The little fae giggled then pointed her flower towards the air, a glistening glow emitting from it's center then spreading across the air like stars amidst the blackened sky.
It is nights like these that Serena tries to commit to memory. The stillness of air embraced by a veil of darkness, stars faintly shimmering off in the distance as though throwing back their smiles not unlike how a parent might from behind polished glass, giggles of her own and trills from the fairy-type echoing into the distance despite the sounds being meant for none other than themselves. A common language need not be determined; not between two beings of similar fates, separated by thousands of years in instance. They are living proof of a cycle—of humankind’s mistakes; the result of desperation and greed; given so much only after everything was just as forcefully taken away. To say that Serena adores these quiet nights in Floette’s presence would be an understatement. And perhaps, in the depths of her mind, wisps of comfort form from hazy memories of joining the fae in the meadow of her hometown—the familiarity of time spent with a previously mysterious figure now made known and dear to the heroine’s heart.
When the fairy-type takes to the skies, glowing and wonderful, to put on the tiniest of shows, the light itself is one Serena can pinpoint without question. The sort seen radiating from her own form on its own, when in the presence of stones cursed with similar energy. Soft and glittering, as though the stars themselves had formed the light and was, in its natural state, part of all beings—living or dead. Beautiful but burdened with melancholy. The energy of Xerneas and Yveltal both—is that not its origin? A mixture of deities with domain over such a cycle, but exposed to latter’s gift against all parties’ wills. And as it lifts into the sky, she can see it returning to the cosmos, pinkish hues barely noticeable amongst pristine whites and glacial cyan.
They fit among the stars, the constellations. Of her ancestors and ancient heroes, immortalised in the night sky for all to see. And she recalls tales passed down through generations of origins that were given their name from the heavens and skies above. Her blood celestial, and Floette’s primordial, but both blessed by the Gods above. She wonders, would their stories be accepted by those who placed others, humans and pokemon alike, in the night sky? Has their suffering been strong enough; their will befitting that of ancient stories? Or would both be rejected, for living and dying by the hands of those who tried to play god, serving a purpose in the present, on the earth, than in the heavens?
Oh, but has Xerneas not said before that they are both as beautiful as those stars she envies?
A smile tugs on the corners of her lips, gentle and joyed. How easily entertained they are, by seeing one another turn their curses into fleeting moments of happiness. Truly, if one were to say their roles now have shifted to guiding others to the light—to healing, to bettering the world, to preventing future tragedy by embodying hope—, those also privy to the scene would not object. Maybe that is why the starlight she feels upon her skin feel akin to warm, reassuring hands supporting her form, as opposed to sharpened strings forcing the young woman to stay standing. Slate blue eyes flicker from Floette to the night sky once more. Would they be entertained by the display, too? Feeling triumph in how they refuse to succumb to despair?
Regardless, one thought gnaws at the back of her mind—a single, troublesome statement capable of sowing the seeds of dread in the young woman’s heart:
Even if it did, they will never be part of it.
