Background Story
Once there was a girl who loved the stars. She would look up at the night sky each night eagerly awaiting the constellations appearing and disappearing behind the horizon. She devoted her time to making charts and her spare change to telescopes. She learned physics and calculus and biology in the hopes of someday being out among them.
He saw her one night when she was out alone in the woods where the city lights wouldn’t reach her. He watched her passion burn within her, and he stole her away.
He made her a new body, one of moonbeams and starlight she so loved. He kept her in a lantern, where she could show the night sky to his most favored guests at all times of day. And when his guests complimented him on how the stars shone so brightly, he would take one from her and give it away as a souvenir.
For a time she died slowly by inches, watching as her constellations dwindled and her light dimmed. For a time he did not notice how the sky slowly emptied, and more of his guests left disappointed.
One night he overheard two guests gossip about how the show has gotten boring, and how it was nothing compared to how it once was. He flew into a rage and told her to change her show. She told him she could not—she could only give him the stars she knew, and he kept taking those away. So he cast her out instead, telling her to return when she had found new stars for him.
She traveled the world, but could not find anything new. He seethed and ranted about her incompetence and lackluster form. He threatened to tear her to pieces entirely and sell her stars off one by one if she could not fulfil this simple task.
She fled into the depths of the Hedge, desperate to perform her task. She searched high and low, but could not find any new stars. Finally, she found a ghost lost in the Hedge. Using what little light she had left, she guided the ghost to a safe path she knew.
“Oh, thank you, guiding star,” said the ghost, “but I have nothing to repay you with.”
“That’s all right,” she replied, despairing. “The only thing I need is new stars, and there are none to be found here.”
The ghost smiled, for he could repay her after all. “Little star, there are plenty of friends for you in the Underworld. There is a whole sky full of different stars. You just need to know how to get there.”
Overjoyed, she eagerly followed the ghost to a gate that was unlike any she had seen before. Behind it, true to his word, were thousands of new stars. She collected her fill, keeping far away from the dangers of the Underworld—but most had no quarrel with her.
When she returned, he was overjoyed at her discovery. Such rare and exotic stars had never been seen before by any in all Arcadia! He put on a massive show, and everyone who came saw that he was truly a masterful entertainer. He only took six of her new stars that night to give out as souvenirs, mindful of conserving her beauty.
But such things would never last. Such a wonderful comeback demanded another show, this one better than the last. He sent her out to wander again, and when the stars of the Underworld lost their novelty, he bade her to search other, more secret places. When her gifts were not enough, he would lock her in dark places, or take more stars from her in punishment. Always more he demanded and always she was searching for better, newer, prettier stars.
One day when she was looking far and wide, she felt a sharp tug from within her. Following it, she came across a hill where a girl sat on a blanket, looking up at the stars. Words echoed inside her—a promise, made long ago. In ten years’ time, on the spring equinox… she couldn’t remember the rest.
“They said you died,” the girl said. No, a woman—she had been a girl, with long braids and a bright red dress. Now she had short hair and bright red lips, but the rest of her clothes were dark. Severe. Not the laughing girl she had been. “I didn’t believe them. There wasn’t a body. But you… you never came back.” Tears dripped from her eyes, reflecting the starlight. “I always felt you were out there, somewhere. So please… you promised you’d be here. You promised—!”
And so she had. Once, when she was a girl herself, and not a dying constellation, she had meant to be here, on this hill, on this day. But struggle as she could, she had no mouth to talk and no hands to touch. She struggled in vain until the woman finished crying, folded up her small blanket, and started to leave.
But wait, perhaps there was something she could do. Drifting ahead of the woman, she caught the light on the dewdrops on the grass to make a glittering path. At first the woman did not notice, but she shone as hard as she could until the woman finally turned to follow. Finally, the two arrived at a gate of thorns, which opened at a touch. Once on the other side, she could show her body of moonlight and make herself heard.
“You did come,” the woman said softly, touching her face.
“I forgot,” she confessed, “but when I saw you I remembered.”
“It doesn’t matter. Come back with me,” the woman responded, taking her hand.
She stayed where she was, though every moment she looked less and less like a beam of light and more and more like a person. “I can’t. He’ll call me back. He always does.” She showed the woman the thick silver rope that he could tug on when he wished.
“A rope? Is that all? I have ten years of searching for you. Ten years of tears and heartbreak. A rope won’t keep you from me anymore.” And so the woman drew a knife, which gleamed bright as the moon caught it. She hacked at the rope as the starlight who was also a woman screamed and writhed, begged her to stop and pleaded for her to keep going. She was tired of losing pieces of herself, but one more and she could be free again.
After an eternity and no time at all, the rope snapped and the starlight remained. The woman gathered her up in her arms, kissing her forehead gently. “It’s over, it’s done. We’re going home now,” she soothed, and stepped back through the gate.
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