Stark stood, as the entire world spun around her. Being all too aware that she was alone, standing still, as the once colorful lights began to grow dim.

She was awaiting the platforms to connect, as the one she’s on spins across the spherical walls of the Conference’s building. The many ringed platforms that defied gravity, all shifting away in some manner, having to move in such an intricate way so that any of this could work at all… It proved to be an odd thing to look at, allowing Stark to think. Ruminate.

Soon, two rings began to intersect. The blaring lights, flashing against Stark’s skin at the sides, immediately ceased as the makeshift crossway was made in seconds.

The prestige. The presentation of it all. Good ideals, made from desperation. Excess, because everything is thrown at the wall, praying that it will stick.

All these things—everything—floating within her head as she walked across silently.

She stood before the chamber, which held her destination. Once again, she was scanned up and down by the receiver from above. At least she has a better grasp over her emotions versus the last time, but the idea of being instantly judged—marked for everyone to see.

The idea that people like her—people in general—the future of people going through this very thing… Just another thought, combining into this terrible mass of dread.

But she had to swallow it in this moment. One can’t worry, lest they become a new problem. That’s how things are going.

The door finally opened, allowing her to breathe—to exhale—mixed with a sigh that came from the chest.

It was a gathering of people, just chatting, having drinks or finger foods. Backgrounds being a live feed of the outside to simulate a perfect view of a penthouse suite, with the exotic carpet and floor patterns to boot. A party like this would be inappropriate in the old version of the Conference—but hey. Stark’s not making the rules. Clearly.

She slowly walked around. The buzz of conversation, that she’s painfully aware of, echoing to the bones. Her vision became more and more blurred and tunneled. She could feel the moisture evaporate within real-time, when she desperately needed to swallow.

She instantly drew stares and she knew exactly why. The hint of twitching she could never control, her hands shaking on top of each other, desperately grabbing each other to find some sort of stability. Wanting their fears to be justified, in the end.

It was clear when looking at her—that she’s never supposed to be in this line of environment, she doesn’t belong at all. They could never know how much everything withered within seconds, the more she stays in this place of heightened excess.

She wanted to look down. She wanted to leave. She wanted to give into thoughts that she was so sure that she had dispelled—thoughts that were irrational, and she knew they were irrational—that was the reason they were ultimately taken care of—because why give them more reason to exist? And more importantly, she knew that by giving in, regardless of justification or sense of right, making them big does not mean they can be just as big, complex, and ultimately richer than the experiences she needed as a person.

Stark not only looked forward, but took in the scene that she was in. Overwhelming. Alien.

But worth it, when she saw her.

The beautiful woman in white was before a large art piece. Dr. Gia Taber hugging the breaking down Earth to shield it from the oncoming Shifts. Her eyes closed, her expression dark, tired—but steely. Alone in a void, but gives off a radiance that may be dim, but still continues to glow out. The strokes are rough, sporadic, but capture the overall mood more than a cleaned-up work.

The dress was laced in smaller, intricate designs that form to make grand symbols, streaming down her body one by one, strapless, and slightly dragged on the floor. Her blonde hair draped down her back, to her exposed shoulder blades.

Stark walked slowly toward her, but gave the impression that she was on her way someplace else. She hoped that we won’t be forced to look away. That hurt—it would be probably more damaging than what she went through.

The funniest thing to Stark—some parts eye-rolling, other parts heartwarming, creating a whole that’s so her—was that she knew that the girl had just as sharp senses as she does.

She knew that Stark was staring and was basking in it.

With a slow crane of her head, the rest of her body falling after, as her golden hair bounces and turns along with her—Grace smiled at Stark as they met each other’s gaze.

Somehow, the most beautiful thing among the beautiful things that smile is, it’s the fact that Grace’s cheeks raise as she does it, giving the impression that her own blue eyes are smiling as well.

Stark was trained in acting like they’re distant, that she’s another person, to mask everything. But she couldn’t help but to smile back as well, letting it linger as her body flushes with warmth.

“I can see you over there, Ms. Terri~!” Grace quipped at her, causing the masses to stop in their tracks, in mid-breath. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Stark stopped herself. She didn’t care about the crowd, but she still had to keep the illusion. She hunched over, combed her hands over themselves. “W-will do! Willy will do!”

Stark mentally patted herself on the back. That was a very “This is SURELY what Stark Terri sounds like!” phrase.

Grace grinned, showcasing an expression of bravado. “Either way. I’m keeping my eye on you—wherever you go.”

Stark had to keep the pose, but instantly decoded what she said. She nodded, acting like a fool, before walking away.

Now she had to scope out some secret, private place for Grace to find her. Her brain was finally focused on something other than turmoil and misery.

But as she took another look back. Gazing at the Dr. Taber mural.

It’s not like she can escape the thoughts, or the mood, of the world.