Chapter 87: Dripping Stars and Ruby Suns
Chapter 87: Dripping Stars and Ruby Suns
The gold leaf curled just right this time.
My fingers hovered above the drawing, a smudge of graphite staining the side of my palm. I pressed gently with my thumb and lifted — perfect. The swan's wing arched like a brushstroke, feathers unfurling in gold.
"Capilli undantes, color autumnalis," ("Flowing hair, the color of autumn…"), I whispered aloud again, just because the words tasted nice. They tasted like her. My Ina. My muse.
*****
Capilli undantes, color autumnalis…
Etiamsi aliquando discedas, te amabo per saecula.
Sol meus. Luna mea. Omne quod movetur.
Tu es silentium inter pulsus,
Spiritus quo nascuntur stellae meae.
Quisque tuus aspectus sidera pingit—
Tabulae quas oculis clausis sequor.
Manus tuae umbras relinquunt in cute mea,
Sicut atramentum quod delere nolo.
Et vox tua—vox tua—
Est sola incantatio cui umquam credidi.
Cum spiraveris, audiunt galaxiae.
Cum riseris, caelum mollitur.
Etiam dolor dulcis fit, si tibi pertinet.
Etiam silentium fit musica prope te.
Si crescere debeo, sit ad te—
Ut vitis ad calorem tendens, quem attingere nequit.
Si evanueris, amor meus resonet
In spatio quod lumen tuum olim implebat.
Nam si nomen tuum ab historia oblivione deletur,
Ego illud scribam secreto:
In annulis,
In fibulis latentibus,
Inter verba quae tacite servo.
Tu, Ina,
Tu es quaestio quam anima mea semper quaerit.
Et responsum est semper:
Ita.
"Flowing hair, the color of autumn…"
Even if you walk away one day, I will love you across lifetimes.
My sun. My moon. My everything that moves.
You are the silence between heartbeats,
The breath where my stars are born.
Each glance you give draws constellations —
Maps I follow with my eyes closed.
Your hands leave shadows on my skin,
Like ink I never want to erase.
And your voice — your voice —
Is the only spell I ever believed in.
When you breathe, galaxies listen.
When you laugh, the sky softens.
Even sorrow becomes sweet when it belongs to you.
Even silence becomes music beside you.
If I must grow, let it be toward you —
Like vines stretching toward a warmth they'll never touch.
If you disappear, let my love echo
In the space your light once filled.
Because even if your name is forgotten by history,
I will write it in secret:
Inside rings,
In the hinges of pins,
Between every line I never speak aloud.
You, Ina,
You are the question my soul keeps asking.
And the answer is always:
Yes.
*****
Sunlight poured across the long table in the sunroom, pooling across my sketchpad like spilled warmth. I was alone for the moment — Mére had gone to fetch tea — and in that stillness, my thoughts bloomed into stars.
I added another note on the margin of the page:
"Ruby: Central sun. Deep red. Not garnet — it must gleam like her pulse. Black diamond moons, cradling either side. Pink diamond for the swan eyes. Emerald flickers among the stars. Moving hinge here — like bells that don't chime."
I circled the hinge again. I wanted it secret. Hidden like a promise, like the way Ina sometimes smiled just for me when no one else was looking. When the stars dangled and moved as she walked, it would be like the universe bowed.
The door clicked open.
"There you are," Mére's voice said, amused. "You know it's nearly time for lunch?"
I didn't look up. "Almost done."
She padded over, heels soft on the carpet, and bent behind me. Her perfume smelled like violets and cinnamon. When she spoke again, her voice lowered with interest.
"…Is that what I think it is?"
I slid the sketch toward her like a secret.
"It's the hair ornament," I said. "For Ina. To match her other jewelry. But this one's different. It's meant for her birthday next year, or maybe… maybe for when she wins something important or a normal gift."
Vivienne lowered into the chair beside mine. Her breath caught.
"Oh, Eva."
I turned, lips pursed. "What?"
She stared at the drawing, then at me. "You designed this? Every hinge, every claw setting?"
I nodded. "I want it to feel like a poem she can wear. Like everything I can't say all at once."
Mére was silent for a long moment. Her eyes weren't misty — Mére didn't cry like Maman did — but something softened behind them.
"Eva," she murmured, "this isn't a trinket. It's a masterwork."
I glanced down at it, heart fluttering. "It's Ina's. Not for anyone else."
Before she could say more, we heard footsteps in the hallway.
Maman.
She walked in with a stack of correspondence in one arm and her phone in the other. "Vivi, they're asking about the M••••• property again. I told them —"
Then she saw the table.
Saw me.
Saw the drawing.
She blinked.
"What's this?"
Mére stood, crossing her arms and giving a little sideways smirk. "Eva's new design. She made another piece for Seraphina."
Maman arched a brow. "Another?"
Mére passed her the sketch. "Not just any piece. Look at it."
Maman took the drawing and scanned it slowly. Her eyes moved across the stars dripping like icicles, the sun cast in ruby, the twin crescent moons dark as ink. The swans. The constellation shimmer. The hinge note.
She said nothing for several seconds.
Then, finally: "She designed this?"
"I did," I piped up. "It's for when she wears her hair up. So everyone sees it. The stars will move when she walks. It'll shimmer. Like a secret galaxy. But you have to promise — no one else can have it. No copies."
Maman set the paper down.
She crouched beside me — something she rarely did anymore — and cupped my chin in her hand. Her eyes searched mine the way she always did when she was about to ask a question I'd already answered with my heart.
"Why this design?" she asked softly.
I thought a moment. Then I said:
"Because Ina is the only thing that stays. Even when Mére travels, or you're busy, or papa somewhere across the ocean. Even when I'm sad or angry or pretending to be brave. She's always… her. She's my only constant. So I want her to wear something that moves when she does. That catches light. That says she matters."
Maman stared at me for a long time.
Then she stood and walked to the window, staring out into the garden. I thought maybe she was going to be angry. Maybe it was too much. Maybe six - year - olds weren't supposed to love people like this. Not in the way that made you design hinge - locked suns and feathered swans and galaxies behind someone's ear.
But when she turned, her voice was soft.
"We'll need a jeweler," she said. "Let's call Monsieur Albin"
I blinked. "What?"
"A hinge that small won't hold long-term unless we work with someone who knows how to set motion stones. We'll need micro-pivot tech. And precision - laser faceting."
Mére laughed. "And you said I was the sentimental one."
"I'm being practical," Maman muttered. "This… This thing has to last."
They were quiet then. The room buzzed with golden light and something thick like feeling.
Finally, Mère bent down and tapped my nose.
"We'll make it exactly as you dreamed, little one."
"And better," Maman added.
I looked at both of them.
"Can you keep it a secret? Until I'm ready to give it to her?"
They nodded.
"Always," Mére said.
Later that week, the jeweler Monsieur Albin arrive.
"I've heard of the sun-and-moon set," he said in awe. "But this…"
He examined the sketch with reverence, tracing the sun with his gloved finger. "White diamond icicles, you say? And a ruby center… But not pigeon-blood. More vivid. Like flame in water."
I nodded. "Yes. And the swans. Gold. With pink diamond eyes."
He stared at me like I was something unreal. "And this hinge—do you mean for the stars to sway? In actual movement?"
"Yes," I said. "But soft. Not jangly. Like wind chimes in a dream."
He put his hand to his heart.
"Miss Ainsley… may I display this in the archive one day, even if it's never for sale?"
"No," I said. "It's only hers. Not the world's."
He bowed his head. "Then we shall make it perfect."
At night, I stared out the window of my bedroom, watching stars bloom across the velvet sky.
Somewhere out there, Ina was probably reading. Or writing. Or brushing her hair back with slow fingers. I wondered if she knew how loved she was. If she could feel the way her name curled inside my chest.
I whispered into the dark:
"Capilli undantes, color autumnalis…
Even if you walk away one day, I will love you across lifetimes.
My sun. My moon. My everything that moves."
And I pressed the sketchbook close to my chest like a vow.
Because when the day came —
When she turned her head, and the hairpin shimmered in the light —
I wanted the world to know she was loved with the kind of love that builds stars.
And watches them move.
Just to follow her.