The Meadow of Constellations - Short Story - 2025

Once upon a time, when the starlight still touched the land, a little girl laughed and the flowers replied with a song.

“Rejoice, rejoice, the princess claims her kingdom!”

When a queen’s heir first makes a sound, the universe cups her hands and lets the child feel. Everyone gathered around: the fairies, the bunnies, the trees. The starlight shimmered, the moonlight gleamed, and the river flowed with a soothing melody.

“I present to you,” said the herald, “Princess Aria of the Meadows.”

Around the herald and the little princess, each creature held a gift. Yet, these were not for Princess Aria, but for her kingdom. A group of squirrels had a collection of acorns to scatter around the dirt. “So the Meadow never gets hungry,” said one of the squirrels, bowing down and curling his tail.

One by one, groups of creatures made their way to the front of the line to feed the land and bless Princess Aria. The water fairies gave the blessing of frequent rainfall, the ladybugs gave luck, and even old Mr. Burnam—the stone-faced groundhog—gifted stability.

“I’m only doing this because I have to,” he said. “Gifts are supposed to be a generous thing, not a promised thing.” Away the old groundhog hobbled. Creatures turned to each other and only grinned. No one expected anything less from Mr. Burnam. 

The last gift was given by Aria’s mother. “I, Queen Sierra of the Night Sky, gift Princess Aria’s Meadow the blessing of connectivity. The stars are my words, the moon is my heart. May the Meadow never learn loneliness.”

With this, the creatures applauded and cheered with the breeze. The herald returned Aria to the Queen, and with a kiss to the forehead, Princess Aria closed her eyes and dreamed of mystical lands that had moving metal and water that wasn’t swimmable. Sierra watched her daughter, her heart full, and she finally felt comfort in the gifts to the Meadow. Her little Aria’s Meadow.

Seven Years Later

One night, when only a few hours before, the air was thick and sticky, the stars forgot to shimmer. Princess Aria slept on the edge of her bed, shivering as her hair pooled around her face. The warmth from the color of her hair was not enough, the soft glow of red was nothing against the absence. The sky seemed so much darker. So cold.

“Don’t worry dear,” her mother said, “the clouds will kiss the grass with morning dew, and your stars will be back sooner than you could dream of them.” She pressed her cold lips to Aria’s forehead and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Mama, the dark is scary.”

Queen Sierra tucked in the quilt covered in messy stitches made by her own mother, the previous reigning queen: Queen Gwenyth of the Trees. “When I felt the night too deeply, I always looked for a friend.” She stood and walked softly across the creaking floor and gazed out the window. “My Aria of the Meadows, hidden between your dandelions, wildflowers, and tulips, lives constellations of fireflies.”

“You mean I have my own night sky?”

Sierra motioned with her hand, beckoning Aria out of bed. “Of course, my dear. You deserve nothing less.” She hummed a beautiful yet mournful melody. One by one, light sprouted from the flowers and tall grasses. They mimicked the stars as if they were moving stars themselves. The glow warmed the air, and it certainly stopped the shivering of Princess Aria. “You find your constellations when you feel lonely, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.” She sat in her mother’s lap in the window seat, creating a bubble of love that warded off the cold and fear of the night. Together, nothing could hurt them. Together, they ruled with laughter and peace and joy.

“Promise me.”

Aria lifted up her head from her mother’s shoulder and looked straight into eyes just like her own, “I promise.”

Eleven Years Later

Suitors lined up for the beautiful Aria on her eighteenth birthday—fairies and creatures alike—but neither man or woman, predator or prey, would ever bring her the love she desired. The queen gave the herald a look and turned, the train of her dress following her across the field. “Queen Aria dismisses this hearing. There will be no further inquiries at this time.”

Queen Aria went to the place she knew best: her Meadow. The air was growing cool and the moonlight spilled into the flowers’ mouths. In a sky with colors like peaches and raspberries, the stars were absent. It had only been a week, but she missed the beautiful pictures they drew like Crater, Ursa Major, and Hydra. Below, she blew across the dandelions and fairies grew their wings like the fragile brush of the tide over damp sand. They decorated the air with their strong wills and glowy bodies, but they were not the same as the stars.

From behind her ear, a soft, mournful hum intertwined with the breeze, and in front of Aria’s eyes, her Meadow revealed its constellations. A voice spoke behind her. “It’s only been a week since she passed and I can feel you embracing the cold, darkness. But I won’t let you.” Aria turned around, and there was old Mr. Burnam.

She strained a grin. “So you do have a soft spot in you.”

“Don’t push your luck,” grumbled the groundhog, with a softness hidden behind his words. Aria sat down as he approached her. “But I am here for you, y’know, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burnam,” Aria said, “I just really really miss her.” The constellations in front of them started shifting and sliding in front of their eyes, the cold air a slippery track for those who forgot the warmth of familial love. “Mr. Burnam?”

“Hm?”

“How’d you know about this?” she said, motioning to the fireflies in front of them.

Chuckling, he closed his eyes as images played behind his eyelids. “Y’know, your mother and I were very close.” Aria turned her head towards him. “Let me show you something.”

Mr. Burnam hummed another melody; this time, it was a bright sound. Even the crickets joined with their strings, creating an orchestral performance within the Meadow. The fireflies danced, their wings an embracive white noise, flying through the air as tangible emotions. Shadows caressed Aria’s face, over and over, and even then, her eyes glowed. Her mouth went slack, her fangular teeth peeking through, and all that happened in front of her, mimicked the love of her mother. No, not mimicked, but embodied. Grass wrapped around her fingers, the fur of Mr. Burnam brushed her arm, and there she was.

“My dear, my Aria of the Meadows,” she said with a gentle yet sad look on her face, “you forgot about the promise you made me.”

This time, Aria’s eyes did not glow from the warm light, but with the coolness of tears cresting her waterline. “Mama?”

Aria’s body shook with quiet sobs. “Shh, my darling, there is no need to cry.” The ghostly mirage that entwined with the fireflies approached the cool, meadow floor. The quiet buzz of fireflies found the tone of her mothers voice, and somehow, when they touched her knee, when Sierra touched her knee, Aria could feel the warmth of those familiar fingertips. “My love for you goes further than the space of life and death. No darkness, no absence of the stars could ever hinder my heart.” She moved her hands to cup Aria’s face. “My dear, dry your eyes. Now, let me ask you. Will you forget me? Will your heart ever stop loving me?”

A moment passed as Aria’s lips quivered. “No. Never, Mama. How could I ever?”

“Then, you will never be alone. Now that I’m in another place, my kingdom, the Night Sky, is yours along with the Meadow. As long as deep in your heart, you hold hope and love and generosity, the stars will glow and the flowers will bloom.” The late Queen Sierra gestured to Mr. Burnam. “He is one of my dearest friends. Not only is he the most wise in all the kingdoms, but also the most powerful, the most kind.”

If it weren’t for the stone-face that Mr. Burnam put up for everyone to see, all the creatures, fairies, and trees, would see someone completely and inexplicably different. Each vein, each grizzled, brown fur that protruded from the skin of the groundhog was not simply that, but a connection to each soul that ever landed within, and far beyond the kingdoms. “My queens, it is a burden to bear, but it is a great one that I carry proudly.”

“Mr. Burnam?” Aria said. “Thank you.” She looked back to her mother. “But, what does this mean?”

“It means,” he said, shifting to look Aria in the eyes, “that all that anyone has ever known and been resides in my mind. I make sure that history doesn't repeat itself. Along with this, it also means that nothing, no one, is ever truly gone.”

The eyes of Aria and Mr. Burnam stayed connected until the bright melody quieted, until the buzz of Sierra went silent. There, in the Meadow and beneath the Night Sky, Queen Aria realized that she was not alone. She felt her mother’s love all around. It streamed from the sweet smell of flowers, the fresh smell of the river, and the earthy smell of the soil. Even rainy days were full of love. The morning dew clung to the tips of grass because although they would soon evaporate, the moment was enough. They evaporated and condensed, they would soon fall again, and reunite.

The fireflies slept and so did the stars. The sunlight caressed the Meadow, Mr. Burnam, and Aria. Queen Aria, with a smile on her face, shed a tear. That day, the stars went to rest, but they would never truly leave. Sometimes the sun outshined the stars, but their time would come again and Aria knew this deep in her heart. Her mother loved her no matter what. Even death could not stop Queen Aria from existing happily ever after.

 “Goodnight, Mama.”