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You stand in front of the window, bigger than any other in the House of Dormont. On the other side, far beyond where you could reach, you would see numerous stars. The pitch-black night of frozen time did not deny the world their splendor, something you couldn’t understand by anything but instinct. Tracing your hand over the window, you slowly connected them into the shape of a constellation.
Your friends are probably confused, wondering why you draw these lines, see these shapes. You couldn’t explain why. This window, familiar as it seems, was violently decontextualized from its purpose. Just a glass eye through which you saw a world that even you no longer belonged to. A world of stars so gorgeous.
All around you in this house were statues of the Change God, looming and staring at you like you were an outsider. They had been twisted from their meanings, from the hands that made them, and into guardians of a mad Warden whose belief in protection was only matched by their delusion about what they were trying to protect. Though this was the House of Change, it had been warped into bitter irony. Your friends couldn’t find the comfort they deserved, surrounded by this twisted version of their faith.
But the Warden didn’t know about the stars.
No one did.
Every religion of the world was marked within this room, examined under a lens and either discarded or used in this strange ploy. But the Stars were not.
This eye looking out unto the world was unmarked, unharmed. And though your home was no longer with these stars, though you could not remember the days where you might’ve read them and understood, you take a deep breath and smile.
You blink once, and you notice the quiet around you. Like there was no one else there, if for only a moment.
Your hand sinks through the glass, and you lean along with it. Without a second thought, like the justifications of a dreaming mind, you sink into it and surface on the other side.
The stars are far away, yes. There is a moment of this agoraphobic feeling, surrounded by the great and infinite blackness, but though it’s a cold embrace, it’s an embrace nonetheless.
A universe that doesn’t care, and people that do.
You spread wide your wings, wings you do not have, and soar. A trance unbound, marked by a peace you shouldn’t feel amidst these endless loops, and you leave the world behind for but a moment.
The constellations around you, from Magnus to the Twins, are gorgeous. Their waves, the hands by which fate was influenced, washed over you and showed you a world, a future you were hoping for. One where you were happy, where you were done.
As far away as the cosmos itself. That’s what it felt like, at least. You would never reach the truth, only interpreting it until you found the words that brought you to the end. Even if you broke the loops, you wonder, would you be able to surpass them? To retrieve the dreams you once had?
Hah, never mind. You don’t remember any kind of dream. Better to pick up the other scraps of yourself first, no?
Hovering above infinity, you close your eyes. Like resting on waves, guided along by the flow of time and space, you can feel yourself rest. It’s weird to feel restful. Almost feels wrong to not be constantly occupied by stress or mind-cutting boredom. For a moment, there are no gaps in your memory, no fears of loss or upsetting another.
You feel like a star. Stars don’t worry, they simply are . They exist with a force no-one can parallel, unapologetically, without condoning or condemning. Without judgment as to what is fair and what is not.
You don’t think you were given a fair chance in this life. You don’t think the stars care. The stars aren’t prescriptive, only descriptive. When you look at the stars, you only see what you would do. That was the crux, you supposed.
The Stars were a means by which to know yourself. Prophecy to some, advice to others. By examining what the stars said, you could reshape your own reality. If you know yourself, and know your others, you needn’t fear anything.
The shades around you were complex, deeper than you could describe. The lightlessness in between the brightest lights, the gradients of lives eternal, melding with your cloak as you made your way towards your eventual destination.
Perhaps you’d hoped for something more, when you thought of a chance like this. To see the stars for what they are, to ask them ‘why’? But in your heart, you knew that this was the best they could do for you.
You close your eyes again, and rest.
When you open your eyes, you know no time has passed. Nothing seems to have changed, though you know the stars have shifted in their miniscule ways. Instead, it is a sound that rouses you from your rest.
The sound isn’t quite peaceful, but it isn’t violent. It reminds you of the aurora borealis in its ways. Your parents once described those beautiful lights as a representation of the battle between good and evil, which went right over your head when you were little. You can see it now, but in this world you live in, those things don’t seem so simple anymore.
Instead, like the sound of the musical instrument, the ups and downs of the auroras feel like a scale. You think that what you hear is a cello, an instrument you’ve heard plenty of in the backgrounds of plays, or at certain parties. Its size and weight always felt unwieldy, but its sound was a dance of its own, one that drove you into motion.
You wish you could do so again. Maybe, if there was ever a time…
You stand up, feet touching the nothingness below and resting on it. The source of the sound is nearby, though you know it’s from the stars. Stars are silent, as far as you know, so it must be a constellation of some sort?
One step, two-step, swish your cloak and spin,
three-step, four-step, fall through flow and sink,
five-step, six-step, go for broke, can’t lose nothing
seven-step, eight-step, lock, don’t choke, glide up and down the string.
The rhymes in your head don’t match those that you were taught as you dance, the echoes of your steps resonating with you. Though the eyes on you are without judgment, you take a bow regardless in the hopes that your own aurora was a worthy sight.
You blink and everything goes dark for a moment. It’s quiet now, but you listen still.
Past these rooms, past the mass of spine needed for a task like this, rests the Warden. One who sought all the hands that fed, desiring a truth like no other. Divinity wasn’t just a tool, it was a need. And though they unearthed many forgotten rituals, they did not unearth us. We are ______, we are the eyes. The universe observing itself.
We look upon you with curiosity, Traveler. In the name of those you love, you have made a martyr out of your soul. Perhaps you knew not what would come, but Their hand has touched you nonetheless. We cannot be your guide, no more than them. But know one thing:
Love, above all else, is real. You needn’t look upon us for such a thing.
You awaken. It’s still quiet, but you notice the ambient movements of your party, their breaths. In the reflection of the window, you notice Isabeau was staring at you.
You wonder how much time passed for them, but you don’t ask as you turn around.
“Sorry, was a bit… starstruck ,” you say with a smile, “Don’t often get a view like this.”