The doll floated, unconcerned with Sloan's words. Its arms spread wide as if to envelop Mami in an embrace. Mami's dull eyes flitted for a moment to the side. Then they settled back straight ahead and did not look again.

"No you DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!"

Sloan threw herself at the doll. Her arms wrapped around its frail body and clutched tight as she forced it back, away from Mami. It swiped at her with hooked hands, little white claws that raked the side of her face and drew thick hot blood. Sloan didn't care, did not let go, only heaved her entire weight against the pink-haired doll, the false Madoka.

"Mami, Mami run, run away!" Sloan yelled over her shoulder. She seized a handful of pink hair and slammed the doll's head against the wall. It screeched at her, its eyes a swirl of hypnotic hues that Sloan squinted to avoid staring at. A deluge of German—probably German—flooded her mind, like the Japanese Mami and Kyoko had transmitted between themselves during the battle with Cicero but multiplied, amplified, rebounding in the hollow confines of her skull. Sloan held on, refused to relinquish it. She had done nothing for Kyoko or Nagisa, but she would not let Mami die. Would not let her disappear completely!

Mami did not heed her call to run, did not look at her. Remained in repose against the wall. Sloan forced the doll back, further away from her, moving with herky-jerky steps. The doll unhinged its crescent mouth and sank a long row of fangs into Sloan's shoulder, but the pain only caused Sloan to lock her arms tighter, sealing the doll into the cage of Sloan's lanky, wiry body. Despite the doll's flowing dress and hair, Sloan outsized it. Outpowered it. They staggered back in their disjointed tango. Away from Mami.

(Chapter 38)