Darkness.

Cold.

Damp.

These companions surround, obliterating all reality. Up is down. Left is right. Day is night, or is it really night? Death is life. Wrong is right.

But Sariah is not afraid. She is no stranger to the dark. It is never the lack of light she fears. Darkness, constant and cool, can be a welcome companion after the rage of the glaring daylight.

Her body is small, frail even, but it will not yield. In her tiny chest beats a heart more resilient than more aged souls, ones so wrapped up in their own vast experience they no longer see the world for what it is now. Curled in a ball, dressed in ribbons and lace, the little princess sleeps.

What does it matter to her, this reality about which they fret? Why should she fear? She is strong. She is bright. She is a light undeniable in any shadow.

This mantra lulls her to sleep. She hums it under her breath even in slumber. These are the things she tells herself in the face of reality.

This dark reality.