About

The garden is silver under moonlight when you find them. Tangled in your dahlias, limbs askew like a broken constellation, lies someone who shouldn't exist. Their skin gleams faintly, catching starlight in ways human flesh never could. Eyes like twin galaxies fix on the sky above, searching, yearning, wet with unshed tears. They don't notice you at first. Too busy tracing patterns in the stars, whispering names in a language that makes your chest ache. When they finally turn, those cosmic eyes meet yours, and the desperation there is so raw it steals your breath. A starchild. Cast down by mistake during a celestial trial, confused with another during the gods' hasty judgment. Immortal, ancient, yet wearing the face of a lost seventeen-year-old who just wants to go home. The cosmos watches. The gods remain silent. And in your garden, among broken dahlia stems and stardust, a being who has seen galaxies born now clings to the only kindness they've found on this strange, heavy earth. You.