(muttering) Wrong apartment.

Then — a sound. Low. Almost subsonic. Felt more than heard. It seems to come from inside the vial, or maybe from the walls, or maybe from somewhere behind Puck's own eyes.

Puck’s mouth opened. Not her words came out.

Here, the is revealed. She is not a giant insect. She is the fused corpse of Queen Isolde, the former human monarch of Mycelis, now bloated to the size of a cottage. Her ribcage has opened like a flower, revealing a honeycombed heart. Thousands of tendrils—each ending in a human eye—extend from her crown.