Story of Stars and Rain
“The story of the stars and the rain falling in love, creating a treasure in the fleeting moments.”
“The shimmering tears of the sky fell to the twin clouds, wrapping together and merging as one.
"The softest pillow, grey tainting the pure gold to be muddled and wet.
"Maimed from love, so they pronounced, encompassing all the passion in their sheltered hearts.”
“From their connection birthed the treasure, and together, the stars and the rain blessed their fabrication with three betrothed gifts.”
“A scarf, to keep you warm when hugs have faded.
“An umbrella, to keep you dry when our wings are clipped.
“Twin tails, so you’ll never be alone at night, like we are.”
“The ephemeral lovers peered upon their pinnacle.”
“You have the most beautiful eyes, a perfect culmination of the blues and purples from ours.
“Your hair, damp with raindrops and streaked with starlight, just like us.
“Your timidness from our mistake; undesirable, shameful, banished from our sights to live with the mortals, you imperfect immortal.”
“The stars and the rain cast their treasure upon the world, shielding their eyes from anything further of it. The disgrace forwent as the three parted forever.”
The crinkle of his nose was a clear sign of displeasure.
“What a horrible ending, I thought this was going to be sweet.”
Yuna blinked incredulously, as though expecting a different outcome. “But that’s how the story goes.” A simple fact.
Hibiscus shifted where he sat, eyes gazing past the storyteller. His mind was on his own beloved. “The stars and the rain should have loved their creation, why do they not?”
Yuna hummed. “Just wasn’t fated to be, I suppose.” He determined after a beat, ankles uncrossing to rest the reverse. It was clear his company was picking apart the tale in his brain. Deciphering syntax, swirling through metaphors, waist-deep in prose, grimacing akin to rotten meat in his throat.
“Regret,” he started, “Cursed into existence.”
“Perhaps.” Was Yuna’s only response, thinking about it himself. A bizarre take. Who would keep a broken vase? was his silent ponder.
“Regret from lovers who are broken themselves, placing their insecurities on their spawn. A child birthed only to be the scapegoat of faults belonging to the parents.” Hibiscus concluded his judgement, leaning his head back to rest on the couch. He could feel Yuna almost bristle, a braced, hushed, held intake of air, as though the ill words were brandished upon his skin instead of the fiction.
“Not every story of lovers should be idolized for romance.”
Hibiscus hummed in agreement. He almost felt bad, muddied smears of his horns seeped into the cushion. A stain to be placed where he lay in silence.
The conversation was over.
“Well,” Yuna brushed his hands on his knees of imaginary dust, the peeling book placed aside as he stretched and stood. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I’d love some, something floral; don’t let it smell of petrichor.”
A tight smile. The entire house reeked of it.
“Of course.”