And inside you're burning
with some secret yearning
She aches. She aches in a way she never has before. Not through injury or childbirth or heartache. No, this is soul deep, a gaping, festering wound that can only be remedied in one way.
They had taken from her, stolen the very thing that gives her life and happiness and purpose, that encompasses her entire being. Her stars are gone, ripped from her unceremoniously by a jealous god.
Oh, they still twinkle far above, teasing, untouchable, so very beautiful. In that moment, she knows anger, and she knows grief. And she knows betrayal.
Her other gift is gone too, but she does not feel its loss like she does the theft of her starlight. It had been a pretty thing, amusing and occasionally useful, but ultimately insignificant.
But the stars, she cannot bear the loss.
She would retrieve them, somehow. She would take them back.
But not tonight. Tonight she grieves. Tonight she seethes. Tonight she stands alone in the vast expanse of the snow-laden meadow, silver eyes turned upwards, slender red and teal frame still against the white slopes.
Tonight, she waits.
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
@[Pollock]