The invisible string that connects you has no tension. You don’t even think you’re aware of it, maybe it never existed. You’re breathing as one once again. Amniotic warmth flushes over your eyes and you feel yourself slipping into that inky nothing, the little death, that ever so brief respite from all of this…

You are in your kitchen, you strike a match, it’s flame is warming for one fleeting little moment. You light the stove. You fill the kettle, ignore the dripping tap. You’ll fix it one day. The kettle boils. It’s a new day. Don’t think about that, just stir in some sugar, splash some milk, take a seat...

A child runs by with a flower crown and a blouse covered in tassels that flow beautifully behind her, a young mother chases her. She is caught by her father whose rough, well worn hands clasp around her waist. She is lifted into the air and twirled around. He wishes that her feet would never have to touch the ground again, that her face was always so full of joy and that her hair always glowed like this as it is caught in a midday sunbeam, prismed by the stained glass window...

It isn’t sunny, when is it ever. The streets of Iversham look no different, you thought for some reason they would. 
‘Today is no different from any other day’ an unplaceable voice mutters. An unfortunate truth you think, all days are the same. The sun rises, the sun sets. Sometimes a wind blows, sometimes it doesn’t. This brings you some sort of comfort, at least the sun will always be there. Until the heat death of the universe of course, but that won’t affect you… right?