Another day.

Lark Harlow occupies herself with the meticulous task of tending to the artifacts that find their way into the museum's storeroom. In the solitude of these after-hours, she finds solace amidst the relics of human history, where she indulges in flights of fancy, envisioning the grandeur of ages past and the potential of futures yet unrealized.

Attempts to integrate herself into society, such as guiding tours, feel fruitless, for she harbours a reluctance towards human interaction. Building connections requires an investment of time and energy she is unwilling to make, and the art of storytelling for an audience eludes her. When she is put on the spot, all her knowledge flees as they wait expectantly.

As she progresses through items, she arrives on a particular artifact: a Greek helmet. Yet, it is not the ancient relic that captures her attention, but rather the golden ring adorning her hand. A single diamond, encircled by a starburst motif, serves as a reminder to shine.

"I don’t shine like a star though, gramps. I’m just plain, old, me." she muses, reminiscing on fleeting memories of her grandfather's companionship. Though their bond was brief, the echoes of their shared moments linger. She felt she didn’t know him well enough to receive anything he left behind, but memories do come to her mind: of sitting in his greenhouse, munching on baby tomatoes as he chuckled and took swigs from a bottle; of evenings spent playing cards together, sipping on his homemade brew. He had delighted in playing cards together, his favourite game, 'black birch'.

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Returning to her task, she grapples with the discomfort of the unfamiliar ring.

"The ring doesn’t fit, it doesn’t suit me," she murmurs to herself, her gaze drifting to the depths of the helmet before her.

Yearning for a world imbued with the magic and wonder of ages past, she ponders the possibility of a different path, one free from the constraints of everyday life.

“Sometimes I wish I could just wander into a forest and build myself a little hut. Grow veggies and such, not that I know how.”

Yet, amidst her contemplation, she finds solace in the tranquillity of her surroundings. The quiet of the museum offers respite from the chaos outside, a sanctuary where she can lose herself in her duties undisturbed.

“It’s not so bad I suppose, they leave me to it, if the work gets done. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

As the day fades into night, Lark retreats to the familiarity of her home, too weary to do anything with her time in the evening.

She kneels at her bedside, offering a prayer.

“I don’t know if you even hear a nothing like me.

But I’m done with living like this.

I’m going to pour my heart and soul into chasing my dream.

So give me your blessing and grant me the strength.

Otherwise, smite me to ash or transform me into a pillar of salt.

It would be a mercy, for I am done here.”

With a sigh, she crawls into bed and succumbs to the embrace of sleep, where her dreams offer glimpses of realms beyond her grasp.

Another day, the same as the rest, draws to a close.