People are like stars. Blazing across the sky, lighting up the night, spilling their silvery glow over the world. Sprawling beams across the grass, slanting up the dark stone of the tower. She waits, anxious, a strand of dark hair wrapped tight around her finger. She looks up, and she wishes. The door will swing open, the silver in his vibrant hair, shifting through the soft strands like her fingers itch to. He'll take her in his arms, sweep her away like a valiant knight on a noble stand.
She waits. The stars whisper, witchy words whipped by the wind. They whisper he's not coming as her heart prays he's simply late. Twisting her hair into a neat bun, she conjures a piece of ribbon from the end of her wand and plays dress-up on herself. Make herself perfect, a little pretty doll for him.
And then he comes. God, he comes, freckles like constellations on his face, and when they kiss it's like a supernova. Blazing bright, filling the sky. Never coming down.