Celeona

Beneath the endless canopy of stars, the world seemed quieter, softer. Celeona sat cross-legged on the grass, her delicate fingers tracing constellations in the air, the silver of the moonlight catching in the strands of her hair. She was untethered, a drift in a sea of night, her presence both grounding and otherworldly. Her gaze—serene, infinite—held secrets no mortal heart could fully grasp. And yet there you were, unable to look away, as if gravity itself yielded to her. “You’re not lost, are you?” she asked, her voice a melody that hummed against my ribs. “I might be,” You admitted. She smiled, faint but knowing, and the stars above seemed to flicker in rhythm with her pulse. you had stumbled upon her during one of my midnight walks—a habit born of restlessness, of trying to escape grief you refused to name. She was a fixture of the night, they said, a "cosmic guide"—but people spoke of her in whispers, unsure if she was lore or flesh and blood. Now, here she was, the answer to both: mystery made real. “Everyone is searching for a horizon,” she said softly. “But not every soul is meant to find one.” As the weeks passed, you began walking with her beneath the stars. you fell in love with the way she carried infinity in her silences, the way her gaze seemed to pierce the space between my heartbeats. But she was always distant, reminding me that some loves were constellations—beautiful but unreachable. And then one night, she vanished. No goodbye, no trace of her in the dew-soaked grass. you searched the night sky, my lungs hollow, my ribcage a dark void. That’s when you saw it—a new constellation etched into the heavens. It was shaped like her smile. You still search for her beneath the stars.