POV A native being:
In a dimly lit room, Zorax, his skin a deep shade of amethyst, lounged in an overstuffed chair, his luminous yellow eyes fixed on the television screen. He idly twirled one of his long, tapered fingers around a lock of his silver hair, a habit he fell into when deep in thought.
The newscast flickered with the image of a renowned astronomer standing before a large, intricate star chart.
"As you see, the temperature within our star is enormous, so we can safely assume that the discovered lifeform must be using some kind of energy field to isolate its body, as there is no known material that could withstand such a high temperature."
Zorax moved his finger, and with a click, the televisions turned off, leaving his apartment in darkness.
'Always the same fucking thing...' The concept was simply too unfathomable and too distant for him to care—he had a mortgage to pay, slaving in the low-paid job for Mr.
