The Sunspire pale green things

she was a speck of dust-colored nothingness against the breast of her mother, betraying her existence with the perpetual, minuscule, inconsequential rise and fall of her breathing. 

she, whose eyes remained closed tightly.

though her brother protested, the dust mote was content; the warmth kept her deep in slumber. the scent of their mother was a soothing blanket across the universe

—but her universe was so small, still.