When she wakes up, it is dawn. It is always dawn. The light filtering through her windows is blue, even though the sky is filled with colour. The stars are frozen in place, still halfway to gone. The wonder and awe associated with the times between day and night make it beautiful as any dawn you might see.

Just because they see it every day, every hour, every minute, does not mean that they do not appreciate its beauty as any others might. There is something poetic about this, something about being stuck in the tipping point of night and day.

She has waxed poetic about the implications of the time, has delved into the philosophy inspired, has thought about it so many times. This day does not have to be one. Sometimes to enjoy things, you must let them keep their secrets.

So instead of staying in bed having philosophical thoughts, Abigail gets up. She turns on the lights in her room. The light switch is a jury-rigged mess of wires that she spliced together to put a switch on. Whenever she reaches over to turn it on or off she risks getting electrocuted. She’s confident that she won’t.

The lights are soft instead of bright. There’s no need to have bright lights; everyone’s eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting of the town. There are only two ceiling lights, and the rest are fairy lights that she stole from Dave.

She’s been lying in bed thinking about the lights for several minutes now. She should get up instead of lazing about. She doesn’t want to fall back asleep and mess up her day/night schedule.

It’s tough having the concept of a day, a designated time to be awake, and the concept of a night, a designated time to sleep when the sky is forever stuck in a single position. The only indication of time is the electronic kind, like clocks.

So she gets up from where she had lain back down. She goes through her drawers to find something to wear. She inevitably pulls out her comfort clothes; A simple black t-shirt with her symbol on it, and dark blue pants. She doesn’t know why she bothers to keep half of her clothes when all she wears is this outfit. The only thing she changes is her accessories.

She has to walk downstairs to the bathroom. Her house is tiny, which is understandable. This house was built for her even though it was here before she moved here. It’s meant for her and only her, although she expects that if she found a datemate that she wanted to spend her time with, the house would turn out to be just enough space for the two of them.

There are two floors just a room wide. The kitchen is open to the living room and has a bathroom off to the side of it. There is a fireplace in the living room and the front door opens to the line between the kitchen and living room. The stairs go above the back door and she doesn’t worry about the safety of that decision, she isn’t the one who built it. (although she might have, in her dreams, before she was born.)

There is a purple and blue carpet surrounding the couch in front of the fireplace. The fireplace is always lit, and it doesn’t need to be tended to at night. The kitchen has all of its appliances lined up on the wall.

She passes it to get into the bathroom. There’s a vase and a flower in the bathroom. She doesn’t know why it’s here, but it’s pretty. The bathroom itself is pretty small, barely fitting in the shower. There is just enough standing room to change without hitting her elbows on the sink or toilet. It sounds uncomfortable, but it is perfect for her.

She looks at the clock on the wall as she walks back into the kitchen. It’s already eight. She should make breakfast; she doesn’t want to skip it accidentally.

She doesn’t have much in the fridge, but she should have enough for breakfast. There are eggs in the fridge, there might be cheese, and she knows she has bread. It’s not a lot and it’s not fancy, but it’s enough for breakfast. She doesn’t like having a heavy breakfast anyway, even if it’s supposedly healthy.

The pan makes a nice sizzle as she cracks the eggs into it. How many is she gonna cook? Who knows? Two, she’ll cook two. She isn’t that heavy of an eater. This is a bit of a big breakfast for her, usually it’s just toast. Now she’s having egg and cheese on toast.

The toaster dings and she puts the toast on a plate so she can slide the eggs on. She opens the fridge to get the cheese out but realizes that there is no cheese. She closes the fridge and grabs her plate. At least she has butter.

The only place to sit in her house is the couch. There is no kitchen table or anything, just the couch. She always eats her meals on the couch because it’s nice and warm and the fireplace makes a good view.

As she’s eating she starts to think about what she needs to do for the day. She’ll have to do groceries again. Luckily she doesn’t need anything like salt, she doesn’t want to go out of the Curre part of town. She’ll just head over to Lin’s house when she can. That doesn’t need to be done until dinner because she was planning to head over to Arina’s for lunch.

So she doesn’t have much to do. She thinks she’ll just wander around town for a while. If she’s gonna be wandering around, might as well start now. She gets up as she finishes eating and puts the dishes in the sink. She’ll wash them later, for now, she’s gonna go visit the neighbours.

Rather, a neighbour, Dave is the only neighbour she has. There’s the church but that’s a bit further down the road so she doesn’t think that counts. It’s in the same part of town though, so that counts for something.

She thinks that she’s forgetting something, but she doesn’t know what. She’s dressed, she’s eaten, and that’s all she needs to do. Oh well, if she remembers, she will only be down next door. She heads out of the house.

The air is kind of cold, but it’s not enough to warrant a jacket. Despite the unchanging time, the weather does change. The temperature is always mild, pleasantly warm or pleasantly cold, but there is wind sometimes and rain other times. Usually, the skies are clear and it’s pleasantly cold, such as today.

There is a path leading from her front door to the road, all three in the neighbourhood are connected to the path. The town is very different from towns and cities in other places. There is nature everywhere. The only places that aren’t the natural ground are the roads and paths, and the houses. Beyond that, there is grass and trees all around. There are lights hooked up to the trees and paths so that the area is well lit.

The whole environment suits the town, slightly mystical and makes you feel as if you are in a different world. There is also a small pond in front of the church and Dave’s house. It’s natural and there are no alterations to it, just a bit of smoothing so that it is not dangerous.

She sets off on the path, it’s not a far walk, they are neighbours after all. It is kind of far for neighbours though, her house is stationed oddly when compared to the path so it’s a bit more roundabout than a straight line. Their front doors set the paths, and hers is not facing the road.

It takes only a minute to get to Dave’s house. It’s quite an odd sight for some, mostly out of place in a city although even in a town it would be considered quite odd. It’s kind of like a trailer house, elongated and rectangular, except it has no front door. Rather there are doors on either side of it. The actual house itself is on stilts, it has stairs on either side of it and the space underneath it is filled with a garden.

She walks up the steps and knocks on the door. She could just walk in, they are friendly enough and nobody locks their doors. She doesn’t, though she would be welcome to, but everyone here has a healthy respect for one another and that’s why this town works.

He answers the door with a smile, or at least what passes as a smile. He grins wide for a second and falls back into his frown. He has a hard time making facial expressions. Some are easier than others and some are harder. They both have a resting face that looks negative, although hers is more neutral than angry/sad.

She returns the smile, not very large but on her face nonetheless. It is not a surprise, her showing up here. There’s nothing to do in her house all alone. She could read but she prefers company. Dave also prefers company, though not always. They are birds of a feather, just different colours.

Her musings are interrupted by realizing that she should say hello.

“Hi.” She waves.

“Hello.” He is kind of quiet and the word is stressed and stretched out. This is just how he talks. He’ll either be quiet with his words coming out awkwardly or he’ll be loud with his words coming out rushed. Usually, he’s loud and rushed, with too much energy for his body.

She’s seen how it affects him, he once admitted that it feels like lighting under his skin or bugs crawling. But right now he is spared, he’s just woken up and is calm. He speaks quietly, tired enough that he’s drained of energy, awake enough that he’s not filled with a different kind of energy.

“Can I come in?” She doesn’t need to ask, he’ll say yes, but it’s only polite.

“Yeah,” he opens the door and steps aside, “come on.” He waves her through, his hand moving a bit sluggishly, as if it’s moving through jello.

Their conversation was brief and to others, it would seem stilted, but speaking is hard for both of them. This was a good conversation. They don’t speak much to others and it seems like today is a speaking day for them.

She steps inside. There is a smell of freshly cut apples, Dave’s natural scent. It suits him.

His house is essentially two rooms. His bed next is pushed up against the wall, and opposite that is a set of drawers. In the corner is an enclosed bathroom. There is carpet everywhere and a small kitchen set in the corner. He has old fashioned torches lit that make the room softly glow orange. His house is oddly red and green themed, but it doesn’t seem like Christmas, it only seems like Dave.

They sit on the bed, the only place other than the floor that you can sit. They don’t speak all that much, even at their most talkative words are still hard.

When they do talk, it’s in whispers. Time passes. (Neither of them fully remember what they talk about.)

“I have to go.” He interrupts the silence. He makes a vague gesture with his hands. It’s a sweeping motion accompanied by a ‘you know?’ gesture. Abigail does not, in fact, know. She cocks her head and tries to mush her face into a confused expression.

“Stuff, to do.” There is a forced slowness to his words. The conversation has woken him up a bit too much and he’s starting to fill with energy. If she stays with him longer she would hear his speech get faster and sloppier. She won’t stay with him though, she knows he’s frustrated when he is in full prickly mode. He can be compared to a battery, it fills with energy and you can drain it, but if it has too much energy it becomes damaged.

He is ashamed of how damaged he is. She’s not going to blame him for thinking he’s damaged, she’s not a hypocrite.

She nods and stands up. She sways a bit and her vision goes dark. It seems that hours have passed and neither of them noticed. It’s not surprising, this is common. They don’t usually hang out with other people so they get their interaction when they can.

She notices that she’s hungry and not quite tired yet, so she decides

that she’ll go out for lunch. She’s still standing next to Dave and he’s looking at her. She smiles at him and waves. He smiles back and stands.

They go through separate doors. It’s a thing they do and neither of them knows why.