Her clammy fingers were slipping from the cement, so she aimed her cane's head and drove the sharpened diamond phoenix wings into the cement. It held, but she couldn't let go, for the polished mahogany would snap.

The automatons were still again, lined up in a formation in front of the dead end. The exit was open, tempting Rose to drop and run. However, she knew it would mean risking her life; she had seen how fast these mechanical creatures could glide. They would be upon her within seconds.

Instead, Rose persevered climbing the wall. Before she realized it, the roof was mere inches away, but her arms were too worn out the pull her body weight up. For all she knew, she had climbed over eight feet! Using her cane again, she anchored the phoenix over the rooftop. With every last ounce of strength she had left, Rose managed to roll onto the roof. She looked back down to see the eye still staring, but not seeing.

Relieved, Rose rolled over onto her back and stared up at the night sky. It was scattered with stars that she could make out clearly. Skies like these were rare since the city was badly polluted with trash and waste. She forgot briefly about the automatons below and focused on the unwavering starlight. No matter how much people change, the stars will always be bright and trustworthy, thought Rose wistfully.

The steadiness of the North Star brought back childhood memories to a night like this one, so long ago just across the ocean. Rose closed her eyes and reminisced.

She was about eight years old at the time, when she had met him. One would never have guessed that the two became friends in such a short time. He was a family friend in many ways; his father had worked with hers, and both of their mothers grew up in the same Institute. Now, it seemed they wanted their children to be friends as they had. Rose, personally, hadn't liked boys too much at the time, so she was wary about the meeting.

He proved all her theories about boys wrong, for he was not at all haughty or arrogant as most were, but was kind and gentle—yet still treated her equally. She found that she quite liked him in fact.

While their parents had business to attend to, Rose spent her time with him. Her family stayed at that Institute for many months, letting her become close to him. Also—she had to admit it even now—she felt drawn to him. Rose thought she had never seen such wise eyes for a boy of nine. At eight, she often found herself captivated by those beautiful orbs. She wondered if she would still be now.

Of the time she and her family stayed at his family's Institute, one particular week stood out in her memory…

Rose had always loved the piano. She practiced in the music room of the Taipei Institute every day. One week, in unfamiliar corridors, she wandered about with a mad desire to play one of the traditional Chinese pieces she had recently learned, for it was the week of Chinese New Year her choice seemed most suitable. Rose probably never would have found the music room had he not shown her a hidden winding staircase leading up to it.

There, she saw a majestic grand piano perched upon a pedestal in the center of the room. Around it were carious other instruments, including cellos, violins, violas, clarinets, flutes, and even a great golden harp in the corner.

Ignoring this display with a childish manner, Rose walked straight to the piano and began to play. The sweet melody of "Butterfly Lovers" spilled out into the air, washing all other thoughts away. She finished the introduction of arpeggios and chords, now suddenly changing the key to a melody of her own creation. The change had surprised even herself, as if her hands were moving on their own to create an original arrangement for the imaginary audience.

As Rose finished with a flourish of her arms, an applause rang out behind her. He was there, clapping hard for her with a soft smile gracing his lips. His lips, thought Rose, reminiscing on the bow-like curve of them when he smiled. Traveling mentally up his face, she remembered those dark eyes, full of wisdom and goodness, intriguing as the night sky itself. With no words, he congratulated her with an affectionate pat on her head and crossed the room to retrieve his own instrument.

Somehow, the two mentally agreed upon what to play. Rose launched the introduction of "Butterfly Lovers". She improvised a harmony, collaborating with him as he played the melody. Together, they had created their own arrangement of the piece. That moment had been a secret all these years.

The night passed, and the couple were still making music under the moonlight. Rose showed off trills and many diverse cadenzas that her mother had drilled into her memory. Likewise, he drawled out the most soulful melodies from Bach, Chopin, even Mozart—music that he transposed himself he had said. He was truly a musical prodigy in her eyes, although her opinion could be a bit biased.

The recollection of memories blurred from her mind's eye and faded out to a different event, one that occurred the very same week…

It was the night of New Year's Eve and the Institute was hosting a party. Rose and her family were the only guests so the party was a small celebration, but had just as many festivities. The host family had outdone themselves; preparing a ball, ordering for the cooks' specialty dishes, offering to purchase hew clothing for the ball.

On the evening of the ball, Rose had stood in front of the mirror, content with her dress. She had requested a traditional Chinese qipao, as they were her favorite dresses. The family had taken her out shopping and had it custom made.

It was silvery silk with a layer of sheer fabric sparkling over it. The top had no sleeves, only the customary embroidered collar. The skirt hugged her small frame and flared out slightly from her hips, the slits in the side showing her legs. At the time, however, her favorite part of it was the back. It was covered with a sheer silvery lace, revealing bare skin since she was too young to wear a corset. Overall, the eight-year-old Rose felt this dress would impress her escort.

The maid had done her hair that night, furling it and pinning it up with jade hairpins. She left it tumbling down her back to add the innocent look in contrast to her dress. Even at the age of eight, they made her look like a goddess.

There was a knock on the door, and Rose grew nervous. The hosts had sent their son to escort the daughter of their guests. She crossed the room, composed herself, and opened the door.

The nine-year-old boy looked surprised, his hand poised in the air to knock again. The expression was quickly masked with one of amusement and kindness as he held his arm out.

She took it slowly, and couldn't help admiring his features. His raven dark hair waved slightly in the humidity… His eyes were captivating and fixed upon her. The bow of his lips curved upward in a shy smile. He wore an intricate silver suit that should have looked silly on a boy of nine, but it did not. In fact, Rose thought it made him look older, more mature. She had wondered if their families purposely planned for them to match because the metallic runes ran down both of their silver outfits.

The night went well; she danced with every guest throughout the evening. Yet, she had danced with him more times than she should have, and even now she relished the feeling of his skilled hands on her back. Perhaps these thoughts were far too explicit for such a young girl, but she never regretted them.

Later, she had stood by the refreshments, calming her senses with a safe, non-alcoholic fruit punch when he had appeared beside her with his own drink. She remembered the look on his face as he blushed, pointing out the mistletoe berries hanging above her saying that she now owed a kiss to someone. Instinctively, she'd glanced at him and flushed, hoping she hadn't given herself away. Matching his playful gaze, she told him "Now, you do too!" Sure enough, they were both standing under the berries.

Laughing softly, he said, "I would be honored." She closed her eyes and waited. Soft lips landed on her forehead, unknowing leaving tingles of pleasure, but also slight disappointment. "Your turn," he whispered into her skin.

Rose felt a little daring from the sudden adrenaline rush. She rose to her toes and planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. His eyes lit up as he grinned. "I ought to redo mine," he sighed.

She giggled nervously. "Of course."

Rose shared her first kiss that night under the mistletoe with the only boy she cared to share it with. Neither of their parents had seen their children fall in love in that moment, but they both knew it happened. It would be a secret kept between them forever. Rose still has not told anyone in all these years and she knew he didn't either, wherever he was now.

Later that night, he grew shy again and politely asked if she might want to accompany him to the gardens. Her parents seemed to be having a fine time on their own, so she accepted.

The walk out was silent. She could think of nothing to say to him; nothing proper at least. Her thoughts were filled with the taste of his lips and the desire to taste them again. Sweet, yet tangy were his lips, no doubt from the fruit punch he was drinking. Rose wanted to taste his lips as they were, and his tongue and his entire mouth… perhaps even his skin?

Rose cleared her head from the explicit thoughts. Besides, what did two young children know about love? No one loved at such a young age, it was utterly impossible. They were merely friends. Friends that kiss? She thought doubtfully.

Friends. Rose had wanted to believe that herself for a long time. She never succeeded. It was unlikely that she would ever see him again anyway. She had not been to visit him since that time when she was eight. All she could hope for now was that fate might bring them back together again.

During her last night in the Institute, he had brought her back to the gardens. They lay on the grass by the flowerbeds, hands entwined in a way friends never would have even thought about. They looked up at the stars and he pointed out the patterns they made.

Rose remembered that night like it was yesterday. Even now, she could find the constellations and hear his voice tell her about them. Orion: the Great Hinter with his might belt and club with a lion's pelt in one hand. Canis Major and Minor: Orion's hunting dogs. Gemini: the twins, Castor and Pollux, who were famous Greek heroes. These were only a few of what he pointed out to her that night.

Just before her father came to call them to bed, he asked her, "Do you know why I showed you all these stars?"

She shook her head with the naivety only an eight-year-old would have.

He said, "Because no matter how much people change, the stars will always be bright and trustworthy." Then he showed her one last star: Proxima Centauri, The North Star. "It will always help you find your way whenever you are lost. It will be there for you forever, like me. If you ever need something to remember me by, think of the North Star. I'll be thinking of you, Rosetta."