It was just her. Rema. A name that meant to be remembered. Which meant, another way, forgotten. That sure fit her.
And it was her world. A tiny patch of earth, green grass on brown soil at the far end of the world. On the other side of the blue lake, with the bluest waters ever, bluer even than the sky of day and the heavens of the beyond. A small hut standing. Her home. And that was it. Her tiny little world.
That was all she had ever known. That was all she had ever needed. It had always been just her. Until it wasn’t.
She wasn’t fond of daylight. That wasn’t to say she was particularly fond of night. She didn’t care about either. It was just that the blue water of the lake and the dark violet sky of night and the chillier breeze was all so much easier. And sleep was easier during
