Painting the Stars

I stood in the middle of an emerald sea, an ocean of grass. Across the plain individual blades of bright green scythed upwards then fell with the fickle changes of the wind.

She came to stand beside me, drifting like a wildfire over the flattened pasture. Her hair was bright, beautiful enough that it set my heart alight. She was one to be impressed, without making it seem that she was anything less than a colossus compared to me.

“Let me show you something.” I said, my voice hoarse and false beside her beauty.

I lifted my quill towards the darkening sky and began to paint. One by one, like grains of sand alighting on the shore, tiny pinpricks of light appeared above my brush. Starlight illuminated a new world in the sky, one of wonder and opportunities too many to count.

But there was a frown working across her face, ruining the wonderful awe it had previously held. It was like a stroke of red paint across a finely crafted portrait.

“What should I paint instead?” I asked.

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