When the lights broke on, Carol Muse awoke in a chill that was tempered by the rev of heaters that lined the walls. In her sleep, pink crystallization spread from her body across the bed and floor. That frost layer—a foliate rime of interlacing tendrils and palmettes—was soon melted under the heat, the slush drained away along subtle humps and hollows built into the floor. Her own body, however, could hold no warmth. Her skin perfumed a mist no matter how hot the room was.

The mist trailed her out of her bed and to the desk on the far side of the room. The desk held a stand and a pile of books that one doctor had been giving to her over the years. They were books from his daughter that he said Carol was much alike. Though they could not meet, he relayed their thoughts on the books to each other. She pulled out one of the chairs to sit on and placed one of the books on the stand to read.

This one was about a friendly worm that taught a girl about how worms lived. Most of the worms were meek and shy—living underground where the sun cannot dry out their skin and predators can’t reach them—only coming out to eat crumbs on the ground. The tunnels they make don’t just protect them; they also pass air and water through the dirt, which helps plants grow. It was a light read, but learning more always made her happy.

The next book she set on the stand was about a friendly robot that taught about machines that helped humans in day-to-day life. Before she could even open it, the buzzer rang and the magnetic door lifted open.

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A doctor—not the one that brought books—was at the door with their equipment and a flying robot. The robot followed that other doctor as she came to take her seat at the desk. The flying robot was completely different from the old one, much softer and quieter, but the way it looked at her was just as unfriendly as the last, far different from the robot in the book.

As Carol read, the doctor tied a tourniquet around her free arm and cleaned the skin with an alcohol wipe. The beveled needle pierced into her vein and siphoned her blood into different vacutainers. The doctor claimed what they needed, cleaned and bandaged the puncture, and left with the flying robot.

It was for the best that they only came to draw blood. It meant that she would be left alone to read by herself and be brought extra food. Reading the book which showed robots in all kinds of situations with all kinds of people around the world brought a glint of thought: is this what it will be like forever?

That thought was dulled as she remembered her place as a worm in the dirt. She would like to meet other worms in the tunnels, but here they were all kept in their own holes. Some had to be submerged in acid and fed through a tube. Some only saw light when the food slot in their door was opened. Some had to be kept sedated at all times. Some were lobotomized outright. That was still better than being one of the worms who were dried up by the sun or eaten by predators; it was best to stay in the tunnels where the daylight could not reach them.

That was the fate of worms like her.