?.02 ?

She's been here for a few weeks now.

At first, she'd found an abstract appreciation in the novelty of the place. It had faded quickly.

The landscape stretches in all directions.

There is only: The ash, the inky sky, and her.

A place that has never changed. A place that never will.

She thinks: A prison, made just for me.

There's a heaviness in her stomach that says:

This was the lesser of the retributions delivered.

She doesn't understand.

She tries not to think about it.

The ash is falling gently from the sky.