It was almost instantaneous as her request sought his consciousness, and there he was, his steady oceanic blue eyes pulling her to shore and out of the swimming ocean of immediate panic. Nóttin's warm-toned voice seeped through the cracks of her fearful heart, I... The Blood Moon... It hasn't gone away yet... And it's morning, my dear. What did it mean? She had no clue.

There was an event like this a few years ago... But it was only for one night. The Moon did not overstay its welcome. Dalmatia informed her love, It did not take the stars with it from what I remember... This shakes her voice, because if there are no stars, then where are the memorials of their loved ones?

Sure, she knew in one way that they were all around them, mosaics of things they loved and people they inspired — but the stars held a vigil every time one died, or at least, in her mind they did. So many stars changed places, shifted over time and seasons, new ones popped up, and others winked out; it was logical in her mind that somewhere up there, there was one for them, and when they blinked out, their souls were born anew.

I... I'm scared, Nóttin. She whispered, as if the leering moon had ears as it did an eye. She wanted to curl up into a ball and throw the safety blanket of her old elk pelt she'd hung up, and hide in Nóttin's chest, and her glossy eyes were glass panes that read exactly what she felt. It was hard to hide someone who saw her even when she was a withering ghost.