Remembering. Rememberance. Memory.

Untrustworthy memory. As she stumbled through the piled bones of the buildings that had, so recently, been called a civilisation, she thought she remembered. Long ago now. Two towers. Another conflagration. Death, pain, suffering, the city filled with dust and smoke. Images on a box in the corner of a room. A male voice sounding confused and hurt. Thousands dead. Bodies falling from two towers.

Hours later, she looked up at the nearing towers. Square. Tall. Ribs rising from the ground like slender three-fingered hands. A beacon of… well, something that had seemed important Before and, as fresh lightning stabbed around her, she walked on.