isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone
She has no sense of home, but rarely does she leave Pangea anymore. There had been a time when she wandered far more frequently, though perhaps wander is not the right word. Wander implies to move without reason or direction. Islas rarely did anything without reason. When she had traveled she had been in search of something – of someone, or somewhere. She hadn’t been sure what, back then, she had just known that there were so many puzzle pieces missing that she couldn’t even begin to imagine the full picture.
It wasn’t until she met Astrophel and Ten that everything began to fall into place, almost. She does not think the picture will ever be seamless. There will always be cracks and lines and missing pieces, she will never fit in here like she had always belonged. But she finally began to realize that she was never going home. She could stare at the stars all she wanted; she could travel to them with Ten and stay for hours or weeks or years, she could wrap herself in starlight until she was made from it, and yet she would never be a star again.
The star in her chest flickered at the thought, and that was the closest Islas came to feeling what she thinks must be sadness.
She heard the sneezing filly but she had ignored her at first. With a small twist of her head she saw her as she drew closer, and Islas debated disappearing into starlight, but tonight she decided against it. The girl seems small, but she does not find it odd that she is wandering the meadow alone in the dark. Ryatah had left her and Cavern alone countless times, and she had no reason to think that it wasn’t commonplace for other children to do the same. “Hello,” she says, and though she shifts away from the girl’s touch there is no malice on her face; just two eyes the color of a starless purple-black galaxy staring at her. “Can you talk to stars too?”
