She was twelve, with storm-colored eyes and hair the shade of dried kelp, and she spent her days in the Hydroponic District, tending to the only living things that still remembered light: a row of struggling violet orchids.
Aviana looked back at the sunrise. The gold was spreading, chasing away the last of the night. aviana violet
Behind them, the cliff was already stirring. Strangers were helping strangers to their feet. A child pointed at a bird—a real, wild gull—and laughed with a sound like breaking glass. She was twelve, with storm-colored eyes and hair
And for the first time in her life, Aviana smiled without the weight of a mile of water on her chest. She was twelve