Alone, finally, on the balcony, Sunday lets out a quiet breath. It's still a little unsettling, to find himself ignored by the people of the Dreamscape, but Robin's technique has worked well for him. He was able to sneak away for just this moment. He'll have to thank her the next time he writes.

He pulls the handheld telescope from the folds of his mother's skirt. It's nothing impressive, little more than a children's toy. When he and Robin were children, its circumference scarcely fit into their hands, but now he loops his fingers around the cool metal with ease.

The first notes of Robin's song brush against his ears. The stars are about to fall. Sunday raises his eyes to the telescope.

The Dreamscape stars aren't quite like "real" ones. The stars out in the "real world" are much farther away; it would be impossible to pick out the detail in them from such an amateur telescope. But the stars of the Dreamscape are close at hand, and through that tiny lens he can pick out the threads of memoria woven through each fallen star. He painstakingly tracks a single star through its descending arc, watching through the telescope until the memoria collides with the ground and dissolves into sparks. Even after the star is no longer visible, he finds himself clinging to the telescope grown hot beneath his grip.

This is my last goodbye. I won't come back here anymore, Robin.