When the Stars Go Dark
Madeline
I tried to fall back asleep, but no matter how long I lay there, sleep evaded me entirely. My limbs were heavy with exhaustion, but my mind wouldn’t stop—buzzing, unraveling, looping back on itself like a broken incantation.
I stared at the flickering patterns cast by the lantern’s glow. They danced on the ceiling and crawled along the stone walls, slow and deliberate, like they knew they were being watched. Shapes emerged and twisted—constellations I half-remembered from star maps drawn in blood, the curve of a halo like a blade turned sideways, and wings. Midnight-black. Vast. Unmistakable.
And then others I didn’t know. Couldn’t name. Symbols that flickered at the edge of memory and vanished before I could grasp them. My throat tightened.
Back at the
