They hang from her ears like reluctant galaxies, their orbits suspended within a celestial stillness. Elaborate and Byzantine, they house the creatures of the zodiac and their filigreed symbols.
A gold crescent nods downwards: a hollow moon holding shards of colored glass, the shrapnel of a prism pierced by Diana's rainbow arrows. And dangling from their lunar mother are twelve glowing planets. This tiny constellation wept lustrous tears that came alive in the ambidextrous light: warmed into lavender and gray on one side, pink and silver on the other.
And when she plucked them from her ears, she set them in a velvet box the color of dusk. Its satin bed was scented with perfumes of the night flowers: lily, columbine, jasmine.
But in the morning – when the sun rose in the sky, turning it into a bronze ocean with burning shores – when she opened the box to admire her pretty twilight jewels…they were gone.