The wound in her would be deeper had she been thinking of the Eclipse and what it must have been like—what it would have been for her to have been so severed from herself. Would she have survived, she wonders. Would she have even been able to live without the light of herself shining down on her. If she could not peer upward and see that great big moon looking back to her—reassuring her that all was well.
She’s not sure, can never be sure.
But that’s not what is haunting her this day. Instead, the darkness is but a temporary blight. A grief that will soon abate as soon as the world turns and her moon once again rises in the night sky.
Until then, she wears this garb of mourning.
And she meets strangers like this in the shadows.
She stops herself from greeting him again and instead watches him carefully with overlarge eyes, the color of them a pale gold set against the impossible black of her coat. “I am not looking because what I want cannot be found,” she says simply, her voice melodic and rich, a river running through the night.
“But my feet carry me forward all the same.”
A shrug, elegant and quick, as she comes to find his gaze again.
“What of you?”
meet me where the falling stars live
@cringe