The wanted posters appeared all over the country the day after they returned from the Department of Mysteries. Mrs. Weasley showed them a stack Mr. Weasley brought home from work. They looked just like the posters for Sirius Black: big black letters and a reward for more galleons than any of them had seen in their lives. The only difference was that the alleged crimes were completely fabricated and the frightened faces in the mugshots belonged to the four Muggleborns: Maude, Dexter, Jeremy, and Joanie. The original plan was to let the freed prisoners rest at the Circle for a few days before returning them safely home, but there was no question of them leaving after that.
There were a few tense days at the Circle when no one was able to accomplish much of anything apart from pacing and gazing out into the fields, expecting a storm of Ministry hit wizards and witches to descend at any moment. After over a week of radio silence from the Ministry, however, it seemed safe to assume that they had not yet cottoned on that the Circle was involved in the escape. Luna supposed it was not feasible to conduct any kind of regular inventory of the millions of orbs in the Hall of Prophecy. If the stolen prophecies had not been noticed yet, perhaps they never would be missed at all.
When the immediate fear of discovery passed, they began the harder work of settling into life with four new and entirely unexpected guests. It proved to be a somewhat rocky adjustment period. After all, Maude, Joanie, Jeremy, and Dexter had not chosen to move to a little outcropping of ruined buildings in Devon where witches did blood magic and other alarming experiments. None of them had even heard of the Circle before.
Maude, a kindly older woman, immediately bonded with Mrs. Figg, while Joanie, a girl around Caroline's age, was taken under the wing of a few of the older girls who were also new, particularly Cho Chang and Andrea Goldstein. But it was more difficult for Dexter and Jeremy, young men who couldn't have been much older than twenty-five. Dexter missed his bachelor lifestyle and his job as a potioneering apprentice, which he had been lucky enough to land soon after graduating from Hogwarts. And Jeremy had a girlfriend who probably thought he had abandoned her for a life of crime, if the wanted posters were to be believed. He occasionally made rumblings of leaving, saying damn it all as long as he could turn up at his girlfriend's door and set the record straight before being carted off to Azkaban.
He never did, though, probably because he knew that he was more likely to be returned to the depths of the Department of Mysteries or killed outright than sent to Azkaban. But since they had nothing else to do but stare at the walls of the shed that had been hastily converted into the men's dormitory, he and Dexter started showing up to circle meetings. Dexter even became the de facto leader of the potioneering circle. And the men ate their meals with the Circle, of course. And since their wands had been confiscated during their imprisonment, Ginny and Luna soon set to work crafting them new wands which couldn't be tracked by the Ministry. Dexter and Jeremy even participated in Ginny and Rania's Quidditch trading card league.
The women and girls of the Circle did not quite know what to do about having men in their midst. Before there had been the occasional visit from Aberforth, but this was something else entirely. Jeremy and Dexter were not just men at the Circle but men of the Circle, and Luna had no idea what that meant. There had been years of debates about the legacy of the Circle of Peloresow, what it meant to be a place of women, by women, and for women, conversations with Tonks and Andrea about what it meant to be a woman in the first place...and now the very nature of the Circle had changed. There had been no discussions late into the night around the table in the chapter house, no conscious decision on anyone's part, no prophecy, real or fake. It had quite literally changed overnight, fueled in the crucible of crisis like so many changes are.
There was hardly any time to contemplate these existential questions, however, not with so much work to be done. In addition to getting the Muggleborns settled, they needed to sort through the fallout of everything they had seen in the Department of Mysteries. Circle members who had not been on the mission felt left out, and those who had gone soon grew tired of fielding the same prying questions over and over again. Eventually, they made a list of all the rooms they had seen (only seven out of the twelve) and recorded every single detail they could remember. Then all the stolen prophecies had be cataloged, transcribed, and arranged on the shelves in the library, of course. It was a relief for Luna to lose herself in these tasks for a few days. Anyone who looked closely could see that the classification system she devised was needlessly complicated, and her handwriting on the labels was painstakingly, almost outlandishly, neat.
Finally, when she could label and sort no more, there were the papers Luna had stolen from the brain room, the iron-clad proof of what went on behind closed doors in the Department of Mysteries. The evidence of the experiments on the Muggleborns. The casual mention of a mass memory charm at the Triwizard Tournament, whatever on earth that meant. The list of Ministry staff who were subjected to the Imperius Curse by their own employer, their own government. The list with Julius Brown's name on it. Luna only managed to muster the courage to show the list to Eudora and Lavender after avoiding them for several days, and even then her hand was forced because Aberforth was coming to examine the documents later that afternoon.
"I know I should have told you right away, but I didn't want to upset you," she said, unable to look away as Lavender ran her fingertips lightly over her father's name on the page.
"Well, it's nothing we didn't know before in our hearts," Eudora said.
"What do you mean?"
"We didn't know precisely how they were doing it, or that the Department of Mysteries was involved, but of course we knew he had been cursed, and that You Know Who was behind it all. I think he knew, too, in a way. It's why he...did what he did. He didn't want to let them control him. That's what's most important, Lav. He fought back. The rest, it's just details." Mrs. Brown reached down to comfort her daughter, who was sobbing silently, her tears falling onto the parchment and making the ink run. Mrs. Brown gently tugged the paper from her daughter's grasp and pressed it into Luna's hand, motioning for her to take it away.
Aberforth arrived a few minutes later, and Mrs. Brown tactfully led Lavender away so he and Luna could have the library to themselves. He peered at the prophecy orbs in interest, but his eyes kept drifting to Luna, who was fidgeting so much that the rustling of the parchment was audible from across the room.
"What have you got there? Something from the Department of Mysteries?" He always sounded slightly disgruntled, but his voice was even sharper than usual. Luna knew he was chiding her for stealing in that roundabout way of his.
"I didn't mean to take them. I just sort of...grabbed them on instinct."
"Instinct or not, did you ever think that they'd notice they were missing? That having them in your possession is dangerous, not just for you but for the entire Circle? For Professor McGonagall and me?"
"Well, no, I suppose. But once I saw what they were, I couldn't just leave them there, could I?" she protested.
"Let's see, then," he gestured with one impatient shake of a knobby hand, and she gave him the papers.
She was expecting another lecture, and had already begun to rehearse her defense as he read. But he didn't say anything, just frowned, shuffled the stack, and read it all again. Then he said the last thing in the world she expected him to say.
"We need to show this to Albus."
He wouldn't say that unless he was out of his depth. And he wouldn't admit he was out of his depth unless things were really grim.
It was only Luna's second time at Hogwarts, and it seemed that nothing had changed in the nearly three years since her last visit. Professor Dumbledore's office was still full of peculiar objects making buzzing, whirring, and ticking noises, the walls were still cluttered with portraits of bygone headmasters and headmistresses peering nosily down at them. There was even that ratty hat from the Chamber of Secrets, the one that had magically produced a sword, which she supposed must be the Sorting Hat. The sight of it sitting in pride of place on a high shelf pulled Luna back to that day. She could still hear her pulse thudding in her ears, feel the shard of broken mirror gripped tightly in her first, see Ginny lying there so helpless and barely breathing.
"Look, just here." The low murmur of Aberforth's voice and sharp rustling of his finger poking against the page brought Luna out of the Chamber and back into the here and now. The two brothers were standing at the desk while Luna, Cressida, and Professor McGonagall sat in the powder blue armchairs Professor Dumbledore had drawn for them.
"Yes, it's as I suspected," Dumbledore nodded as he adjusted his half-moon spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
"Albus, you knew? That they were using the Department of Mysteries as some kind of...of laboratory! A playground for torture and inventing new toys for the Dark Lord! You knew, and you did nothing?"
"I did not say I knew, Aberforth, only that I suspected."
"But God knows what they've been doing for the past fourteen years, just biding their time."
Albus inclined his head as if conceding the point.
"The Ministry had already been compromised for some time by then, and has remained so ever since. Perhaps knowing this makes you somewhat more understanding of my desire not to become further entangled with the Ministry?"
"The Ministry is determined to entangle itself in the business of Hogwarts with or without your permission, Albus. Dolores has made that abundantly clear," Professor McGonagall said. Luna wondered if she was the only one who could detect the slightest hint of censure in McGonagall's cool, even voice. The Circle had been subjected to many an angry rant about this Umbridge woman over the past couple months, and Luna got the sense that McGonagall thought Dumbledore should have done more to protect Hogwarts from Ministry meddling.
Perhaps if he had bothered to keep a closer eye on the Ministry, he could have stopped this, not just Umbridge but all of it, the Dark Lord worming his way into the Ministry in the first place, the heinous crimes in the Department of Mysteries, Lavender's dad, everything. Was that what McGonagall was implying? Or was it just what Luna was thinking? It was easier to believe that Dumbledore had been derelict in his duties than it was to admit that even Dumbledore could not stop what was coming.
"They were keeping people in cages, damnit, Albus! And there might be more of them down there for all we know."
"I have found, much to my chagrin, that there are always more horrors in this life. We cannot stop them all. You know more than anyone, Aberforth, that we must pick our battles in this life. Now, how about some tea?"
Aberforth was quivering with rage. For a moment Luna thought he was going to strike his brother, or at least slam his fist onto the desk. But he settled for conjuring a bottle of brandy out of thin air and taking a long, deep drink, like he was trying to drown all the words he wanted to say.
"But how did they know he'd be back?" Luna asked. It was the first time she had spoken during the meeting. They all turned to look at her as if they had forgotten she was there.
"The Death Eaters in the Ministry, I mean. Everyone thought the Dark Lord was gone for good the night he killed the Potters. But they all just kept their jobs and kept planning and doing their experiments in the Department of Mysteries. They wouldn't have done that unless they knew there was a chance he'd come back, right? But even Dark wizards can't come back from the dead."
"That's an excellent question. And there is an answer, but you must understand that it is a delicate matter…"
"She deserves to know," Aberforth said, his voice raspy from the brandy. Albus looked like he was going to protest, but it was clear from his brother's face that this was one of the battles he would choose to fight.
"Very well. There is a sort of magical artifact called a horcrux. And…"
"Where's Harry?" asked Professor McGonagall suddenly.
"Why, I imagine he is in class," Professor Dumbledore pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch and glanced at it, "He should be in Herbology as we speak, if I'm not mistaken."
"I know his timetable, thank you. What I meant was don't you think he ought to be here?"
"Harry is not ready to hear some of what I will tell you today."
"What? Albus, how could…" McGonagall started.
"You mean he doesn't know yet? But you told me..." Aberforth cut in. Luna watched Albus's eyes dart between Professor McGonagall and his brother. What was going on there ?
"Thank you, Aberforth," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice rising only slightly. Luna could not imagine growing up with him for a brother. His infuriating, unruffled calmness must have bested Aberforth's hotheadedness in every disagreement. But the calmest person in the room was not always right.
"As I said, this is a delicate matter. All things in their time," was all he said.
After that Harry Potter was a physical presence in the room, his absence palpable. If McGonagall and Aberforth thought he should be here, perhaps he ought to be. After all, he was the target of nearly all the Dark Lord's schemes. He was the savior of the wizarding world, Dumbledore's pet protege, and yet he was apparently kept perpetually in the dark about the old man's plans. Luna often complained that she was given undue power and deference as the raven queen, but at least it was better than this.
"Is that all?" she said, when Albus had finished explaining what horcruxes were, "Well, I knew that the diary was a living thing, a piece of a person. So it's called a horcrux? Huh." She was less curious about horcruxes than about what all this had to do with Harry.
"So that's why his followers knew he might be back," Cressida whispered. Luna wondered if her mother had suspected, if perhaps the Death Eater contingent of her family had hinted at such a thing. How many people had known, had waited out the glorious, long-awaited peace like snakes in the grass?
"Yes. And it is not as simple as you make it sound, Luna. There is a ritual, an abhorrent ritual. It is difficult to make a horcrux; it does not simply happen. One would have to be very, very rash to make more than one, which is unfortunately what Voldemort has done."
"More than one?" Cressida's bracelets clattered as she raised her hand to her mouth in horror.
"There are three that I know of, including the diary, and possibly a fourth. There could be more."
There was a long, stilted silence as they considered this. Aberforth spiked his tea with more brandy.
"But that's what I wanted to ask you about. When you were in the Department of Mysteries, did you see anything about horcruxes? In papers like this, perhaps?"
"No, I don't think so," Luna's brow furrowed as she tried to remember. Horcrux. It was a strange word. She thought she would have remembered seeing it, even for just a moment. But there had been so many strange and wonderful and terrible things in the Department of Mysteries. Some stuck out in sharper relief in her memories while others had already faded to indistinct blurs.
"Mum?" she asked, turning to her mother. But Cressida only shook her head."If the Department of Mysteries is completely under the power of Lord Voldemort as you say, is it possible he used it as a hiding place for his horcruxes?" Professor McGonagall asked. Luna shivered. What if she had come within inches of the Dark Lord's soul without even realizing it? It could have been hidden in one of the planets in the space room, for all she knew.
"What would it have looked like? Not another diary, surely?" Luna asked.
"Well, a horcrux is much like a portkey. It could be any item. But I suspect Lord Voldemort would have chosen highly valuable objects of personal or historic significance. I have reason to believe he might have even found rare antiquities solely for the purpose of turning them into horcruxes, items believed to have belonged to the Hogwarts founders in particular. Did you see anything that looked old and valuable, a diadem, perhaps? A cup?"
"No, I don't think I saw anything like that."
"Ah. No, of course not." Luna could not read his expression. He might have been disappointed that the horcruxes still eluded him, or smug because McGonagall's theory was proved wrong, or angry that he had let Luna in on the horcrux secret and not received any useful information in return.
"Anyway, I know what the diary feels like. Cursed, you know? And I didn't see anything that felt like that."
"Ah, yes, speaking of that diary. I understand that you wanted to keep it for research." He paused, apparently expecting an answer even though he had not asked her a question. This time Luna was sure she was not imagining the note of condescension in his tone. What research could a thirteen year old possibly be doing compared to the greatest wizard of the age? And perhaps he was right. She was still amazed that Aberforth and McGonagall had somehow managed to convince him to let her keep the diary in the first place.
"Yes," she finally said.
"Now that you understand its true nature, you must understand that it is a very dangerous object. You saw what it did to your friend Ginny."
"I knew it was dangerous before," she shrugged.
"But surely now you understand that when the time comes, it must be destroyed. When that day comes, Luna, you must give it to me."
"Destroy it?" An image of Eva de Braose's statue flitted into Luna's mind, her face somehow warm even though it was carved of stone, enveloping the diary in magic that transformed rather than destroyed.
"Destroying the horcrux kills the piece of soul secreted within it. If we can find and destroy all the horcruxes, we will have a chance to kill Voldemort once and for all."
"But couldn't he just keep making more horcruxes?"
"The ritual is so destructive to the soul that there is surely an upper limit to the number of horcruxes that can be safely made without killing the wizard. I'm just not sure what that limit is yet."
"But you don't know for sure, not really, you're just guessing. And how would you even know when you'd found them all? Couldn't there always be more, others you don't know about?"
"Leave that to me," he said, with a smile that was probably meant to be twinkling and reassuring.
"But there must be another way…" Luna said. Part of her wanted to tell him everything about how she had inadvertently changed the nature of the diary with the strange magic of Eva's tomb. That would wipe the smug smile off his face and show him that thirteen year old girls could do worthwhile things. But it would have involved revealing the location of the diary, and she was sure he wouldn't believe her anyway. There was something flinty in his eyes, and she knew that he truly believed destroying the horcruxes was the only way, or at least the best way. His way.
"Well, this is neither here nor there. We came here to inform you about the goings-on in the Department of Mysteries, not quibble about dark magic. As far as I'm concerned, we've accomplished what we set out to do. And I'm sure you ladies would like to get back before dark," Aberforth said, clearing his throat and giving Luna a significant look. She nodded. Not here, not now. Albus wouldn't understand.
They got back to the Circle when twilight was bleeding slowly into sunset. Luna wolfed down her dinner and then made her way to the crypt beneath the chapel. She knelt on the cold flagstone floor and held the diary in her hands. The horcrux. It felt lighter and less malevolent than the last time she was down here. But it was still the diary that had possessed Ginny and used her to hurt innocent it ever be anything else?
Less than twenty-four hours after leaving his office, Luna was back to plotting fake attempts on Albus Dumbledore's life. She had never been inside the Shrieking Shack, though she had heard stories from Sylvia and the older girls about the haunted old house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was as good a place to meet as any, particularly because Draco could sneak away unnoticed during his Hogsmeade weekends.
The shack was indeed deserted, but Luna couldn't see any other evidence that it was haunted. It was rundown on the inside, with some broken furniture and torn curtains, but that was to be expected from any abandoned old house. From what she could see, the damage was much more likely to be the work of rebellious teenagers than ghosts.
Luna pretended to explore the first floor parlor during the mother and son's reunion. Narcissa fussed over Draco, straightening his collar and asking overly solicitous questions about the quality of the food at Hogwarts. He shrugged her off like any embarrassed teenage boy, but she had brought him a care package of home-cooked treats all the same. Luna looked away when she saw Narcissa slip a small, corked vial of vomit-yellow liquid into his bag along with the fudge and scones.
The pleasantries done, Narcissa put her son straight to work on more of his complicated Occlumency exercises, this time with a practical demonstration. Luna sat pretending to review her notes and practice meditation. In reality, she was watching them with rapt attention and trying not to think which of the poisons and plant tinctures on the list she gave to Draco were yellow.
Narcissa was ruthless, all traces of motherliness buried with the vial of poison. Her voice was a curt staccato as she pointed her wand at her son and quizzed him about his opinion of Albus Dumbledore and knowledge of any assassination plots.
"Badly done, Draco! It's stitched together so sloppily that you can practically see the seams. It's far too obvious that you've been reusing the emotions from your Sorting Night memory over and over again. I could even hear the Sorting Hat's song in the background in at least three of those thoughts."
"Does it really matter, Mother? If I get caught, Umbridge and Snape will cover for me."
"Don't be a fool. Do you think they would help you if it did not suit them? Think , Draco. They each have missions of their own. They will not sacrifice their positions just to save you. In fact, they may have been specifically instructed not to help you. No, you cannot rely on anyone but yourself. You know that. What's gotten into you?" Narcissa frowned at her son and placed the back of her hand to his forehead as if she expected him to be feverish.
"Sorry, Mother." He turned away from her searing glare to fiddle with a shiny green badge pinned to his robes.
"Not as sorry as I'll be when he has your head put on a spike! Now sit over there and practice some more. You may not use the emotions from your Sorting Night as the basis for more than one thought and one fabricated memory, understood?"
Draco nodded sullenly and retreated to another corner of the room.
"Now, your turn," Narcissa rounded on Luna, her voice still harsh and waspish. Luna stood to attention.
"You've read those books I gave you." It was more a statement than a question. A threat.
"Yes, and I've been practicing meditating like you said," Luna nodded.
"Fine," Narcissa said, and Luna knew it was the closest thing to praise she should expect.
"First, we should get you used to the sensation of having your mind probed. Are you ready?"
"Er, I guess…" How did one prepare to have their mind invaded?
"Legilimens!"
There was that same feeling again, a prickling in her eyesockets and a slight pressure on the top of her head. Luna had read that a truly masterful Legilimens was able to read minds silently, without causing any telltale sensations at all; Narcissa was clearly more skilled at Occlumency than Legilimency.
"Do you know of any plots on Albus Dumbledore's life?" Narcissa asked, her wand still held aloft and pointed straight at Luna.
"No," Luna said, forcing her voice to stay as calm and steady as she could manage. She tried to clear her mind of every conversation she had had with Narcissa and Draco, imagining they were doors in her mind that she could open and close at will. One by one, she shut them.
"See, that's the easiest mistake to make. When you try to suppress a memory like that, it just makes it easier for me to find it. It's like ripples; you're only drawing attention to it. If you're going to try to hide a thought or memory, you need to give me something else to look at instead. Or even better, give me a different impression of your experiences so I come to a different conclusion. Let's try again. Have you been conspiring with Narcissa and Draco Malfoy?"
"No," Luna said. This time, she flooded her mind with other memories, doing her best to drown out the ones that would give her away. The argument with the Malfoys in Flourish and Blotts. Draco pulling her hair at the press conference after the Chamber of Secrets. Draco taunting her and Ginny at the Quidditch World Cup.
"Not quite. You have the right idea, but you're going about it the wrong way. Focusing on other memories usually won't do it. For one, you're an inexperienced Occlumens and your mind will naturally jump to other related memories even if you don't mean to. And more importantly, you need to use the other thoughts and memories to tell a story. Every evasion and diversion must be twisted so it fits the shape of the truth you want the Legilimens to see."
"Okay...I don't get it."
"You are simply showing me your memories, but there's no coherence to them. What conclusion is the Legilimens meant to draw from what you've shown me?"
"Well, I dunno. They're the memories I have of you and Draco. I can't make them say anything else, it's just what happened."
"Not necessarily. You can rearrange thoughts and memories to mean any number of things. Truth is in interpretation and impressions. You've interpreted your thoughts and memories to mean one thing, but you can rearrange them to give the Legilimens any number of impressions. And they could all be considered the truth."
"Isn't that just lying?"
"No, no! Or perhaps a Hufflepuff's definition of lying. No, the secret is to find the kernel of truth in everything you show the Legilimens, which will make the rest ring true. So if the Dark Lord were to ask me if I wanted my son to succeed in his mission to kill Albus Dumbledore, I might think about how much I love my son. I love my son. That is the truth at the center of everything. I want him to succeed in everything he does, that's another truth. Most parents want their children to succeed. Another layer of truth. Therefore, if I want him to succeed, I must want him to succeed in killing Dumbledore. That's a logical conclusion, even if it's not strictly true. But you hardly notice it, it's so small in comparison to the larger truths."
"I think I understand. Can I try again?" There was a flicker of recognition in Luna's belly, the bitter thrill of realizing that this was precisely what she had been doing for most of her life. The ultimate trick wasn't to fool other people, but to fool yourself.
"Alright. Have you assisted Draco Malfoy in his schemes to kill Albus Dumbledore?"
So what's the bigger truth here? Killing people is wrong, first of all. I believe that, mostly. Draco is a git and I would never want to help him. That's true, of course. And...and Dumbledore is too important to kill. He can be self-righteous, but he's the one who knows the most about…
"You saw him? Yesterday?!" Narcissa hissed, gripping Luna's wrist so tightly that Luna could tell her perfectly manicured nails would leave crescent moon-shaped marks on her skin. Luna did not understand what was happening until she realized that her mind must have wandered to yesterday's meeting in Dumbledore's office.
"I didn't really get a say in the matter, Aberforth said we had to!"
"Do you realize how utterly stupid that was? You could have been caught! You could have gotten us all caught! You're an untrained Occlumens, for Merlin's sake!"
"Look, I'm sorry." Now it was Luna's turn to look sheepish during one of Narcissa's scoldings.
"It's not to happen again, am I understood?"
"Well, I can't promise that. He's been looking for horcruxes, and I sort of said…"
"Horcruxes?"Draco had been watching the argument with mild interest, but his face changed at that.
"Draco," Narcissa's voice took on that warning tone again, like she was trying to reason with a petulant toddler.
"But Mother, this is what we've been waiting for!"
"Draco ."
"Wait, what? What does he mean? Do you know about horcruxes, too? How many does he have? Maybe you can help!"
"Both of you, be quiet! Draco, keep working. Luna, let's keep practicing," Narcissa snapped. Luna got the sense that her aunt would have liked to continue chastising her, but couldn't risk Draco and Luna teaming up against her.
"Luna, focus," Narcissa put her finger under her chin until Luna was staring directly at her, that face so similar to her mother's, those cool gray eyes, and that angry red scar running down her cheek.
Luna closed her eyes and tried to make her mind as clear and blank as her aunt's face.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind of Occlumency and unsuccessful attempts to wheedle more information out of Narcissa. But her aunt would not budge, and the only thing Luna managed to get out of her was more homework: word association exercises, so she could better imitate her own natural thought processes when devising false trains of thought.
By the time Narcissa brought her back to the Rook, Luna's mind felt like putty after hours of being magically poked and prodded. She had planned to spend the rest of the day doing some Hallows research, but now she wanted nothing more than to put a pillow over her head and sleep for a hundred years. So she made herself a cup of juniper tea, put on her favorite pair of pyjamas, and settled into bed. The curtains were already drawn and the complete darkness of the room was a balm for her sore eyes and head. Luna made some half-hearted attempts to flip through her word association flashcards before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She awoke with the flashcards scattered all over the bed and a trail of spit pooling on her pillow. Stretching, Luna sat up and tried to read the clock on the wall, but it was difficult to see in the darkness.
Darkness?
What had happened to the planets and stars that had been her own personal nightlight since time immemorial? Her mother's painting of the moon was still there, but the light had gone from it. Gone were the glowing stars, gone were the long and obscure names for all the constellations in her father's familiar handwriting. All the light in the room was gone.
"Daddy?"
AN: Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments :)
