Beneath the Velvet Sky

The stars had returned.

For the first time in nearly a month, the sky above Ash wick Valley shimmered with a quiet elegance. The velvet canopy, once swallowed by endless clouds and thunderstorms, stretched clear and proud, pierced by a thousand constellations. Beneath that radiant sky, nestled in the crook of the hills, stood a lonely cottage—its windows aglow with soft amber light, the scent of jasmine tea curling from its chimney.

Marla Whitlock sat alone on the porch swing, her wool shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. The cup in her hands had long gone cold, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were fixed upward, tracing Orion's belt with a reverence that was almost religious.

"It’s you again," she whispered, more to the sky than to herself.

The stars had always reminded her of Elliot. He’d loved the night, the silence, the slow, deliberate rhythm of twilight turning into darkness. When they were younger—before the sickness, before the war, before the silence—he would take her by the hand and lead her out to the old pine tree at the edge of the hill. There, they'd lie on a quilt and speak in constellations.

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he’d say, pointing with a confident finger. “Queen of the sky.”

“And you,” she would answer, “are my king of it.”

But Elliot had vanished beneath the velvet sky one night, two years ago, when the valley was swallowed by fog and whispers. No body. No note. Just a single footprint by the pine tree, half-faded by morning dew.

Most of the town had moved on. People disappear, they said. It’s nature’s way of pruning. But Marla didn’t believe nature was cruel. Not like that. She believed in something else. A calling, maybe. Or magic. Or madness. Sometimes those three wore the same face.

The wind picked up slightly, carrying with it a sound that made her sit up. Music?

She stood, setting the cup down on the porch railing, and stepped off the wooden planks into the dew-soaked grass. The melody drifted faintly across the field—soft, like a lullaby played on an old piano, weaving through the trees like mist.

The pine tree.

She didn't run—running would break the spell—but she walked briskly, her boots silent on the earth. The field shimmered silver under the starlight. Her breath caught in her throat when she reached the hilltop. The old pine tree stood exactly where it always had, its silhouette sharp against the night sky.

But something was different.

A light. Pale, flickering, like a flame made of moonlight, hovered just beyond the trunk. And beneath it, a figure—tall, slender, familiar.

“Elliot?” Her voice cracked like a dry twig.

The figure didn’t move for a long moment. Then slowly, it turned.

His face hadn’t aged. His hair was the same tousled mess it had always been. The same laugh lines crinkled around his eyes, and when he smiled, it was as if time had folded in on itself.

“I knew you’d still look up,” he said.

Marla’s legs gave out, and she sank to her knees in the grass. Tears rushed down her cheeks. “You… You’re alive?”

He stepped closer, and with every step, the stars seemed to shine brighter.

“I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the right word,” he said, crouching before her. “But I’m here.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling. He caught her hand gently, warmth seeping into her skin. Real. Solid.

“But where have you been? Everyone thought you were dead. I thought—”

“I crossed over,” he said simply. “There’s a place, just past the veil of this world. I don’t know how to explain it… but it’s beautiful. And quiet. But lonely.” He looked down, then up at her again. “And I missed you.”

The air around them shimmered faintly, like the moment before a snowfall.

“I don’t understand. Why now?”

“The stars aligned,” he said. “Literally. It’s rare. Only happens once every few decades. I had one night.”

“One night?” Her voice broke.

He nodded. “To see you. To remind you that I never left. Not really.”

They sat together under the old pine tree, as they had done so many times before. They spoke little—words seemed too small. Instead, they watched the stars in silence, their hands interlocked, time pausing to honor the moment.

Eventually, the sky began to pale with the first hint of dawn.

“I don’t want to let go,” Marla whispered.

“You never have to,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be just behind the stars. Every time you look up, I’ll be there.”

The wind stirred once more. The figure of Elliot began to fade, not like smoke, but like a memory returning to its place in time.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I you.”

Then he was gone.

Marla sat beneath the pine tree as the sun crept over the hills, bathing the valley in gold. Her cheeks were wet, but she was smiling. The melody was gone, the glow had vanished, but in its place was something deeper. A knowing. A peace.

She stood, brushed off her skirt, and turned back toward the cottage. Behind her, the velvet sky lingered a moment longer before surrendering to the light.

But the stars would return.

And so would he.