Starfall Poetry Novels & Stories

I see stars. The cliff, the sky, the entire valley—it all dissolves. There is nothing but her body and my body inside her. The friction builds, unbearable and exquisite, and I can feel her starting to fall apart. Her rhythm stutters. She throws her head back and her throat catches the moonlight.

I saw myself falling, my fake noble skin tearing apart to reveal the poor weaver underneath. Alaric stood by the window all night. He didn't move. He looked like a real statue now, a dark shape against the moonlight. The silence between us was heavy, but the "Soul-Link" in my head was screaming. I could feel his heartbeat. It was slow and heavy, like a drum buried deep in the earth. “Stop shaking,” his voice echoed in my mind. "I can't help it," I whispered, hugging my arms. "You heard her. The Glass Floor. I’m a weaver, Alaric. My blood is common. The moment I step on that floor, it will shatter. Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

“Already earned the title as Mrs. Stewart, huh? So that’s what he thinks about me.” Everything I had earned had not been given out of love at all. It had been paid for with one of my kidneys. All the strength drained from my body at once, and I collapsed to the floor. I fell into a miserable heap. Pain spread through my body. I did not even have the strength to get back up. When Johnson saw me, he quickly strode over and helped me to my feet. He rested his profound gaze on me and asked, “How did you fall? When did you get here?”

she replied, her voice steady but laced with raw emotion. Together, they lit the candles, the tiny flames flickering in the gentle breeze, rising like lost souls yearning for the stars. As the fire danced and swayed, Autumn suddenly heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible voice that was meant for her alone, stirring somewhere deep within her. “Thank you, little spark.” Just as quickly as it had appeared, the voice vanished, leaving the night draped in silence. A tranquil silence that nevertheless felt transient—a calm before an inevitable storm.

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve always been proud of you. “And don’t hate me, Luna. I wasn’t there for much of your life, but I hope you’ll become brave and responsible…” My smile faded. Then came Luna’s wailing cries, crashing through the silence like shattered glass. And I heard so many voices from that mountain, from the countless lights across the land. They were proof that I had been here, that I had lived. And for that… My journey in this world had been worth it. … Epilogue - Amber Sky

Kalia’s orb pulses, her resolve burning, a new star in our flame. Lumora trembles, the rift widening, the Herald’s hymn a distant roar, its promise of ruin looming. The cosmos frays, but our legacy holds, a light forged in starlight, ready to sing the Veil’s next chord.

We were near a small clearing, and I thought I could sketch the landscape. I sang softly to the song that I asked them to play at my fathers funeral, "Yelling at the sky, Screaming at the world. Baby, why'd you go away? I’m still your girl, Holding on too tight, Head up in the clouds, Heaven only knows where you are now..." Hunter laid across my legs, as I drew in my book. "How do I love? How do I love again? How do I trust, How do I trust again? I stay up all night, tell myself I'm alright. Baby, you're just harder to see than most, I put the record on, wait ’til I hear our song. Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost. Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost..." I pulled out the unopened

The Song of the Stars The night was vast and endless, a dome of shimmering constellations spread across the horizon like a celestial tapestry. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of wildflowers and the whisper of leaves, a symphony that seemed to echo the stillness that followed the storm of recent events. Lyra stood at the cliff’s edge, her cloak dancing with the wind as she gazed into the distance where the first traces of dawn began to paint the horizon in hues of violet and gold.

Not the careful, pleasing smile I wore during our marriage. But the one I had at fifteen, sitting on the swing in the Nelson family garden. Bright. Alive. And suddenly I understand. The rose he crushed till it withered finally left that barren soil. In a foreign land, through wind and rain, it bloomed again on its own. I see his fingers tremble. The cigarette he’s been holding slips from his hand and drops into a puddle, extinguished instantly. In that moment, every bit of forced composure falls away.

He cleared his throat, "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a hundred winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the twinkling... stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die." He looked at her, awaiting her remarks. "You tried, you really tried but you made some errors. It's not I ama hundred winds that blow, it's I am a thousand winds that blow. Again it's not I am the twinkling star that shine at night, it's I am the soft star..soft star