Lumina sits on the tip of a tall blade of grass. The sun hides behind the trees. The meadow turns purple.
Under the clover leaf, she touches her tiny little light. Tap. Tap. Tap. Nothing to see.
A big owl drops onto a low branch. The grass crunches. Lumina presses her wings tight to her back.
"Little one, do you think the sun is your rival?" the owl says, with a voice like dry leaves.
The owl ruffles its feathers. "Darkness is your stage."
Lumina blinks. She taps her tiny light again, more softly. A green-blue dot appears.
Beneath the leaf, ten tiny bodies stir. A family of moths, sleeping.
Lumina lifts her wings and glows, bright, right above the moths. The mother yawns. She stretches.
Patches of pale silver catch the light. The family rises from the leaf. Spin, spin, spin.
The moths spiral up. Hush-hush, soft. Lumina glows still and looks at them, not at the sky.
