Fate.

On her boat, she paddled slowly, drifting toward a cluster of stars, choosing only what was necessary for that night.

She guided the boat as close as she could to the tree and reached up, pulling the nearest star free with one hand. The boat rocked gently as she plucked another and placed it into a jar. Each time a star was taken, the invisible tree of light from which they hung revealed itself for a brief second.

Rays of light flared where the star had been, sketching the tree in the darkness before dimming back into the night.

Thirteen stars were required—never from the same cluster. If she took too many from one place, the tree would spoil and bear no more. Timing mattered as much as restraint.

When she had gathered the last star, she whispered words in an ancient language, and the boat sank silently into the darkness.

Her hair drifted around her as if she were underwater. Still holding the jar, she entered freefall—plummeting back toward the earth.

Just before her feet touched the ground, another whisper escaped her lips. The force of the fall met a rising wave of dirt that burst outward as only the tips of her toes brushed the surface.

More words followed. The ground folded inward, opening into a staircase.

Before descending, she spoke again, and her index finger ignited with flame, casting light down the steps. At the bottom stood a white door, its surface engraved with more of the same ancient words.

The fire receded, and beneath her skin, a key began to form—pressing outward from her fingertip, shaping itself from bone and flesh.

A keyhole that had not existed moments before opened as her finger approached. She twisted the key three times. Her skin twisted with it.

“I hate this part,” she muttered—and snapped the key from her finger.

The keyhole swallowed it whole. A doorknob bloomed beneath the scar and solidified.

She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. From the other side came the soft sound of earth rearranging itself, the staircase erasing all trace of her passage.

She sat behind the desk and studied the screens before her.

Two subjects caught her attention.

The first looked directly into the camera and said, “Thank you.” She startled slightly.

She adjusted a few dials and pulled a lever. A song began to play: Can we just talk?

In his mind, he answered, Yeah, I’d love to—but I don’t know who you are. Just give me a sign.

“Interesting,” she murmured, moving on.

She focused on the second subject and spoke aloud:

“You. Only the people closest to you believe the façade you’ve built. Out here, everyone knows who you are. Soon, they’ll see it too—your real face.”

On the wall behind her, a cottage-style plank hung from a single nail. Burned into the wood were the words:

Fate behaves as she pleases.

“Don’t forget that,” she said, smiling.

She lifted the jar of freshly harvested stars and fed them into the machine one by one. Then she pressed two buttons, pulled a massive lever, and leaned back in her chair to watch the monitors.