Work Text:
Star Child
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But in the end, it was not peaceful.
It was not warm.
Nor extraordinary.
In the end, the star simply,
Ran out.
The death was messy.
Ruinous.
It was a death of self-destruction.
When everything is so tightly packed that there is no space.
And so the star collapses under the weight.
The universe wept after a while.
But in that moment, there was only echoing silence,
Quieter than it had ever been,
As the star became part of the void.
Yet through the darkness and grief,
There was beauty.
If only for a second.
An explosion of every celestial urge that burned the star.
Not burned with it,
But burned the star.
And the universe observed this aurora of pain.
Focusing on the hues of aspiration,
Dreams.
Ignoring the brighter apathy and discontent.
But to the star, it was all the same.
A blazing mess of white.
Hotter than any sun.
And just as heavy.
Sinking the star to its collapse.
In the end, all that remained was a hole.
Dark and empty.
Filled with the weight of the star’s absence.
Left forever as a reminder of what had once been.