It was far back in the winter when it all began. Izzy cleared a patch from the window, her breath like smoke in the darkness, caught by the flashlight beam and rendered momentarily solid. She sought enlightenment in the small things, believing that within everything a divine spark smouldered, locked away from the ravages of time and the worm.

She was wrong, of course, but we didn't know it then. More specifically, the key to it all lay entirely unburied, far from the central point of oneness she felt she'd found.

As she wiped the window clean of sleet, a thin crack ground its way across the pane vertically, a static scream forming in the void behind. We looked out together, sure that the world had gone.

The void was beautiful, but imperfect. The lights of tiny villages dotted the horizon, and above us the occasional star peeked through the graying masses of cloud cover. We were not alone.

In away, Izzy said, it was for the best.