The pale moonlight of France beamed down from the sky, coating the building in its lighting. The stars were few, though each one housed a dream within it; a condensation of hope.

Vanitas’s eyes gazed upwards at the skies as he sat upon a particularly tall rooftop, and even though the stars had lit up the darkness, they had not left their glint within his eyes. For once, he had dropped his facade of playfulness and energy. Underneath it was… sorrow.

Flecks of stardust were not enough to brighten his darkened gaze.