"Ommin let himself fall onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at his ceiling. It was painted deep midnight blue, flecked with stars. If he waved his hand, he could make them glimmer and shine, like real stars, but he’d used enough magic already for the day. Instead, he closed his eyes and imagined constellations and shooting stars, spinning planets and emptiness. Thoughts of space, of quiet and calm, always soothed him, and he fell asleep quickly.
He dreamt of emerald and amber, of new beginnings, and of death."
In the Business of Shadows, Chapter 5, posted now!