She moved her tired feet over a treadmill of cold rock, stretching endlessly around her like she’d been trapped under a dome for observation. Her boots were cracking the ice that had formed over the arid dirt, her breath leaving wisps that taunted her like ancestral spirits. She was freezing, while the remnants of the set sun still quietly shone up from below the horizon. While her colleagues probably enjoyed their Shimmer, around the roaring purple hearths of the Singularity. While they laughed and marvelled at how they managed to trick her into this journey instead of them.
Her own weakness for Shimmer probably had some part to play. It was a vice she often indulged, a comforting burn in her throat during her darker days.
And her brighter ones.
The sun had seen her shed her greatcoat and roll up her sleeves. The sun had then seared her skin, ensuring that it would burn for days to come. The sun had forced her to drain what water she had thought to collect before she left. Now, the sun had escaped behind the edges of the world and she was left behind, to face the burden of its cruelties.
In daylight, the Flats are –