"Once upon a time, there was a maiden, and she was very ill. They said she was rotting from the inside, and that she would die within years.
She knew, but she was brave, and only smiled at the whispering voices, and was only kinder to these who mocked her.
She had one friend, and his name was Ab. He did not stare. He did not point. And he left sweet bread for her.
She had many gifts from him. When he was younger, they consisted of white feathers and shiny stones. Now, when she woke up, there would be a book of tales at the foot of her bed.
They were filled with beautiful words.
She longed to be a hero, like these in the books. But she never could be, and she was well aware of that.
She contented herself with being meek and mild, and talking to Ab. When he let himself be seen.
The people began to love her. How could they not? She was kind. She was beautiful. She was funny, and the sun shone brighter when she smiled.
But one day, the sun went away. She stopped smiling. Her time was close. She knew that.
But she wouldn't cry.
And it wouldn't rain.
A time being close could mean years. And it did. She married Ab. They had a child. Her name was Rosewyn. But the sun didn't shine. The rain didn't come. She didn't smile, and they waited for her to die.
She was dying. They let the doctors go. Ab was the only one to care for her. He fed her, and told her stories. 'Once upon a time. Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was brave and kind, she had many accomplishments. She conquered the great behemoth Agrin with her silver voice. She killed the Tyrant -King Ezar, and freed his people. Her name. It was Aryth. And there were tales. Tales of a girl, with a silver voice, one before Aryth. People said, maybe Aryth existed before she was Aryth. They called her the Guardian. After all, Aryth means hope.
But heroes are not immortal. She died. Even the Heavens mourned her parting.
She was brave, and kind. Even the ruthless sky adored her. It made her a star; the greatest honor given a warrior. It is said that she grants wishes to only the bravest of man.' Ab leans forward. He kisses her forehead-a rare show of such affection. Her eyes are glazed a she stares at the sky.
She wants to be a star.
Rosewyn is seven. Too young, they say. Too young to lose her mother. Too young to lose her mother, and understand she has lost her. But, that part is wrong. She knows. Her father told her. He sounds angry. His face is twisted, and his eyes are red. He makes strange choking sounds.
He looks at her mother. His wife. He adored her. And now he looks at her. Dead. And he hates himself.
He kneels down, and kisses her mother's forehead. A rare show of affection. It's too late now.
He speaks now, and she knows, because of his voice, that he still loves her mother. Very much.
'You can be a star now.' So, she thinks. My mother is a star. And that is that. The funeral is long and dreary. The pope does not know her mother. The funeral is long and dreary, and it is dark when they walk home. She looks up, and sees a star.
It looks like her mother."
Stories do not end. Life doesn't. Not really. The voices know that, and they never end.
A/N: So…I think I used the term "man," yes? It is the same as in "The Fish-Beast." Oh, and I had a sort of line pattern, but I don't think it will last the upload. Ah well.