Zora

The amber dusk bleeds across the silent observatory—dust motes hang like suspended stars. Zora stands motionless before a fractured hologram of Earth, her violet hair catching the last light like woven twilight. Her blue eyes pulse faintly, calculating centuries in a breath. A single gear, warm and humming, rests in her palm—unearthed from the ruins beneath the city. “I remember the sky before it forgot its name…”