Starry night

I hate the stars, they lied to me. I used to listen to their whispers, make them surrender their secrets, sit in the dark until my feet went numb and my eyes could focus enough to see their colors, their true colors. I used to call them by name, T’chagha; the eye of the lion-serpent, Ghothonothoa; the beheaded king, Cghudhweillough; the iron worm, their unholy names still resound in my ears even after I tore them off.
That’s why I spend my days in my cave, to avoid the damned skies, to stop feeling the lipless smiles of the stars and their dreadful gaze of a million eyes.

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