Morning rubs against the window, sneaking through the blinds and creeping uninvited across the room. The stars fade, but the dreams burning like incense behind her eyes only burn brighter. When was the last time she was awake? Her days were lined with cloud-shaped cotton, padded so softly that she was no longer afraid of falling. She can't tear her eyes away from the sky long enough to look at her feet, and so, how could she know that she isn't flying?