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SHE STOOD BEFORE the waters and gazed into the darkness of the heavens. In her mind, she visited the memory of stars.
How long ago had they gone out? She must have been a child then.
Meager waves lapped upon the shore like puddles of ink, victims of the fragment moon. She looked at it, hollow as it were, but for the pale-blue light that billowed forth from it. This she had known all her life, though she had read in school that the moon had not always been this way. Once, long ago, the moon had been whole. But then, long ago, it had been thought to be solid, and its light a reflection of the sun. As if the sun was bright enough for that.
How strange those days must have been.
She gathered her shoes and padded across the sand, her footsteps a bioluminescent trail–the only remaining stars.
One day her trail of stars would lead into those dark waters, the same as all who had come before her–all who would come after–and she would never be seen again. But it wouldn’t be this night; she hadn’t yet the courage. Instead, she left a part of herself drifting amidst the waves: her heart in words, carried in a glass ship.
For now it would suffice.
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