Soraya | Salacia

The only light on the bridge was a pale blue hue emanating from the various consoles and controls. All else was darkness, with major systems on standby for the deep and breathless journey between stars. In the oppressive gloom the regular, ordered stations appeared warped and alien; diffuse light refracting hard edges. But all that was naught beside the scene from the front viewport. When last seen, we were stationary around a single tiny sun, watching the vast infinity of the cosmos spread out before us. Now, at a considerable percentage of the speed of light, tiny specks of white light grew in a violent violet-blue pattern as the distance between they and us compressed and vanished, before moving sidelong across the vast open windows into a deep red tear, rolling like bloody raindrops across a windshield as tunnelled past them through space. Perched in the centre of this cosmic ballet of blue and red was a single lone figure, silent and still as marble, her sleek silhouette a perfectly-formed black hole across space. The only movement was the faint swaying of her longer locks from the left side of her head. They flickered only slightly, as if in response to her breath, but I knew it was only the passage of air though the ship, now open to the bridge. Of course, the distinction between the figure and the ship was a blurred one, so truly it was, in a way, her breathing which allowed this motion.