The moles raised her in a land with too much sun.
Their eyes were so small they couldn't tell the difference.
But without shadow she couldn't tell things apart.
The land was flat and seemed to go on forever.
There was no night and no winter.
There was no distinction between hut and tree or tree and food.
She began to blink all the time, longer and longer blinks.
She craved shadow, edging, lines.
Her eyes were flooded, dazed by sun.
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