All was still. All was quiet. The air was thick with silence, echoing off the dulled edges of her mind. Hollow and empty she sat bent crooked over her books. Her hand moving across the pages as the hours crept by. Aching exhaustion choking her, her world existing of these same four walls, nothing within, nothing beyond. Shadows swept across her face as the moon sank low. She looked at the dying flickers of the flame before her. With her last ember of consciousness she blew out the candle, staring at the tendrils of immaterial smoke swirling and curling as it rose to unattainable freedom. No light.
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