Spend enough time in the darkness, and light becomes little more than uncomfortable. Unnatural, even.
That was why Talea loved storms. A sky that was so often bright and blinding after she left the murky mine was instead shadowed, split only by the occasional streak of lightning. A reminder of light, of its power, without being overwhelmed by its enveloping nature. Light was exposure, vulnerability. Darkness was cover, protection. Storms were the best of both.
Thunder rippled across the navy and gray expanse above. The hair on her arms stood up, and the energy in her blood spiked. It could sense the storm. And it reached for it, like a wanderer drawn back home.