Peony looked over at the girl, her own newt's eyes dangling grotesquely from her bloody fingers. The sight of the girl's injuries did what the hanging retina couldn't do to Peony's nerves.

Peony took in a deep breath. Not a good move. The scent of Eau de Potione Labbe filled her nostrils with it's greasy, odd, choking scent that one could ignore if you hadn't done what Peony had and took in enough air to sustain a dive into water.

She started coughing and choking, and before she knew it, her eyeball had dropped and rolled over to rest bloodily next to the injured girl's foot.

Oh God. Don't step on it. Don't squash it.