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There is always some sort of light shining beyond the glass.

            The Sun, with its warm rays, blinding those who looked at it. Its beams glance off of the paneled glass of the Observatory dome, making it shine with a brilliance which was unfitting for such a dark place.

            The moon, a pale reflection of its bright counterpart, is far gentler. Soft blue rays blanket the bare white tiles of the Observatory, making the dome shine with an ethereal brilliance from the inside.

            On nights when the moon was pale and the Sun sank below the horizon, Bo could see the stars.

            Countless in number, they are like glimpses into heaven, Bo thinks. Sudden holes in the dark expanse of the night sky. Each night they shine without fail, just as the Sun and moon do themselves. Each night, Bo would sit down and stare at the pale light, a reminder of worlds beyond their own, a reminder of the land beyond the dome.

            How beautiful they were, though painful reminders of the unreachable world beyond the glass.

  On nights when the stars shone brilliantly Bo would reach out to the white-hot suns light years away and to hold them close. Hoping that the heat would burn life back into their cold, lifeless heart.

            On nights when the stars shone brilliantly, Bo longed for the night to never end.