For some time, her daughter (her beautiful, precious, star-strewn daughter, standing right there, standing so close, yet still so far) spoke over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around, so set upon the stone, the desperation straining her voice, and Ki’irha wants to embrace her, hold her, shun her from the devastation wreaking havoc on the world, but she finds herself planted, unable to move closer. She listens to her sadness, watches her daughter stare longingly at the sky, the sky from which she was carved and shaped and pieced from, and her own heart aches at the pain. She nods sadly, unable to allow the confusion to take hold (why is she so close with the goddess? Grandmother Moon. There’s no way, it can’t be-), and she remains silent.

Finally the girl turns, and the world stops spinning. The stars cease their rotation, the wind falls still, the world around them stops. They stand, and Ki’irha knows that moments, decades, lifetimes seem to stand between them, and her heart seems to freeze in her chest. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how the moment will happen. All she knows is that the mare, beautiful and glowing and just as beautiful as she could be, stared at her, down to the bare bottom of her soul. The fear of not being recognized, the fear of being an unknown face, melted away, and instead she was left cold, breathless, not knowing what would pour from the girl.

I was afraid you weren’t coming back.

What did she say? How did she explain? How did she shake the accusation, escape the possible mistrust, fix the hurt and harshness of abandonment. “I’m sorry,” the blue mare exhales, moving only the muscles it took to allow the words to escape.

Slowly the girl approaches, and the mare stands steady, praying she won’t collapse, praying the pieces won’t fall away, and soon she is there. She is a breath away, close enough to touch, to wrap herself around, to fall into, and what does she do? What does she say? If she reaches out to touch, to beg, to plead, to reassure, would she be welcomed? Would she be bit, or kicked, or cast away? She deserved nothing more. She deserved to be abandoned, as she had left her daughter. She would understand the hurt, and the pain, and despite it all being a terrible fateful accident, she would know that her daughter was alright, and know that Mesec had done all that he had promised.

Or should she lie? Should the mother lie to daughter, tell her it was a dream, tell her that she was sent from above to promise her it would all be okay, that the world would continue turning, that she would be so better off, that her mother would never again have the opportunity to hurt her?  Hell, there was a chance that Vesper wasn’t even real, that this was all some cruel trick, some panic-induced mirage, and that she would lean forward and nothing would be there to meet her, and she would collapse into a broken heap and refuse to stand again.

Slowly, carefully, breathlessly, the midnight leans forward, reaching out her own nose, wishing to brush her daughter’s cheek. She inhales, breathing in the scent she had memorized when Vesper had entered this world, spilling stars upon the earth, carrying them upon her back and beneath her beautiful wings. “Vesper,” she murmured, praying her daughter would not pull away, desperate for an embrace, hoping that she would be accepted, loved, taken back, but she instead finds herself pulling away, trying to catch her first-born’s eyes with her own gentle silver gaze. “I am real, and I am here, and I will never let go. If you can ever forgive me, I promise I will never leave again. I love you so much, my beautiful starborn daughter.” Tears fall down her cobalt cheeks, and her voice threatens to catch in her throat. “I don’t want you to hurt, I don’t want you to accept me back easily, if it’s not what’s in your heart. What happened was never your fault, I will never make excuses, and if you want me to go, I will.”

Silence falls around them again, and she wants nothing more to reach out, to truly never let go, to protect her daughter from whatever is happening, to learn about everything she has lost, but knowing that, perhaps, her daughter wants none of these things. So she stands still, waiting, watching, hoping.

Always hoping.

- when a shooting star streaks through the blackness - - turning night into day- - make a wish and think of me -