"Are all Stars men like you?" she asked. Her voice cracked. How long had they sat here, in the silence?
He laughed lowly. It was a strangely pleasing sound. "No. We are not called Stars in truth, but rather we live in the Stars. Beings such as I, we call ourselves Celestials." He cleared his throat. "We live in the Stars your kind worships."
"Celestials," she breathed. It was a fitting name. "Why are you here then? Are there more? Did you leave by choice? Will you return?" The questions spilled from within her, unable to be contained.
He stood, jaw locked as he stared down at her. Anger pulsed from him in waves. Her Stella curled within her, frightened.
"Do not follow me, Vesperin Vox." He left without looking back.
The next day,she returned.
She waited. And waited.
He never showed up.
Nearly a fortnight later,the girl had gone to the willow tree each night. Her under eyes bore the evidence of her interrupted rest.
She curled beneath the tree, etching a simple drawing—deep eyes framed by thick brows, plush lips, and a straight nose.
She fell asleep with her head pillowed on her arm.
She awoke to a familiar tickle. She knew, before she opened her eyes—he was back!
She sat up, nearly bumping into him.
Looming over her, he blocked the sky. "Do you not have anyone who misses you?" He seemed to be speaking of her constantly returning to the willow tree.
She set her wooden tablet on the grass as the strap of her gown slipped off her shoulder. "I am usually overlooked. Not many miss me."
His lips twitched with dark mirth. "A human and a Celestial with one commonality."
She stared at his face. The scrapes and cuts were gone. Even the salve couldn’t heal it that swiftly.
"You have no one who misses you?" she repeated his question.
"I did not even know, before now, what it meant tomiss."
Her lips parted.
They fell into silence, until:
"Tell me something," he demanded.
"What do you wish to know?"
His hands reached for a small braid she’d left in the grass. He brushed his finger over the edge, but did not unravel it. "Anything. Everything—what it is like to be human."
She told him of her slow mornings, tending to the gardens, baking, sleeping, her family…
When she started to speak of the drawings on her wax tablet, his eyes drifted to where it rested by her legs. He took it, his forearm brushing her lap as he did. She shivered. His scent was peculiar, like dust from the Stars had been misted over him. It was a clean, thick scent, reminding her of standing amid a deep cavern.
His eyes rose to meet hers. "You are gifted."
"It is merely—it is not that good." Her fingers flexed, yearning to reclaim the tablet in his hands.
"I am unsure who made you believe such a thing, but they lied. Do not think so little of yourself."
When he left, she didn’t feel quite so cold.
