It is not without the peel of a delighted laughter, the reaction of a Star that seems neither shocked nor startled. If surprise it might be, could be, isn't, it is still with peerless joy when even affectation has not on her to make mask or merry. She brightens in her laughter, and her smile. A sound of the clearest, tinkling. Not of bells but of the light and warmth that no darkness can stand beside or swallow in entire.

"'Lass a lalaith, Lord of the Dome and the Valley," Star chooses, brilliant of brilliances.

The stars are ever hers, and she theirs, genesis seed, and with this one, has she so walked, time and again, and with promises most due. Star raised a hand through the air, delicate and graceful, not as though she touch gravity or air, but that it moved for her to make way. "Will you not rise? Stars do not ever their best when they are laid low."