In a world of chrome and neon lights, where the sky was painted in hues of electric blue and purple, there roamed the wanderer. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her hair was the color of stardust. She walked through the city streets, always seeking, always looking for the next place to come home.
She had traveled far and wide, through cities that rose up like glittering towers and through wastelands where nothing grew. The road called to her, and she always answered.
She wandered through the neon-lit streets, her feet carrying her to places unknown. She walked through the bazaars, where strange and wonderful things were sold, and through the parks, where holographic trees swayed in the breeze. She talked to the people she met along the way, listened to their stories, and shared her own.
The wanderer had no home, no place to call her own. But she was never alone. The road was her friend, her companion. It took her to places she could never have imagined and introduced her to people she would never have met otherwise.
And so she wandered, through cities and deserts and mountains, through forests and oceans and skies. She walked until her feet ached and her heart was full, and then she walked some more. For the wanderer knew that home was not a place, but a feeling. And as long as she kept seeking, she knew she would find it.
