She bent on down, fumbling in the dark. The palm of her hand gently swept the floor, fingers touching, feeling, seeking out a delicate trace of jewel-studded metal.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. It had rolled somewhere, her ma's hair pin, when it fell from her hair. Or was it teased? Something brushed up beside her. As a shiver ran down her spine an acrid smell filled the already intolerably thick air, something went 'blip', the room lit in a flash of bathyal blue, and she froze, eyes locked on Reg's head. It appeared to be shrinking. Her hands touched on something, wet, cold, sticky; it wasn't the pin. She instantly recoiled. But it was too late ....