The following pieces cannot be read in isolation, one after the other. No story is complete without another; no piece acts as a beginning or end point. Readers, like space travellers, must move forward in loops.
I dreamt once that I was Lavinia, or Philomela. I had no hands and no tongue, so really I was Lavinia, but somehow I was Philomela. The Blade had cut my tongue sheer off, close to the trembling Root. The mangled Part still quiver’d on the Ground.