[This time, Lucy didn't snap at him for asking a question. She was occupied staring at her hand, at the almost-visions that went with it, at the thoughts that followed. Her hand was the same as it always was; it reached where she thought it would, it touched what she...didn't expect.]
Cold. Like morning before the sunrise.
[The dawn always came, no matter how dark and miserable the night before. Whenever her shifts ran late, Lucy always tried to time her breaks with the horizon turning red, then peach and shell-pink. It was...calming. And memorable.]
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Cold. Like morning before the sunrise.
[The dawn always came, no matter how dark and miserable the night before. Whenever her shifts ran late, Lucy always tried to time her breaks with the horizon turning red, then peach and shell-pink. It was...calming. And memorable.]