The stars.
Blinking bits of white. Wonder, hope, and purity made material. They lay glued on the blackness everywhere, with varying colors, motions, and shapes.
The stars. The real stars.
They were… better than how she imagined it to be. Infinitely more beautiful than how the books described them. Infinitely more beautiful than the movies shewn them. It was good. This was good.
She was where she needed to be—surrounded by an emptiness that felt so full.
The humanoid-shaped ship still dashed across the vast cosmos, heading to a direction that seemed to be better than where they came. Winter felt like she was flying, somehow she could feel the winds on her face and gliding through her hair. She felt like she was f
