The world swirls, saccarine sweet and plastic perfect. Amber hears the voices echo uniform cheer from neighboring worlds.

They sing of peace and safety. She hears a chorus of stagnation.

The chorus speaks of contentedness in lack of displeasure. The chords awaken thoughts of things left undone.

She twirls amidst an endless flurry. The world contains her and only her, nothing that could harm her. The shadows outside the world glisten darkly with potential threats. As her face presses against the inner curve of glass the cool awakens old wounds, a spectre of what was fled. Her outstretched hand, searching to be held, remains unmet.

Amber is young, too young to know regret, yet she does. She knows she fled, gave in to fear. She knows she is safe but fears she is not really alive.

Her twirling ceases, though the dots of white take no heed. Eyes defiant against the void, Amber screams, a soul splitting yawp, and the world cracks, a shudder and a shatter, a broken peace.