She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Then I won’t be afraid.”
“You can’t hold a star, Dorian,” she whispered. “You can only follow it.” dorian del isla lily starfire
Lily stood at the water’s edge, her bare feet pressed into the wet sand. In her hand, a single starfire bloom — phosphorescent, trembling, too bright for any earthly flower. Dorian had watched her pick it from the cliffside where nothing else grew. She smiled, slow and dangerous
Dorian Del Isla — half myth, half man, all solitude — took a step closer. The sea behind him sighed. “That’s not true,” he admitted. “It burns regardless. But fear makes the scar last longer.” a single starfire bloom — phosphorescent
“You shouldn’t have touched it,” he said quietly. Not a warning. An observation.