Vincent kept running through the dark alleyway. Every lamp along the path had died years ago, leaving the whole stretch swallowed by shadows, a forgotten piece of the city that barely breathed.
Yet when he looked up, the sky opened like a quiet gift. The milky way stretched above him, a slow river of starlight that softened the darkness and pulled at old memories.
He had stared at this same sky with his mother before the world broke apart.
He had stared at it with Lucien too, sharing one tiny telescope between them as children, pointing at constellations they could never pronounce right.
Both figures were gone from his life now. His mother was buried, and while Lucien still walked the earth, Vincent had carved their bond apart with his own hands.
He was alone, and the weight of it pressed on him, yet somehow he could breathe more freely.
Maybe this was what it felt like to run away from home and know you would never return.
