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This is part two of She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light

Two months later, another girl sat in the same place. She wasn't listening to a boy play the piano. The one who had disappeared might not even recognize the room, a disaster in trying to find her way back to it. Everything was different, except the floor. The light still shone onto it from the windows, but the picture was obstructed by the various new furnishings. The floor was walked on more, but only in its exposed areas. Whether it was more or less dirty was open to debate. However, the window into the next world was all but gone, there was no suffusion in light.

The walls had changed from an unobtrusive hue to a harsh, bright, obtuse blue that might have been welcome on a child's playhouse. That, in itself, transformed the room from a quiet island of repose to a busy and lively arena. The mood was all wrong; there was no way this new girl could lose herself in a sea of light amid these offensive colours.

What had, before, been uncharted emptiness was now cluttered with entertainment devices. The oversized billiards table that had always held a space near the piano was now uncovered and frequently in use. Another table, fitted with sticks and miniature men whose purpose was batting around a little white ball, occupied yet more of the precious floor. The reflection, the window, was covered by another game centered around a little white ball, with highly mobile players holding tiny paddles. The room was always busy, the emptiness, full.

It was uncomfortable. Before, she could have pulled up a chair anywhere, looked inside herself or watched fingers play across ivory keys. Now, there was only so much room for a lone chair. A couch cemented the role of the spectator in this new center of activity.

What had been unused emptiness was now always bustling. It was the focal point for the formation of new relationships built on friendly competition. Not a space for reverie, but revelry. Dreams were shut out by the bold colours of reality.

The new girl was a spectator, watching the others have fun, remaining outside it all. She might have been enamored by the light; it caught her eye a few times. But, each time, a body darted into it and cast its shadow across her potentially sublime mindscape. The light could feel the loss of its power. The room, though, was glad of the company. The boy rarely came to visit, unable to find himself in the clamour. The room was sad, at first, to lose its faithful visitor. But it grew to like the high-spirited atmosphere. It came to forget the magic it had contained.

The light still shone and cast its reflection, but no one saw. It didn't stop, it really wasn't able to, but it fervently hoped that someday, someone would notice it again. It would have to wait a long, long time, watching as imagination was forsaken for reality.

It never understood, not being solid, what joys could be found in material endeavours. It provided pleasure only for those immersed in the immaterial, provided the path to another world.

The room, joyous and content, would eventually drift off into obscurity, a change in colour, in furniture, an eventual rubble heap. The light watched it all, sad for the loss of an old friend, though this last had long ago abandoned it. Now, though, it was free to illuminate the whole area. Tricks of it played over the uneven surfaces, exploring new nooks and crannies.

A passerby noticed the silent love affair, paused a moment, smiled, and went on, thoughts filled with its scintillating splendor. If it had been able to, the light would have smiled.

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