Mother of Stars

 

The Mother of Stars

The evening was alive with stars, and the air held a crisp, gentle chill. At the Darksong Theater, the play The Maiden and the Wolfe was about to begin. Among the crowd sat a woman draped in velvet blues, her star-streaked hair pinned delicately with tiny diamond stars. Her dark eyes rested on a program printed on fine linen paper, its cover embossed with shimmering gold flakes.   As the music swelled, the velvet curtains slowly parted to reveal the set—a deep forest alive with towering trees and glowing magical motes that floated and alighted upon the dancers. The orchestra pit opened with soft woodwinds, their gentle melodies weaving through the air as the play commenced. The woman in the crowd watched the stage with quiet joy; so many of the performers were children who called her mother, though she had no progeny of her own.   The play unfolded in luscious scenes of dancers and singers, each moment rich with movement and song. Nova watched with quiet delight as Bella Castro, her youngest, twirled across the stage as one of the little wildflowers. The child caught her eye and offered a nervous wave, her smile full of trust and joy. Nova returned the gesture with a warm nod, urging her on.   Bella was brilliant—just four years old, the youngest resident of Celeste House, the home Nova kept for lost and wandering children. Twenty lived there now, of all ages and from all walks of life. And many were on stage that evening, costumed and radiant as they scanned the crowd and found her watching. Pietro, Rosalind, Amy Marie, Friedrich—she nodded to each in turn, pride shining in her gaze.   As the final act came to a close, the cast took their bows. Then, from among them, Nova’s eldest stepped forward. Oriana held a piece of paper in her hand.   "I'd like to read something," she said to the audience, her voice steady.   She stood there in her star-speckled costume, dark hair pinned back, eyes gleaming with emotion. “Before I read it,” she continued, “I want to say this: Nova Celeste may have no children by blood, but she is—and always will be—our Mother of Stars.”   Then Oriana began to speak, her tone rapt with emotion.     Nova wept. The crowd around her swelled with emotion, but her eyes remained fixed on Oriana. She had read a poem Nova thought long hidden in the back of her library—words that had once held her grief in silence. Now, they were spoken aloud beneath starlight and stage lamps, laid bare like a wish cast into the heavens.   Tears shimmered in her eyes as roses were handed to her—blooms from the hands of those who had once lived under her roof, now grown, returned, watching with pride. At least a dozen no longer living at Celeste House stood among the audience, bearing the weight of her legacy.   And somewhere in the crowd, someone else heard her ache—heard the longing folded between each line, the love stitched into every word—and understood.   Oriana gave her mother a knowing nod as a figure stepped forward. Nova’s breath caught.   She hadn’t seen him in years.   Leo Sterling.   Once, long ago, he had played opposite her in The Wildflower of the Forest. By the gods, he still looked the same—elegant in blues, his presence unchanged by time. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his.   Her eyes roamed over him, wonder softening her face. He still had those sparkling dark eyes, still wore that same crooked smile that once melted her heart.   "Nova," he said, his voice warm as candlelight.   She rose to meet him, stunned into silence.   "Your daughter told me I had to come see the most beautiful woman in all of Canterbury," he said with a chuckle, glancing at the children who now stood around her. "She also mentioned that you still talk about me in your sleep."   "I am going to have a talk with that girl," Nova said, her cheeks stained a soft pink.   Her children gathered around her, roses in their arms, and she offered a graceful bow to the theater—to the place that had shaped her, and to the lives she'd shaped in return.   As the applause softened, Leo leaned in, his voice low against her ear.   "Don’t," he murmured. "I think I’ll be sticking around Celeste House... if you’ll have me."   And so, beneath the stars and stage lights, the Mother of Stars welcomed one more soul home. But that tale—of old love rekindled, of what bloomed after the curtain fell—is a story for another time.