as I study the moon—its appearance altered by the dome’s distorting veil. Usually black and spiky. Now silver and smooth. “I like this moon,” she whispers, followed by a lengthy pause. “It’s the same color and size as the little wonky one I could see from my window back in Gore.” The same one on my back. I swallow, the silence between us growing its own mournful pulse. “Do you want me to tell you why you like it?” “No.” Of course not.
Lol
