On the first day of the end of the world, a tawny wemic steps outside her cave to greet the dawn and discovers the world in bloom; a beautiful answer to her fevered prayers that she would never have to eat bad game again.
On the first day of the end of the world, a shadow in purple is still fighting. This place is built to flense away the last scraps of weakness from the soul - and hence he has not, for a long time, even thought of giving in.
On the first day of the end of the world, she steps out onto the stage and she gives her speech to the assembled paladins; a curiosity, an example, a savage out of the the depths of Hell that has been saved, she attempts to reassure them that there is always hope - that a better world is possible, that order can come out of the greatest chaos: that they can bring order to a Flambard in flames.
On the first day of the end of the world, a scarred and middle-aged lady extricates herself and the coin-pouches of several of the other participants from the distinctly over-full bed in the attic of the tavern, and wonders if she's getting too old for this; but there is little time for reflection in the life that she leads, and anyway, she's still sure something terrible will happen if she doesn't keep swimming.
On the first day of the end of the world, a small grey and brown wemic arrives at his - at her - at his destination - I can be anyone that I want to be - and he thinks about giving another name, but he thinks that they would know him anyway if they saw him. So he gives the one that he was given on those island streets, a world away and a lifetime ago.
On the first day of the end of the world, he brings to mind every member of the council, and considers them. One has to stay behind, because there will be a next winter and it should be very bounteous. But all of the others - even the jeweller: they would fight. The tide of history flows through his pen; the final battle thrums excitedly through the razor-sharp blade of the new steel axe he finally receives, through the precious string of mana he wraps around his arm. War continues... but this time they would win.
On the first day of the end of the world, she wakes up and it is so silent; the halls and the tunnels are empty, the supervisors are gone, the other slaves have already crept away. She makes her way up to the surface, running her hand along the abandoned chist wall, to find the world has transformed itself; the fruit vines covering every available surface, running daringly up the fortification itself, surmounting it, consuming it. She looks around for those who might stop her, but there is no-one; so she takes, and eats, and is happy.
On the first day of the end of the world, she curls herself around him, and closes her eyes, and feels his breathing settle into sleep... and, for one blissful moment, nothing else matters.