You scan the room, searching for anything that could bridge the gap between you. Finally, your eyes lock onto a container of loose setting powder—the very one you hadn't finished using. With every ounce of strength in your tiny frame, you manage to tip it over. The fine white powder spills across the surface like fresh snow. Using your antennae as makeshift brushes, you painstakingly drag yourself through the dust, carving out the letters of your name.
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You look down at the word STARIA etched in the powder, a surge of pride swelling in your chest. But just as you're marveling at your own ingenuity, the bedroom door creaks open.Ryan trudges in, looking utterly spent. From your vantage point, you can see the raw, crimson edges of his eyelids and his tear-swollen eyes. He looks like a man haunted by grief.You pray that his heart is as sharp as his eyes.