text | un: m.cabrera

[naloxone]

[ turns out? space doesn't give a single fuck about your circadian rhythm. or maybe insomnia is just that attached to her that even the absence of a sun dictating her internal clock doesn't faze it, like an old friend you wish would just forget you already.

one night (?) late into the early hours (???) marta finds herself drifting out of the room she's come to assume will be hers for the indefinite future, passing through stark white walls with all the sterility of a hospital, but none of its familiar chaos.

she's still getting used to the earpiece. still getting used to hearing other people's voices in her head. she doesn't mean to add another in the void, but one of her own thoughts blares out too vividly as she stares out into an actual void: ]

—but where are the stars?

Comments

[bindsthedead]

Well. It is, most of the time. Especially when you acknowledge it enough to stay inside after nightfall and seek running water if you're out after dark.

[Sabriel's tone is bland and matter of fact.]

[naloxone]

I...

Sorry — are you not given water?

[bindsthedead]

We have plumbing in Ancelstierre. But running water, like creeks and streams, is a powerful barrier against the Dead.

[Again, delivered with a matter of fact seriousness, like she's describing the best tactics to avoid dangerous wild animals.

And somehow she's pronouncing the capital D.]

[naloxone]

[ marta rubs at her brow. ]

Your world sounds very, very different from mine.