This is more or less an adaptation from a time in my life. I'm not subtle.

From outside the dome, dust. Giant chunks of rocks obscure the view of the stars as they float aimlessly across the black sky. Is it a sky? Brinn wonders, fondly remembering the grey wafting smoke sky of her home world. Earth, it was called. Well, they all came from Earth, she supposed. Here they were now, in the middle of a void, or some penetrable medium of travel, like thick, invisible water. Like gas that parts in their wake, gently blanketing the dome with its soft touch.

Inside, it is dark. Darker than usual, at least. Far below her, the colored lights glow faintly, outlining the shapes with a soft blue. Brinn smiles and leans back against the trunk of the tree. She holds up a finger and keeps it there, waiting. When she closes her eyes, it's as if she can feel the tree breathing. It protects them, feeds them, shelters them, keeps them breathing. She feels something light brush her finger, and she opens her eyes and smiles. A wide-eyed head gazes at her curiously, its long, curled tongue searching her finger for sweat and for nectar. Impossibly thin wings flutter nervously, glowing with a bright teal light.

Brinn is careful not to move as the butterfly moves. This might just be the largest one she's seen, perhaps three times the size of her hand. When it finally realizes there's nothing for it here, it leaves, joining its friends in roosts.

Brinn sits silently on a branch of the tree, watching the two figures down below and straining her ears to pick up on their conversation.

"When does third shift start?" One of them says.

"Now, actually."

"Nighttime, huh?"

Brinn tilts her head. She hasn't used that word in a long time, nor has she heard anyone else use it.

"Or day. Depends."

They laugh. "True," the other says.

A loud whistle blows, startling her. She nearly falls off the branch to the ground. She wasn't high enough that it would do any real damage, but she would definitely lose the element of surprise.

Two more people walk out, carrying long branches with them, sharpened at the tips. Brinn scowls at this, then yawns. This would have to wait for another day. Disappointed, she backs to the trunk of the tree, creeping around it to another branch and climbing upwards toward the base.

---

The door opens with a click, and Brinn marvels at how well it slides out of place.

"Nice work on the door," she says to Jan as she enters, dropping the pouch of rocks at her side onto the cold metal floor.

He nods in response, quickly using a finger to slide his glasses up his nose. They fall back down, broken at the nose bridge.

"Still no luck with the glasses, though?" She half thinks he keeps them like that for effect.

I really do wish giant, glowing butterflies existed.