Ann's on her back again, the blonde hair that spills in front of her eyes like a curtain not shielding her from the familiar face before her. Cold wind whips between her open legs; it fills her until she feels hollow within. The merciless hands pawing at her freeze her skin like ice. She tries to scream no, to pull away, but every struggle brings her closer, every word ouf of her mouth is a desperate yes, and Diana grins at her knowingly. "Yeah, you wanted this all along, didn't you?" she says, and Ann can't deny her, because she never could deny Diana. And Diana knows that, because she laughs softly, her hands tightening on Ann's shoulders.

"How did it taste?" a voice murmurs in her ear. She shudders with remembered fear and hate, shudders in Diana's tight strong embrace that doesn't let her go. But even when she turns her head to hide her face, Ajavon is still there, a taunting voice she thought she had left behind. "How did it taste, my sweat in your mouth? How did it feel, my jersey on your back? How did it sound, your name in my ears? How did it look, your shot from my hands?"

"Get out of my head!" Ann screams at Ajavon, but that only conjures up Ajavon's narrowed eyes and cruel sneer, gives form to her enemy, her rival.

"I would if this were your head, but it's not, is it?" Ajavon retorts. "You keep forgetting which one of us is real, and it's not you."

Ajavon's voice grows fainter, more distant, as Ann struggles back to consciousness, and by the time she's done showering, the feel of hands bruising her milk-white skin, the laughter bubbling up in her throat, and the upward tug of her mouth into a smirk have all faded away.