The doll is forgotten while she packs a small bag and heads out to the ledge. A cleaning robot scurries out of the way, surprised by an intruder in the normally desolate hallway at this time. The echo of her feet rings in her ear and she misses her mother. Even her adopted eight-year-old sister is a distraction when confronted with silence. She is not a solitary person.

A blast of chill air slaps her face out on the ledge. It's a half open garage for the various air cars, hover sleds, scooters and other family vehicles. The security lights flash brilliantly off the sleek grey exterior of a larger space ship far off to the right. Its size is cumbersome in comparison to the house, two stories of highly sophisticated machinery, it seems out of place. The space yacht is another testimony to the emptiness she feels inside, as if technology could hide the hole in the human heart. It's man's feeble attempt to cover up something gone terribly wrong and everyone ignores the obvious truth. Her dad flashes a landing light in her eye. How long has she been wallowing in self-pity? He has an ear-splitting grin while powering up the air car, which reminds her he is fun when he's around.

Below the surface, she hates him for not re-marrying, but he said he swore an oath to her mother when she died in childbirth. It was noble on his part, but cruel to her. She needed a mom, though she would never admit it. Apparently, he has forgotten their little fight already, comfortably oblivious or highly skilled at parenting, she's not sure. The door hisses open on her approach and she slides into the passenger seat.

"Hold on," he warns, flicking the controls lightly to guide them free of the house. She smiles but says nothing. His left hand fiddles with some controls hidden below the dash, then her head slams back into the seat. The air car leaps free of Earth's gravity and banks almost straight up, a red light the only warning they are operating outside safe parameters. Her gut tightens the way it does when she dabbles with her limited magic, bile rising to her throat. With it comes a white-hot anger. She is flush with it and wants to lash out.

"Dad, what the hell are you doing?"

"Just having a little fun, honey." She realizes the inertial dampers are dialed down, and now he executes a barrel roll, nosing the car straight down so they can see the planet from five miles high. Her head is spinning, white hot pricks of star light flash behind her eyes. Then her vision clears. She lashes out with her mind and her dad yelps in pain.

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