Once, Donna had been part of a computer that held every book in the world.
It had enveloped her to shield her from the ravenous appetite of shadows.
The computer had whispered stories to keep her safe. The stories were not of adventure, philosophy or physics.
The stories were of ordinary things living room furniture, picking up a spot of milk, and a handsome man who spoke words that did not need to reach past their beginnings.
It told her that she had an ordinary life and an ordinary brain that need never dream of escaping.
It had whispered to her and she had wanted to believe so much that she never sought out its source.
Now something like an ordinary life has reclaimed her to shield her from the ravenous appetite of brilliance.
The world whispers to her of adventure and alien insects and songs and fire.
She does her best not to listen.
