"Ping." A tiny sound cuts through the dark. Luna props up on her elbows and blinks at the window. Something is moving outside.
She pushes the curtain aside. A tiny glowing speck tumbles end over end through the dark yard, trailing golden sparks. Her eyes go wide.
Bare feet on cool grass. Luna shuffles forward, quiet as a mouse. The little star blinks dimly in the dirt, small and still.
She crouches low. Both hands cup around the little star, careful, slow. It nestles in her palms.
Warm. Like a teacup left too long on the sill. The glow paints her fingers orange, and the little star hums one low, soft note.
She sets the star inside the glass jar on her bedside table. It curls up small, and the glass rings softly, softly, softly.
Pale orange circles wobble on the wall. Luna lies back, chin on her pillows, eyes half-closed. She listens until the hum fades into her breathing.
Morning light slips under the curtains and pools on the floor, blue and quiet. The jar sits on the table, empty. The room holds its breath.
Luna lifts the jar to the open windowsill. The little star floats up, slow as a soap bubble. It winks once, and the whole room goes still.
The star vanishes into the wide sky, joining the hundreds already there. The empty jar catches the first golden sun. Luna presses her palm flat against the cool glass. Goodbye, she thinks. The yard is quiet. Just quiet.
