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This star wants to help, wants to console the universe. It tries, it really does. In fact, it attempts to flick tiny embers of hope to the celestials, but the offerings fizzle out before they reach their destinations.

It’s too much. There’s just too many of them.

This star balances the darkness like a weight, fighting to hold itself up. It releases droplets of translucent light, which leak and drizzle into the galaxy.

Maybe one day it will know how to swim in the sky. Until then, this glimmering asterisk cries while none of its neighbors are watching.

But someone is watching.

Far below, the Guide of Sorrow gazes at the dot overhead. The lone mentor gulps, because he understands. And so, rather than wait for the Court to arrive and give permission—they will surely approve later, once they’ve ceased fawning over that other showy star—the Guide scoops his palms into a cradle, and the star sinks, slumping wearily into the mentor’s hands.

Stroking the newly birthed deity, the Guide whispers, “Shh. Everything will be all right.”

***

Envy

He grins at himself in the mirror, blows himself a youthful kiss, and purrs, “Good morning, handsome.”

***

Sorrow

She flops onto her little stomach, and mashes her small face into a pillow, and groans until she falls back asleep.

***

Envy

When it’s time to craft his arrows, he chooses glass. It wields his reflection, doting on him, as anyone should.

***

Sorrow

She chooses ice. It’s a numbing element, a protective barrier against pain, so that when her time comes to serve the mortal realm, each pierce of her weapon will soothe an ache—or cause one, depending on what’s needed.

By then, she will know the difference.

***

Envy

Despite his scant years, he’s the only pupil whose feet reach the ground from his chair. Even if his voice hasn’t broken yet, and he has to crane his head to stare at the monarchs, at least his height is an achievement.

In a misted enclave of waterfalls, Envy sits with four other children while the Fate Court parades around them. The sovereigns proclaim that he’s been assigned to the most elite and promising class of archers in existence.

Excellent. Envy likes the sound of this. The best of the best. The top of the archer chain, etcetera, etcetera. He won’t have to compare himself to anyone, except to his classmates.

There’s Wonder, who’s a buxom Venus. Plush, perky, and pretty. She wears wildflowers in her blonde hair. She has a wandering gaze, her attention drifting to the clouds instead of Envy’s face.

Too bad. He’ll have to rectify that later.

There’s Anger, with his cliffside cheekbones, olive skin, and graphite eyes. Short fuse, for sure. With his nostrils flaring like a gale, Anger’s a thrashing, raging sort of handsome. Though his wool tunic leaves something to be desired, which inspires Envy to smooth over his silken shirt. If that turbulent archer gets to claim the coveted title of class leader, at least Envy can dress better.

Love is a raven wearing a mischievous white dress encrusted with appliqués at the bodice. She represents the most complex of emotions, and because of that, she’s the first love goddess to be successfully created by the Fates in history.

And then there’s the banshee seated to Envy’s right. The one called Sorrow.