating flesh or awake inside an slithering sigil and report of her spreading terror. So she didn't recognize the hour before her death, nor the hour she died, nor the hour after.