The sun went down hours before the chill sank in. Summer didn’t let go easily and the grass stayed warm while black spread across the sky like ink in the tide.
The stars came out, glittering, but made of willow wisp, made of frayed cotton, made of torn silk roses… They didn’t turn to crystal until the breeze had chilled and pressed itself into Neera’s cheeks.
“Want to go inside?” Kuri asked. He didn’t move, head still tilted back, but he had balled himself up, arms crossed around his knees.
“Five more minutes,” Neera murmured. She knew the night would slide on silently, but bits of her wondered what cotton turned crystal might become next.