The contrast of this gloomy place was appealing to Shego, who appreciated beauty. Gray, black, white, and stark red.
It was the witching hour, and the crescent moon hung high.
"One day you will fall," Shego mourns prematurely, "What comes up always falls. Sooner or later... sooner or later..."
All things died. Living or not living. Mountains crumbled. Shores eroded into nothing but the ocean itself. Droughts came and took the water. The earth caved in on itself. All these things she had seen. Who was to say the moon would not collapse and full upon them?
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