They delivered her leg inside a book made of discarded aluminum garbage. I had a sharp eye, but the pages were impossible to discern. We needed some kind of articulated microscope to turn them.

When she walked, the book would speak, as if the leg somehow moved both invisible readers and their mouths. The sound was like a chorus of ghosts, sometimes it faded into unintelligibility… often after a crescendo of impossibly compelling oration.

Apparently my brain fell out of my skull. It landed on a vast plate, laden with an endless number of living wings, which I presumed to belong to some actual creature whose form was not in evidence. As it lay there, caressed by wings and bereft of its habitual cage, my body started to dance spastically, as if it were a living puppet who was aware it was about to be ignited by an timed accelerent which had been concealed within its torso during manufacture.

In fact, however, what happened was that my body started to emit little bursts of colored lightning. My brain was apparently inert, or overcome by the impossible sensations it was (and was not) experiencing. Within the book, her leg kept moving, instigating orations and babble in furious waves whose momentum seemed implacable.

I suspect she was actually walking somewhere, and that this ghost-leg was emulating the movements that would have been required had it still been attached to her body. Some arbitrary moon was watching all of this. Silent. Encompassing. A luminal prescience like opals, shimmering in perfect water.