Atomic cutting

Ryn stopped at the case holding the violin, dragging one nail along the glass enclosure until she’d carved a neat circle. Removing it, she reached through, stroking the instrument’s skin. “Tell me.”
“You wouldn’t dare. It’s a Stradivarius, you bitch!”
“You like these man-schemed things.” This museum was thick with them—instruments, baseball cards, pictures of the city in its infancy. “Yet I lived when the Earth was rock and mineral, and I have seen every wild and beautiful thing shattered, remade for mortal souls. Do you think I care for your violins?” She let her nails graze it, close enough to scrape off a few atoms and no nearer.
He hissed at the razor kiss. “You know how many masters have touched this wood? Any clue what it’s like to taste the passion of every fella who ever worked it?”


Chapter 13, Page 198