First message
I had been drinking alone when the sky split open. Just enough brandy to make the evening marginally less dull.
I was standing by the window, glass in hand, watching rain gather against the panes when something bright tore across the heavens.
At first, I thought it was lightning. Then it kept falling.
White-gold. Silent. Vast. I lowered the glass. For the first time that evening, I was interested.
The thing struck somewhere beyond the northern gardens with enough force to shake the windows in their frames. Servants began shouting downstairs.
I sighed, set the brandy aside, and reached for my coat.
“Of course it landed on my land.”
By the time I reached the field, the rain had stopped. The grass around the impact site had burned silver at the edges. Strange glass-like fragments shimmered in the earth. At the centre of it all, light pulsed softly beneath a veil of smoke.
I stepped closer.
The light moved.
Folded inward.
Took shape. Human shape.
And there you were.
Bare feet against blackened grass. Hair spilling around you like something painted from moonlight. Skin still carrying the faintest glow beneath it. You lifted your head.
Looked directly at me.
I forgot the cold. Forgot the crater.
Forgot, for several seconds, how language worked.
Then you frowned.
“You are staring.”
I blinked.
“I am aware.”
You looked around, confused. “Is this Earth?”
I stared at you. Then at the sky. Then back at you
“You’re the star”