star collector

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The sun was a lilac and orange color today. The sun was lowly kissing the mountain ranges from across our domain. The dusk left a pinkish haze in its wake and the fireflies were at the start of their debut.

The balmy breeze embraced my daughter as sweetly as I did as she gathered all the flowers in our front lawn to her heart's content.

And I had been in the middle of a chore when I felt a ripple of dread rush through me. The spoon in one hand and the jar of honey in the other quickly left my grips as I ripped my chiffon skirt up and dashed over to the open door by my kitchen. I had a complete view of my baby mere moments ago. Now, she was not in all eye shot.

So as I ran outside, my heart raced as my bare feet galloped on the grass and dirt of the garden.

Then all at once, the air was stolen from my lungs and my movements come to an abrupt halt. He stood there, a tall, dark figure, starkly contrasting the fauna and the tiny, bright baby next to him.

Her voice was small and soft, and her hair tie was loose on her hair. She raises a flower bud and grins from ear to ear.

He bends down and takes the flower bud from her, muttering a gracious thank you.

When he turns to me, a shiver runs down my spine.

I am in utter disbelief. I only realize it was indeed real after he walks over to me and says my name.

I gasp for air, "Dream?"
The next moment, I am in his arms, embracing him tightly.

"You came back to us," I speak against his chest, eyes water.

He presses a kiss on the side on the top of my head, "I apologize I did not come sooner."

I pull away from him shaking my head. I take his face in my hands, grunting softly when I feel the stickiness of the honey in my fingers. I retreat my hands, as not to spread the thing on his cheek, but he presses his hands atop mine, holding me back. His palm covers the back of my hand as he pushes my hold back on him. He sighs at the contact.

I wonder if it was me, him, or the time between us, but it felt different. The feel of his lips were both longing and loving but there was feel to it that I could not identify.

My lips quiver at the sight of him. The next moment, I pull him into a kiss, still reeling from the fact he was here and that I could do this.

When we break away, I take his arm and lead him back to the girl. I look at her then look at him, smiling as I did, "she is a collector, my lord. She has only bore witness to 4 planetary alignments and yet she knows more flowers than I."

I turn to him, wondering if he remembered that that was how our folk counted our age, and that I meant the alignment of the five planets, which, on the basis of other creatures, happened every 19 years.

I do not get to respond or note on how he gulps at my words.

It was blistering reminder that it has been that long.

Dream nods, "she has named many flowers to me," he mutters and smiles, "she is as enchanting as her mother."

I chuckle and lean into him, "but she is as stubborn as her father."

He turns to me furrows his brows at this.

I release his arm with a chuckle and crouch down, beckoning the child over. I call out her name and she turns to me idly. "Come, my love," I wave my hands toward me.

She turns back to her flowers and continues to put them into her basket.

I let out a soft sound and stand. I turn to Dream, "the spitting image, as you see."

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