isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone
There is still so much of this land that she finds strange. The magic that taints it, for one – how sometimes it helps, but often times it hinders. That even though magic stretches to every corner, even though the magic still lets her control starlight and has her glow and pulsate as though she was still in the sky, the magic does not let her go back.
It is just enough magic to fool her into thinking she has some kind of control, when in reality, she does not.
The magic shows itself again in the way the canine before her shifts. Has she ever met a shifter? She cannot recall, but for all the other things she has seen here, she supposes this is not surprising. It makes her wonder, though, can she shift back into a star? Is there simply some strange disconnect not allowing her to do it? She has never actually tried. She learned early on that she could control the light the stars emitted, and that she could send forth her own burst of blinding light. But she never attempted to turn herself back into a star.
By now he is standing before her, and with only a slight upward tilt of her eyes they are looking at each other. She cannot feel the way he touches against her mind; it is not obvious like when Tiercel painted her alive with emotions. This is something far more subtle, and when he comments on her thoughts her white lips pull into a shadow of a smile, “My thoughts? How so?” He has likely already figured out why her thoughts are different; has heard her contemplating the state of being a star and the problems that have accompanied it. She assumes that is what he means, or perhaps he refers to how her thoughts are sharp and precise, that she did not wonder much about the shape of his face or the color of his eyes, that her thoughts are just as plain and matter-of-fact as she is.
@[Firen]