Starless Waif

THE STARLESS BOWER

In the Starless Bower, where the sky first tore, the smallest pilgrims still walk toward a light that no longer exists. The Waif was a child of the fallen night — or the shape grief gave one — hands cupped around an ember of star that went out thirty years ago. It will not be told. It only asks, softly, if you have seen where heaven went.