She’d lost almost everyone she’d ever loved. She’d had to learn stealth and how to steal. She’d had to harden herself against the elements, emotions, and ethics that surrounded her. She’d trained herself to recognize when she shouldn’t know something and no longer surprised people by saying something out of turn. She’d lost her undying faith in everyone’s good nature and now assessed those she met as being a danger or an asset instead of as being a friend or a best friend. And that didn’t even start in on what had happened to the world – its entire face had changed from a quiet, welcoming place, with hidden groves and nooks at every turn, to a battered and exploited shell that would crumble if pushed any further than it had already been. The only types of terrain that remained from the once varied landscape were ruined city, barren wasteland, and whatever lay behind the forbidding crags in the distance. About the same could be said for the girl’s personality, really. She had the remains of her memories, the endless monotony of every day, and her hidden secrets.

Night sighed. The heartache had grown easier to bear year by year, but the anniversaries always sent waves of memories crashing over her, undoing at least partially the intricate mask she’d worked so hard to construct that protected her heart.

Six years, she thought. Imagine, I’ve been living like this for just as long as I’d lived normally before. It seems like a dream, but also like I might wake up any minute and find myself back. I wonder what I’d have been like had the world never changed.

She looked at her hand, small and thin and strong. Its partial wrap covering of thin strips of cloth fluttered as she moved her fingers. The things this has held and touched that six years ago I’d never even heard of. What I’ve done that six years ago I’d have never imagined anyone could do. Would anyone I used to know recognize me? I look so different, sound so different, act so different. I really have changed. I guess Tristan’s right...

A light knock tapped on the wall and she turned her head to look. The pale light of the low star that slanted through her open window caught on the eager eyes of a young child.

“Night?” the little girl’s voice whispered.

Night straightened into a sitting position. “Sonora, what are you doing out of bed?” she demanded.

The girl fingered the rough wall in slight embarrassment. “I heard you come up. I wanted to see you.” Her voice was sweet and high, but thickened by a grating rasp in the back of her throat that at times threatened to drown out her speech entirely. “Can I come in?”

“Okay,” she agreed with a touch of reluctance.

Sonora scampered – as well as she could with her limp – across the short distance to Night’s bed and crawled awkwardly into the older girl’s open arms. Night petted her white hair, smoothing it off the little one’s forehead and combing the feathery curls with her fingers.

“So how was your day?” Night asked softly. “Anything happen?”

“No, I just slept mostly. Did you know it’s only eight days until my birthday?” Her voice sparkled with eagerness.

“Of course I remember that,” Night half-lied. It hadn’t been on her mind, but the memory of finding the infant Sonora in the wreckage of her village was one of the many things permanently seared in her brain. The baby’s parents had apparently had a similar idea to Tristan and were found in their cellar huddled around their child. Unfortunately for them, however, a heavy tree had fallen through the ground, breaking into their safe spot. Night shuddered. Taking the mother’s cold, stiff fingers off the half-starved crying baby wasn’t her most pleasant memory from back then. But then again it wasn’t the worst, either. After finding Sonora, even at six years old, Night had become protective and almost adopted the baby as her own. She was the only reminder of her real family.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. “How are you feeling tonight?”

“Not good,” Sonora admitted. “Just normal.”

“That’s why you should be in bed! Your room is special, remember? It’s much better for you to be in there.” Night’s tone came close to scolding, but the heavy concern in it prevented her from sounding harsh.

“But I want to stay with you,” Sonora protested, holding tightly to Night’s hand. “Please?”

“No,” Night answered firmly. Her usual hard shell was coming back over her, its coldness extinguishing the bit of feeling that had involuntarily come up and restoring that heavy, clammy lump that always sat in her chest.

Sonora sighed and a tear dimmed her eye but she dutifully turned away to leave. Night watched her go and the lump tightened as her stream of thoughts returned.

Thoughtful, her mind told her. That’s what your mother used to call you. Even if you have had to change, did it have to be like this?