E - Thyme Alignment

When her mother came to talk again, Thyme fixed her eyes on the sand
and nodded over and over. Then she sat and watched the light move,
creep on the surface of the dirty white sand. Old, it whispered, old
and far and long and tired.

That night, as darkness settled into the weary sand, her parent's
warned her not to move from her blanket, and disappeared into the
crowd. The crowd soon followed, into a night so dark, not even shapes
moved in it. The wind carried stray sounds, but soon it stilled as
well.

Not sleepy, Thyme laid face up on the blanket, gazing at the points of
light. Her small chest rose and fell, as if asleep, but her eyes never
closed. The stars swelled, then grew four, six, eight arms, then
grasped other arms grasping for them.

The glowing crystal lace laid over the night in sharp relief, moving
down, inch by inch, wraping Thyme in thick arms of white and pink and
pale blue. When the glare grew unbearable, she closed her eyes against
it, only for it to penetrate her lids.

Then the filling began, deep in her abdomen. Like a balloon, large
gasps of something came from the lace, soaking into her, expanding, but
never escaping. She swallowed convulsively, deperately trying to quell
the eternal wail that fought at her throat, when sleep finally slid
over her.

Morning sun startled her awake, still solitary. And still the fullness.
No pressure any longer, but something had changed. The truth had
changed. She was changed.