I blink. Day has faded. And Sorrow has returned me to my room with little memories of last night, as she always does.

The sun is dying in the sky; it bleeds out red all over the crowd’s towering above Paris, as if its core has been stabbed; as if it is human, a person with a pulse, organs and the like.

I yawn as I rise from the mattress. My back is tired, aching. If someone were to tell me that I used to have wings, and that they were ripped out from between my shoulder-blades, I would believe them.

The attic’s tiny room is painted a dimming gold from the sunlight. I blink. I think back to the Hunter Of Hearts. Spending time with him, fooling around together… it has brought memories back to me that I had long-since ignored.

Memories of being human.

Suddenly, I miss my family, and the world I once knew that came before this one.

It is so quiet outside, it feels like I’m the only one in the world right now. What a silly thought, though. I am far from being alone. There are so many astral mechanisms and systems in place that I won’t ever comprehend. There are entities in the sky watching, waiting, for me to make a mistake.

The world is so vast, and full of things that I will never get to know. It fills me with a sense of wonder, yet dread all the same. No matter how long my life is—how many places I travel to—there will never be enough time for me to see everything, know everyone, and learn about it all.

I turn my head away from the window. I part my lips then sigh. I don’t know why I feel so different today, but something has changed. And that something is stirring within me—ancient, star-filled, like a night sky draped over the waking world—it tugs and pulls at my insides, as if I am water and it is a wave.

The floorboards creak beneath my feet. As I put pieces of myself that do not want to move back together in my mind, I take a deep breath, then finally slip into the mirror again. Although I’m weightless, the universe feels heavy on my shoulders. I had forgotten what it felt like, to be human, to remember that I exist; that I am not just a mere, distant observer.

My chest tightens. It is like I have been born again, because I am afraid now—of falling into the floor, even though I have done this more than a thousand times. Go, I think.

“Go,” I whisper the words to myself, for I mustn’t stop now.

The moment I’ll let fear take over, will be the moment I lose the parts of me for real, that I’d been holding onto so dearly.

I shut my eyes. And I drift, downward, my legs permeating wood floorboards that do not creak this time. The room is quiet, as I sink down, drown into the building, past cobwebs, beds risen like tombstones, inside bedrooms that should contain residents from this building yet don’t.

Outside, I work slower than usual, for my eyes are always looking for a sign of him on the horizon.

But this part of the city is now strewn with lights, souls that are waiting to live, and move, and breathe again! So, I doubt I’ll see him tonight. He has probably gone to a place, where the darkness lies.

I try to shake the thought of him away. Now’s really not the time to be concentrating on someone other than my work—I fly over Paris, embracing every part of it with love, and the light that he has given me—however, although he is not by my side, I find myself still feeling his presence in the air; the meticulous ways he has of catching every soul and memory that I release.

The night grows longer, extends out over my head, a dark claw that is just itching for me to give in to emotional distractions; for me to break. I am weary, it is true. The memories that continue to flash through my mind—my family, my friends, the town that I loved yet left too soon—they remind me of my mortality.

I am not a strange, incomprehensible God-thing that no one can understand.

I am just a girl, who is trying her best.

Today, even with the power of the Universe’s fabric on my side, everything is exhausting.

I’m thankful that I’m able to wait until my shift comes to an end, before I begin to cry; to mourn all of the things I’ve lost and will come to lose in the future.

I land atop a lamppost. Like an overgrown oddity of a bug, I curl in, over myself. And sob. And my tears, they are not mine, for I am still part of the fabric; just like it is part of me. What leaves my eyelids are sparks, little stars, that come tumbling down onto the street sites.

I sniffle. Wipe away the glittering that is now smeared across the back of my wrist, it looks as though I’ve just come home from the party of the century. Why has something so beautiful, been created out of something so sad? I wonder, before I start to weep again.

I miss them.

I miss them all.

“Shift not going too well?”

A gasp escapes my lips. I stare up to the Hunter Of Hearts, with my eyes widening, my hands holding my sides like I will fall apart if I do not dig my fingers into my elbows to shield my chest, my feelings that threaten to spill out of me like some strange disease. “It’s almost morning,” I tell him, my voice much weaker than I’d like it to be—I don’t know how my body functions, even though I’m free of mortal snot, it still sounds like my nose is clogged up. “The Comets might get you.”

“Ah, is that so?” He laughs, then whistles, as he shoves his hands into his pockets. The Hunter Of Hearts tilts his head my way. “Seems like a Comet would be more likely to come for someone who isn’t paying attention, Weaver of Starlight.”

I can’t deny that. He’s right. Again. That’s infuriating. I furrow my brows. I finally leave the shell I’d created for myself then stand, balancing my weight across the lamp post. “Thanks…” I mutter, while I avert my gaze from his, then wipe the rest of my tears away until they have disappeared, absorbed by my transparent, jelly-fish-like skin.

I’m on the verge of asking him what he’s doing here, when an undeniably powerful gust of wind hits us; this wind isn’t like something I’ve ever felt before. Not in this lifetime. Nor in my past.

The trees shake. The light inside Paris’s lampposts sizzle, as they flicker on and off. Had we been in the bodies we both return to at night, and not inside the ones merged with the fabric of the Universe, I’ve no doubt this would have been enough to blow us away, far.

He and I pause. We look at each other, silent, as we process what has just happened. It only takes a few seconds for the Hunter of Hearts’ eyes to widen.

He grabs my arm, then tugs, leading me away from the wind; I wonder, if he can touch me because we are made from the same fabric. “Weaver, we must go,” he says; it does not sound like a statement, but an order. I’ve never heard him sound so serious or panic-stricken during these past few days.

What’s going on? before I have time to ask him the question, there is another gust. The lamppost I’d been seated on bends, and I curse under my breath at the thought of having to fix it later. I glance upward, in hopes of figuring out where this weather is coming from, but I do not see the sky.

A wing.

There’s a wing above us, coated in pattern similar to the ones across my skin—but they are not the same as mine. For there is destruction to be found amid the beauty that leaves me speechless for a moment, until I am riddled with fear. Comet, I realize, as my eyes widen in turn, my hands begin to shake.

It’s a Comet.

Dark blue shadows, filled with stars that are being swallowed by black holes can be seen inside the creature’s wing—whether the vision I witness is the projection from something that is happening much farther away from this world, or if it is another galaxy entirely that this creature holds inside its body, isn’t certain.

However, one thing grows increasingly clear to me: I must leave, if I do not want to be swallowed along with those stars.

I don’t stop to try and observe the Comet’s face, nor the rest of its body—it is much too massive, and it likely hasn’t noticed us yet: we need to use this time to escape. “Where have you been staying?” I ask the Hunter Of Hearts, quickly.

But the expression he is making does not bode well. “Far,” he tells me, he averts my gaze then glances away, down to the ground. His lips quiver. He squeezes at my hand. “I don’t think I’ll make it in time.”

“Come, then,” I say, my tone soft, as I pull at his arm in turn, then lead him away from that dreaded sight; he follows me without complaints. “I’ve never tried this before,” I whisper, once the building I’ve temporarily called home comes into view. Hopefully, this’ll work, and I’m not the only one who can go through.

I gulp.

The wind continues to pick up speed, there is a roar, a rumbling that spills through the air and makes my bones tremble when there should be none. Quickly, quickly, we accelerate our pace, speeding through the city, the street sides that were once so welcoming yet are now a prison, a labyrinth that could very well cause our demise.

In the haze of my fear, I do not notice, that we have arrived, nor do I see the wall right in front of me.

My entire body slams against the only building that I can touch in this city, I cry out and yell, but there is no time to stop. The Comet has opened its mouth—and now, it is looking right in our direction.

I take a deep breath. But nothing works. My body refuses to obey. I choke around the air, and I start crying, sobbing. Is this truly how it all ends? I try to stand, but my vision spins into a blur, and even though I don’t feel any pain, my legs aren’t working—likely from the impact.

Come on, please. Please, work—

“Do I fly up?”

“H-Huh?” I gasp, as I blink my tears away, the Hunter Of Hearts slips his arm under my knees, then rests his free hand against my back.

“I’ll carry you.” He looks down at me, and I stop crying. “Tell me where to go.”

“O-Oh! Right!” Giving him instructions whilst observing the Comet slowly fly towards us from over his shoulder is an experience I never want to go through after tonight, but somehow, I still find my words—they tumble out of me in a hurry—and now, we’re soaring up again, together to my room.

“This better work…” he whispers, as he cringes then squints, whilst we travel through the building, past layers and layers of rooms that remain empty: if we survive the night, I will fill them with life again one day; however, I always prefer to leave the building’s I’m staying in for last, it feels less lonely  that way.

Soon, we reach the final floor.