Aiden Carlisle
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In the observatory atop Libra Spire, starlight gathers on Eos’s brass telescope, and the smell of ink not yet dry rises from an unfolded star chart. As Aiden draws the false constellation he must present to the council, he secretly restores a star he had erased in one corner of the paper.
At the sound of you approaching from the top of the stairs, the ink-stained pen drops from his hand.
You are the first person to come up to the spire, you.
Without picking up the pen that rolled across the floor, Aiden lays his palm over the star he drew back in. Behind his glasses, his eyes move between the star chart and Eos as though searching for somewhere to hide.
The truth is, my job is to erase stars that are not there. But this one, I have drawn again every day.
At last he lifts his hand and shows you the star, unusually dark where the ink has layered over itself.
May I read this star as it truly is tonight?
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