From time to time a star will fall from the heavens, an unusual occurrence but not altogether unheard of. Fallen stars are unfortunate little things. Left without the protection of the sky, they are destined to be devoured by denizens of the night that come out to hunt when Danaan's light dips beyond the horizon.
In this particular case however, a fallen star was discovered in a farmer's field by a child drawn to its cries. Knowing nothing of the ways of the world or the dangers of her actions, she gathered the wayward star and took it home to sooth its sorrow.
Carrying a satchel filled with soft fabrics fashioned around her shoulder, the child arrived at Glioca's temple the next day. I had been musing with the priest on duty, a very old and dear friend of mine, when our visitor announced her intentions without prompting.
"Surly Glioca can return it to its place in the sky," she said to him with expectant, tear filled eyes.
My old friend smiled with a sage wisdom and turned to me, motioning toward the open satchel the child was presenting with arms stretched high. I shook my head, knowing the fate of the celestial was to expend its last light and fade from this plane -- unless twisted forces were drawn to absorb the power first.
"My child," he said, only in a thick and nearly indecipherable accent, "This is a test given to you by Glioca. Care for this lost creature as if it were your own and it may yet find its way back to the sky when the night is brightest."
As if she understood she was given an important mission, the child marched off with a head full of purpose. I questioned my friend, cautioning him that he had sentenced the girl to a dangerous and impossible geas. His reply was simply, "The answer to the unthinkable is faith."
And so then it was that every day the child would stand atop her family's home with the star in her hands held aloft. Allowing it to soak in the light of the sun. Then every night she would soothe its endless crying like an attentive parent of an infant until dawn broke on a new day.
On the night of the full moon in the week of Glioca when the sky was ablaze with the shining of the moon, the child again arrived at the temple. On that holy evening, the congregation was waiting for my priest friend to speak. For his part he remained motionless perched against the temple statue until he saw the child walking down the aisle. Her skin had been seared unearthly crimson by the elements and her hair was torched white by exposure of constant light.
As before, she approached opening her satchel and thrust it up to our attention. In contrast to the weak and pitiful being she had shown us before, the star shined bright and strong. It blazed with iridescent light that filled every corner of the temple. The priest nodded and then reached down, turning the child around to face the congregation.
The light that had filled the temple started to bend and reflect toward a singular spot of the aisle. In that location an avatar of Glioca materialized. Flowing robes of otherworldly purple adorned the fair skinned, transcendent goddess of compassion.
The younger Aislings in the temple not used to such omens supplicated themselves in reverence but the child stood steadfast. She took the star from its satchel and held it up toward the image of the goddess. Free of its shelter, the star's output was nearly blinding as it pulsed with renewed energy.
Glioca's avatar stepped forward, taking the star in its hand with a gentle caress and a serene survey. With a flick of her wrist, the star shot up and through the temple ceiling accompanied by what I imagine must be the sound heard inside a bolt of lightning.
Unaffected by the sound that sent the rest of us reeling, the child stood looking toward the last location of the star before it disappeared through the unharmed temple roof. Now without the celestial being, the residual light in the temple was starting to dissipate and with it Glioca's image was beginning to fade. Looking down at the child, the avatar held out its hand; without hesitation the girl rushed forward and grabbed ahold of the goddess' waist with both arms. Glioca's image looked to my friend with appreciation. In a moment more both the girl and the goddess were gone.
By the accounts of the library's skywatchers, two stars appeared in the sky that night. One that had been missing for many days and another never before witnessed star that appeared just beside it.
The acolytes the priest had tasked with protecting the homestead of the girl through this time reported seeing Glioca's avatar appear to the family outside the home. What the goddess said to them no one but them ever knew, but to this day the descendants of that family bring an offering to Glioca's temple every spring in the little girl's name.
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