Marbles on Glass
11. Company
Before this, she had at least the voice.
Her steps were dust, her memory shadows; she was lost, who knows how far into the labyrinth of tests. She was on her own – and, of all things, only the voice felt like someone else. Another soul, maybe. A guide.
She held it close as the doors slid, tearing through her jumpsuit. When it started to change, she shivered. She couldn't let go.
The voice was all she had.
But time walks fast; she knows better from here. The awareness, the betrayal, is devastating.
It is crystalline, now, that she has nothing.