She sits at the altar before the Stone of Echtherion, concentrating upon it, the room deep within the bowels of the tower begins to blur and dissolve.
Time becomes ephemeral, it's tidal flows surging around her, her senses expanding and the disgust of endless cycles of living and dying rises in bile and threatens her concentration.
She slides across the surface of centuries, after the pyroclastic destruction of the Char, before the final battle of the Terror of Belzaor, she follows the currents to her goal, Kamachrichthyon, Dragon Herald of Belzaor.
She exerts the will of the Ealflae and bends time around the nightmare dragon, pulling it forward, pulling it past it's own demise, into the present. The Stone of Echtherion before her darkens and cracks, taking on a purplish baleful hue.
She struggles against this violation of time, nearly torn asunder, but finds her way back, gasping and shuddering.
It was done, she'd survived, time had been warped and bled from the cracked Stone.