Spaceport terminals, like the airline predecessors, were a study in opposites. Large but cramped, hurried and delayed, full of intimate strangers meeting and parting and studiously ignoring one another whenever possible. T'Mara stood in her tattered clothes and gazed at her reflection in the curved glass. She looked a ghost, transparent against the darkness of space tattered by stars, dark hair, dark eyed, still while strangers passed in huddled, hurried groups behind her.
The planet she was set to leave was not home although it had birthed her. Her family -- her father -- dreamed of the stars but they had never been her dream. Until he died, dreams unfulfilled, and she had taken her small inheritance to fulfill them in his stead. She was a fool she thought, a fool who didn't want to go adventuring but would go nonetheless, looking in reverse while charging forward in the deep night of the unknown.
She resettled her pack and hurried forward to the gleaming needle that would spread gossamer wings to fly, powered by solar winds of invisible light as she slept and dreamed the dreams of fools.
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