A Day That Asked Nothing

A soft dawn sky over the tiled rooftops of Stillwater Commons. Pale apricot light barely touches the clouds. No people — just the village asleep beneath a quiet sky.

Some mornings arrive quietly, like a letter slipped under the door.

Sora lying in bed, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling. Morning light through paper screens casts soft lattice shadows across the room. She looks tired but awake.

Sora had not slept well. The kind of tired that sleep does not quite fix.