laugh hard, it’s a long way to the ground; any

[Carinae]

astra inclinant, non necessitant ------ (the stars incline; they do not compel) They are alike and unalike, the two of them. There are times when Carinae has thought herself mad. There have been too many improbable – if not impossible – worlds. Space, the aching vastness of it; but also the quest world, the world of dragons and trolls and fire where she had hurt and burned and died. (It was there she’d uncovered her darker heart, the heart bred into her by her father – the discovery that, sometimes, it was a pleasure to burn.) She is a woman stitched of three worlds, but truthfully, she only aches for one. She misses the stars fiercely, the fact they adorn her like jewelry come nightfall (assuming it is a clear night, at least) is a small comfort. She’d had a twin, too, her brother who had matched her in every way. She wonders about him. Wonders if he is in the stars or if he, too, has fallen. She smiles at them, glad for company. While she wasn’t particularly social (it’s still something that doesn’t sit comfortably with her, in space there was only her queer family and sound didn’t carry), she is lonely, here, grounded in the terrestrial world. “It’s possible,” she muses, “but when I appeared here, nothing hurt.” (Nothing physical, at least.) carinae