Fantasy
The Last Star Singer
reading time: 10 minutes
The crystal islands drifted in their slow, obedient ellipses around the sun, and I drifted with them, a small note held in a vast throat of light. From the bridges of glass that braided one island to the next, I could hear the sun breathing—each exhalation a reddening sigh, each inhalation thinner than the last. The air tasted of metal and honey, warmed until it hummed against the tongue. When I closed my eyes, the light pressed violet through my lids, and the old songs rose unbidden in my chest.