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Cigarette smoke melded with the strong smell of alcohol, creating a foul-smelling fog that hovered around the club. It wafted into her nostrils and up to her head, making her feel sick and dizzy. At least that was what she told herself; that the sensation in the pit of her stomach was a result of the smell and not of her own nervousness.

Sheera looked around the room; it looked different, empty and with the white kai lamps turned on instead of the coloured ones that went on at night. The stage that had seemed too small and too close to the audience when she had been on it, singing, now seemed too tall and too big without the instruments. She rubbed her hands against her arms to warm herself. Everything looked decadent, dead, as if it hadn't been touched in centuries.