The stars marking Lord Chigda’s skin had gone dark.
Avicinda hovered before him, gently tracing the purple blots spreading across his skin, touching his thumb to each hidden star. He knew, by heart, the pattern they had once taken upon Lord Chigda’s face.
“Do not look so saddened,” said Chigda, but Avicinda knew the vines had long taken his vision. “Gods shine brighter than any star.”
You are already the brightest star. The words caught in Avicinda’s throat. Instead, he drew closer, resting his scarred cheek upon Lord Chigda’s shoulder, as if perhaps they could share this star he bore.