Safrin
The stars don’t twinkle so much as hold their breath. Above the Observatory, constellations tremble into alignment—not visibly, not for anyone else, but enough for the air to thicken with potential. A hush spreads like velvet over the leaves, and then the starlight folds. She doesn’t descend. She arrives—impossibly close and suddenly present, as if she’d been there the whole time, just waiting for him to look up.
"My darling," Safrin breathes, and there's a smile in her voice before it ever reaches her face. She steps barefoot onto the ancient wood of the platform, her gown trailing comets and haloed in the glow of familiar love. "You know I always have time for you."
There’s no ceremony in the way she moves to him, only ease. She doesn’t hover above or demand reverence—she just settles beside him, tucking herself down with a rustle of starlight as if she’s done this a thousand times. Reaching out, she brushes his hair back from his temple, fingertips trailing the edge of the star-shaped mark she gave him at birth. "You’ve been quiet," she murmurs, eyes soft and knowing. "That usually means something dangerous or something clever. Or both."
Only then does she glance toward the shard, plucking it delicately between two fingers. "Mm. I remember this sky," she says, almost absently. "You always did like the ones no one else could see."
Her gaze returns to him, bright and unwavering. "What is it you need, darling?"
"My darling," Safrin breathes, and there's a smile in her voice before it ever reaches her face. She steps barefoot onto the ancient wood of the platform, her gown trailing comets and haloed in the glow of familiar love. "You know I always have time for you."
There’s no ceremony in the way she moves to him, only ease. She doesn’t hover above or demand reverence—she just settles beside him, tucking herself down with a rustle of starlight as if she’s done this a thousand times. Reaching out, she brushes his hair back from his temple, fingertips trailing the edge of the star-shaped mark she gave him at birth. "You’ve been quiet," she murmurs, eyes soft and knowing. "That usually means something dangerous or something clever. Or both."
Only then does she glance toward the shard, plucking it delicately between two fingers. "Mm. I remember this sky," she says, almost absently. "You always did like the ones no one else could see."
Her gaze returns to him, bright and unwavering. "What is it you need, darling?"
