A Matter of Stars

Merciful

The cosmos was flawless. A beautiful place. A place that cascaded from the nothingness of infinity within all its glory.

The moody ripples of color cascading and dipping along the dome of existence could capture and calm any mind, exuding sheer power.

Accompanying this was the freckled sky, adorned with stars criss-crossing and colliding and forever shining. Each point held an individuality, but yet collaborated with its neighbors, creating stories. Powerful stories that told of peace, of uncertainty, of fleeting hope.

The constellations. They knew their voice and they knew their power. And whoever dared to look upon them knew of it too. The cosmic silence shrouding the heavens spoke volumes, too. Mortal sound itself failed to amount to the anticipation and quiet power looming around each star, each streak of color, each heavenly being gracing the cosmos' open hands.

The cosmos was flawless. A beautiful place.

But it was also a lonely place. Aaravos knew this more than anyone. More than anyone, he knew that the cosmos was an aloof thing, only acting upon its majesty when it feels compelled to do so.

So often the elf remained planted atop a particular levitating island, planted amongst the stars that always seemed to watch but yet not acknowledge the things they stared down upon. He was silent. So much like the universe that just hung there. He always thought the stars to be selfish. Arrogant. They hung there within that indigo sky of theirs, never distributing the power that had accompanied their creations. Keeping it to themselves within their powerful silence.

He would return there atop the island every evening once the stars up head aligned to create an all so familiar shape. Beforehand, he'd walk about the cosmic realm, keeping a steady gaze upon the glassy surface of this place he called home. It was always the same path. It was always the same pace. The same unchanging thought plaguing his mind. No matter where he was, his mind was consumed by such a bitterness, a longing. A longing that was only amplified as the wordless wind crept up to the very same island, sweeping his face without ever giving a word of acknowledgement. Tantalizing.

No matter where he was. His soul ached for companionship. Aaravos wouldn't have known his own voice if he weren't constantly pleading with the stars to break this unchanging cycle that has plagued his body for centuries. He'd lean up against the lone arched tree planted deep into the levitating piece of Earth, his hands rooted in the chilled yet lush tresses of the silken grass. And he'd crane his head up to the sky, searching for anything, any kind of shift within the stars' glow or anything within the star's placement that would tell him anything contrary to being cast into another century of loneliness.

And he would send out the same plea out to the heavens. Whispering.

"Don't let me be alone any longer. Please. Have mercy."

But nothing. He'd receive nothing more than the same old empty tendrils of air pulling at his hair. He'd repeat the words a thousand more times until the stars' silence reaffirmed the fact that he was, in fact... forever alone. Devastation. He'd ball his knees up to his chest, covering his face with both hands, letting his soft white locks drape across his shoulders. He couldn't bare to let in any trace of starlight. Those eyes that bore down onto him, their far away restraint hurting more than anything anyone could physically enforce onto his body.

This particular time around, the lonely and devasted elf decided this would be the last time he'd subject himself to the stars' deception. One last time. One last time and afterwards, he would descend from the island and lay his body down upon the heavens' floor and wish for his body to disintegrate. Nothing more than stardust. If he couldn't make anything of himself, he'd rather the cosmos reclaim the materials it had used to materialize his body.