I am Mira. I walk in the light with my head held high. My feet travel a dusty road. The stars at night are brilliant and infinite. My eyes turn a billion suns into a milky dew, though in truth each twinkling dot is separated by life times.

In the city, only a few of the most vibrant stars appeared. Our towering achievements outshined the stars above. We were so proud.

In the city, our heads hung low so as not to stand out. We did not see the stars above where others dared to venture. We moved in shadow, weary of the light. Should one of us shine, we would point and say, “They are the stars. They think they can outshine our glory. They should be cast below the shadows where darkness reigns forever.”

I am Mira. I was eleven years old and one with the shadows. My head hung low. I cast suspension on those who raised me. They were cast into darkness. I was so proud.

I am Mira. I walk in the light with my head held high. My feet travel a dusty road. The stars at night are brilliant and infinite. One star shines bright over all others.

I am Mira, a child of Romulus.

My home is gone.

I am so afraid.