It's dark. It's night, of course it's dark. It's dark, save for the flashes of light from the sky that illuminate the room for fractions of seconds. Zi Tao doesn't like it when this happens. He likes it when the room stays dark at night, like it's supposed to. He doesn't like pale blue light flooding the room for a second, creating shadows that play tricks before plunging Zi Tao back into the pitch. It is nights like these when he curls up under his blankets and hides as best he can from the unwanted light show.