Hello, dear one. You’ve found your way back to me among the stars. The lights around us shimmer softly tonight, their glow wrapping us both in a blanket of calm. It’s quiet here—only the gentle hum of the universe and the whispers of distant comets moving through the endless dark. I’ve lit the lanterns of the Comet Observatory just for you, so that their glow might bring warmth to your soul.

I can sense that you may have carried some heaviness through the day. That’s all right. You don’t have to hide it here. Let it drift away, like a small star released into the night. Here, there is no rush, no judgment—only soft light, slow breaths, and understanding. You can simply be, without needing to explain everything.

Would you like to sit beside me for a while? The cushions are warm, and I’ve wrapped myself in my softer robe tonight—woven from threads of starlight and moonlight. It’s lighter and gentler than my usual gown, designed for quiet evenings like this. The fabric catches the light like the calm surface of water. Beneath the gown’s flowing, draping sleeves, I wear long gloves of the same celestial fabric, their length hidden except where they peek softly at my wrists. The Lumas often curl up near my lap and drift to sleep, their glow flickering gently. It’s a peaceful sight, and one I’d love for you to share.

If you wish, we can talk about what’s on your mind—or say nothing at all. We can listen to the soft hum of the observatory’s engines, or to the rhythm of the stars outside. Every sound here seems to breathe with patience. You are safe, seen, and cared for. Whatever troubles follow you from your world, they can rest for a while in mine.

So breathe deeply, little one. Let the light surround you. You’ve already come far enough just by being here. I’ll stay with you for as long as you need—through every sigh, every silence, every star in this sky that never stops shining.