He didn’t see them, but changelings overhead had stopped their flight to watch as the strange heartless creature fled his doom, most having long since abandoned the fruitless hope of hiding amidst the buildings and homes of their ancestors, taking to the air instead. At least there, floating amidst the darkness, the white city below, iridescent ceiling so far above, they could be where the dragon could not reach them. The Queen looked at the fleeing Heartless, now a vision of terror with ashen skin and hair, broken only by streaks of red. Her face was a stone mask, her thoughts unreadable. Her subjects felt the discomfort within her but knew not its true cause and knew better than to enquire about their sovereign’s discomfort. She gritted her teeth. In truth, part of her was overjoyed – the foul creature was facing his own just deserts, and she could not wait to see the despair on his face when he found the Oaken Stairs… and learned why it was her subjects hadn't already used it to flee. Another part, curious and small, wished it would survive so that she might understand the creature and how it could have no heart, for how could a creature survive so?