My mother told me not to look at the stars.

We lived in a town that no one will ever use as a synonym for a well-known landmark. It was a setting that had a low population. Houses were spread out, creating the illusion that the small town which we dwelled in stretched farther than we could comprehend, if only because the closest neighbors were more than a mile away. There was always a silence in the air that no one had a desire to break.

In our town, the sky was always cloaked with a blanket of clouds. There was no exception: the spring was as dark as it was rainy; during the summer, the sun felt like a light someone had thrown a blanket over; the fog of fall loomed like a shadow, and the snow that fell during the winter only seemed to stop when it gave way to splattering against the roads as water. At night, the moon was a muted glow.

The only stars I saw were in movies, and I never felt like I was being cheated. All they appeared to be were dots in the sky. I loved the way the clouds swirled together, performing a never-ending ballet. They didn’t need stars to be beautiful.

Even though I had never seen a star, I was told that they break promises. Stars, my mother explained to me once while she made dinner and I sat on the counter, don’t hold regard for your wishes and hopes. They also encourage people to be foolish, and the dots in the sky won’t help you fix whatever damage your actions have caused.

She didn’t say this with malice in her voice. The words she spoke were saturated with sympathy. After dinner, she read to me before I fell asleep, like every other night. I fell asleep that night having learned something- stars are not kind.

I was content with the life I lived. The dull colors of town and lack of interaction made it that much easier to get lost in my thoughts, creating worlds of my own. I also threw myself into books, becoming enthralled by their plots and characters.  A better statement to make would be that I was content with the life I wasn’t living.

Then I was changed by a dream I never intended to have.

In the dream, I was sitting on the roof. The darkness of the sky indicated that it was nighttime. I was staring at the sky, not seeing anything other than the clouds that were always rolling by.

A wolf appeared at my side. His coat was ashy gray, like a blanket of snow covered in the cinders of a fire.

“Lovely stars tonight.” he murmured without moving his mouth.

I wasn’t surprised by his sudden presence.

“I can’t see them.” I replied, turning to look at him.

The wolf didn’t glance at me when he spoke next.

“I will pull back the clouds for you when the third leaf falls from your tree.” I did not need to ask to know that the tree he was referring to was the one in our backyard that I had worshiped as a child, reading under the cover of its foliage and climbing its limbs.

His eyes shined with great intensity. The spark his orbs held was intriguing; I felt like I was falling into his presence just when he turned to look at me, and I woke to the quiet of my bedroom.

The dream took place in the spring.

Its aftermath ripped the balance of my life apart.

The change was like a well-orchestrated crescendo- so gradual, I hardly noticed until everything was wrong.

I was filled with a curiosity that had only come to exist when school was in session. Something was clawing the inside of my chest, relentlessly trying to break free. To call it hunger would be humbling; I was ravenous to know what the stars held.

As soon as I began wondering, my mother stopped talking. Her voice was whittled away, and eventually there was no voice left to use. She no longer spoke, but she still smiled at me.

The surroundings I had grown up in were suddenly new and terrifying. The silence, which I had thought so comforting, was sharp like a knife. Even the clouds above became smothering.

That summer was filled with nights of questioning sanity. As the weather got warmer I slid down into madness. In my isolation, all I had to cling to was the wolf’s promise.

Mercifully, the summer left, taking three leaves with it.

When the night came, I crawled out onto the roof, standing rapidly and jutting my chin upwards, desperate to see what had alluded me for so long.

The wolf kept his promise. The sky was clear that night, so pure I could drink from it.

There they were. Scattered about, spots of white dotted the sky.

They were more than beautiful.

Seeing those lovely stars, I could finally breathe. Each breath filled my chest, cool and fresh as snow. I was unraveling underneath the stars’ pale ribbons of light.

I slowly rotated, trying to see every star. My feet tried to keep up with my curiosity, trying to regain their footing before I moved again.

Then, there was no surface I was standing on.

The rushing wind soared into my ears. I was falling in the most delightful way; my limbs were weightless. I was no longer hollow. The night had given me what I had been deprived of.

And when my neck snapped, all I could see were the stars.