In the bright light of day, you couldn’t see it, but as the sun began to falter in the sky, losing its grip upon the heavens, tumbling toward the horizon, its presence became more apparent. Cast from the sun’s piercing gaze the room darkened, yet still the walls glimmered; the origin, a tiny glowing window, held reverently in her hands.
Day after day, night after night, the scene repeated, an unending cycle.
“You don’t look so good,” he whispered, his lingering gaze scanning her critically, his voice tinged with concern.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Just a little tired maybe, that’s all.”
His head tilted to the side, as if to get a better look at her. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” she snapped, her temper flaring.
He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright,” he soothed. “Just tired, right? Why don’t you call it a night?”