The Star-born Moths

Long before the making of our world there was a star, one of the first daughters of Creation. She was far from her brothers and sisters in the sky, and quite alone. She desired to know what lay beyond her sight, out in the great blackness. And so she took from her heart a shining white ore, and breaking it down into a glowing powder she formed it into clay. From this clay she made small beings, giving them luminous white wings, and large eyes and antennae to see in the dark between stars. Out into the velvet of infinity they flew, carrying knowledge of the universe back to her across the sky.

We call these creatures moths, but we will never know their first, true name, as it was given by their mother in a language only they remember.

A time came when the star felt something change, a tug in her center, as if her very self had begun to pull inward. She was old, one of the oldest things in the universe. She had never seen death herself, but her moths had told her of other stars collapsing, dying. Often nurseries of life formed in their wake, new things made from the debris of the old. But, sometimes, deep black places that even light could not escape were the only thing that remained.

She worried for her moths, her beautiful creation. They had served her so well, been her only companions. What would they do without her? What other star would love them as much?

Would they be destroyed when she met her end?

The star sent her most trusted moths outward into the dark, farther than they had ever gone, to search for an answer. Soon they brought her word of Earth; it was a new kind of creation they had never seen, a beautiful place of blues and greens, air and water, and nurtured by another friendly star. She knew her children would be safe there, would thrive and become something new.

And so she gathered all of her beloved moths and told them the truth of what would happen; she as they knew her would be gone soon, leaving them alone in the sky. But there was a new place for them, a new kind of life. It filled the moths with sorrow to leave her side, but they swore to remember their shining mother, to always remember the language of the stars, and to find a new purpose for themselves.

Those first moths landed in what we call today the state of Maine. The land looked very different then, filled with things we would not have names for today. It was there, deep in the lap of that early forest, that they built Umoth, the First City of Stardust.

They had deep magic, those first moths, a gift from their star, and with it they carved into the side of a mountain, creating hollows in moss and wood and rock. Umoth is a great tiered city hidden by twining vines and fed by a vast network of tiny silver streams. To most human eyes it would be invisible, so cunningly is it constructed. Only those who truly love the stars have a chance of ever seeing a glimmer of that ancient seat of Mothish power.

On the first full moon after the completion of Umoth, the moths gathered on its hollow terraces to decide what their purpose in this new place would be. The distant stars in the night sky reminded them of their promise. It was decided that they would help the earth thrive; they would fly under moonlight, teaching star-songs to the plant beings they shared the land with. They would use their magic to wake up the flowers, help them multiply and spread and bear fruit across the earth.

In this way the moths evolved alongside the plants. They took on new shapes according to their purpose and needs: the brown of tree bark, the yellow eyes of a great owl. Rose-pink and sun gold, stardust coating their wings as a reminder of their making. Some came to love the moon, their wings growing large and curved like a crescent, bright as seafoam, and they took her name as their own: Luna.

And still, even today, if you pay close attention, you’ll see some who look much like those first moths, bright white and luminous as a star.