Celestial Sixteen

Shortly after Pericles would make his escape from the Great Hall following the conclusion of the O.W.L. examination for Defense Against the Dark Arts, he would be met with the swooping form of a familiar barn owl. The last time it had hunted down the pale haired Eagle, it was to deliver a request for his presence at a midnight ritual. This time, it did not stop to wait for the boy to untie a note from its leg.

Instead, it primly dropped a small parcel mid-flight at his feet--or to his hands if the boy was swift enough--before continuing on its way. Wrapped in parchment paper and bound with twine, the parcel was small enough to nestle snuggly in his palm. Whatever was contained therein was obscured within the cube, but weighed no more than a yuletide ornament. Affixed to the package was a tightly rolled note sealed with gold wax. Once broken, it unfurled to read:

Dear Pericles,

It is my understanding that today is your birthday. I can not quite seem to decide whether I ought to give my condolences or express envy. That it takes place amidst the final studious rush of a given year would make it difficult to celebrate on the day, I imagine. Like today, of course. A Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. hardly seems a fair way to spend your day. But then again, perhaps that might be ideal. With such an academic obligation, the pressure to celebrate by conventional standards is lifted.

I also find it rather ironic, that today of all days, the summer solstice, when the moon's dominion is most limited, would mark the day you arrived into this world. And yet, it does seem entirely fitting, straddling the transition of the seasons from Spring to Summer. If Spring represents rebirth, and Summer heralds freedom, growth and exploration, it is as though it was by design that you would take on the role of guiding from one to the next, just as you have done for the members of the L.o.A.A. We have all been better off for it.

Myself especially, I think. My mother has always insisted that birthdays are an opportunity to reflect on the impact that an individual has had on others. How the world has been made brighter by their existence. There is no denying that mine has been. I can not, and do not particularly wish to, imagine how differently the rest of this year may have unfolded had our paths not crossed. It grieves me to consider how narrowly we all came to having to light another lantern. Perhaps this birthday is all the more significant because of that. I am glad for your continued presence.

And speaking of...I wanted to get you something to show my appreciation, though I do not know you well enough to know the sort of gifts you prefer. So I thought to take the more practical route. I can not return to you what was taken at the ball, as much as I wish I could, but neither do I think--though my opinion is hardly relevant--that you should have to hide. What is within my capacity, is to do what little I can to help you--I hope--feel whole again. To that end, I procured an ocular prosthetic, taking inspiration from the mask you wore at the ball.

May you find peace in the conclusion of this year, and may it be that you are granted many more to come.

Sincerely,
E

Once the twine was undone and the parcel itself opened, Pericles would find himself looking at small navy box, a silver crescent moon decorating the top. Hinged at the back, it opened to reveal what on first glance might appear to be a black stone. It wasn't quite perfectly spherical, but the irregularly round object was smooth to the touch, feeling almost like glass, but less dense. On closer inspection, its deep hue would give hints of indigo and deep purple, shifting depending on the angle, with the occasional subtle shimmer from within. There would be no constellations or obvious starry flecks, but it would still give off a distinctly galactical aura.

@Aly Salinger

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	It had been five years to the day since Pericles had a "real birthday". He couldn't have known, at the age of eleven, that it would be the last June 20th in which he woke up early, excited, tearing through his halls seeking presents. The birthdays since were spent at Hogwarts, where the only sign of home tended to be a lonesome parcel in the morning. True enough, his father's owl delivered a package and scroll, both tied together with silver ribbons. Pericles decidedly didn't open the broom-shaped gift at the table, ignoring the suspicious squints it earned from his former Duelling mates. Rather, he balanced it across his lap where no one would notice it, then went back to breakfast. To be more specific, he resumed shaping a lump of oatmeal into a perfect dome instead of eating it. The DADA O.W.L being less than an hour away was throttling his appetite. His eye was dulled by the telltale haze of one lost to thought, lips moving in soundless incantation repetition. It was Aly's letter which finally snapped him out of the stage-five disassociation session. Peri's brows arched while he skimmed the lines. He breathed a laugh, then smiled to himself, only to pause mid-sentence once the letter started describing her gift. Rather than read through it, he pulled back the parchment to see for himself. The cravat slid through his fingers like silk. Its stars shimmered, bringing him back to the night of their accidental matchup, to the enchanted eyes of his ball mask and Aly's nightsky gown. That faraway look crept up again as he slid a thumb along the pattern. They were different in some ways, yet astonishingly similar in others. Aly's primary love language seemed to be words of affirmation, what with the way she spoke so openly, full of honesty and ardor. Peri was a quiet type, regrettably leaving the chatty darling to sit through uncomfortable stretches of silence while he mulled matters over. He was more into acts of service, pleased to provide in abstract ways, such as hosting birthday parties. They seemed to meet in the middle with quality time. In the months since Aly encouraged him to join her as an astronomy intern, they spent a few nights in the tower, taking company with the cosmos. Their shared love for the skies served as symbolism for their friendship. Peri finished the letter, noting her invite to watch Delta Aquariids, incidentally giving him a reason to consider summer camp. Her gift stirred him out of an anxious state, summoning courage in the face of O.W.L.s. The signoff in particular turned the tips of his ears pink. He wouldn't waste time, intending to send an answer back before the exam, scrawling quick in cobalt ink. Dear Aly, No need to worry over me: I don't like having parties for myself, they're only fun when they're for a friend. I was glad to be a part of your day, and I'm glad you're here, too. My year would have panned out very differently if you hadn't come back from last summer. I'm looking forward to spending this one together. Unlike you, I don't always know what to say, but believe me when I write that a letter like this is more than enough. I count myself as unbelievably fortunate to call you a friend. The cravat is stellar, too, thank you. Was it too short? Had he said enough? Or said too much? Would she throw a book at him for the pun...? Pericles quirked a frown at the letter, subtly sweating over the signoff. He settled for "Good luck on the test," followed by a doodled pear in place of a signature, then sent it off with one of the many owls snatching letters overhead. Like a knight donning a lady's favor, Peri tucked the cravat into his collar, finally finding the will to stomach his food.
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@Evelynn Decipio

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	The O.W.L, while nerve-wracking, was less formidable than Pericles imagined. He left the examination room with his head held higher than when he'd gone in. Perhaps that was how he spied Janus swooping towards him, and when the parcel plummeted, he managed to snatch it from midair. Between the barn owl and gold wax, he pinned its sender. Peri chose to treat himself to its contents once he was back in his dorm, excited though he was, pocketing the package before tackling the many steps to Ravenclaw Tower. He would wait to break the seal once he was seated on the edge of his bed. With such an academic obligation, the pressure to celebrate by conventional standards is lifted. He couldn't help but smirk. Eve got it. That expression softened into a smile at the whimsical reference to seasonal transition, and grew gentler still to talk of the League. Her words were, as his often were, carefully chosen. Yet Peri would find himself unprepared for one section in particular: "I can not return to you what was taken at the ball, as much as I wish I could, but neither do I think--though my opinion is hardly relevant--that you should have to hide. What is within my capacity, is to do what little I can to help you--I hope--feel whole again." A jolt of unease surged through his chest. Hiding was precisely what he'd been doing, from the very moment that ugly injury was inflicted. Uncomfortable with feeling so seen, he shot an almost accusatory look at the box, plucking it from the comforter. He paused with the pad of a finger against its latch, then swept from the dorm for the privacy of a lavatory. Only once he was alone did he crack open the box with a blend of trepidation and reverence. Taking in its contents, his throat bobbed as he swallowed down the complicated emotion it elicited. He hadn't wanted to wear a prosthetic. Although the one provided by the ocularist was painted to resemble his own eye, when he looked at it in the mirror, the thing was lifeless as a doll's. He hated wearing it. The replica felt like a false imitation, devoid of emotion and eerily empty. It was less a replacement than it was a reminder of his loss. Bracing his hands against the sink, Pericles frowned at his reflection's patch. It served to hide the hollowed shape of his socket, caved in without structure, but it still pulled stares, making the solitaire a subject of unwanted attention. The locked door was double-checked with a glance before he loosed its straps. It fell into the sink with the sound of muted cloth, discarded as he hesitantly raised the prosthetic, balanced on the end of an unsteady finger. His eyelids squeezed shut once it was in place, a few beats taken to steel himself, breath held as he peeked at the result. As Pericles took in the sight, all tension bled from him with a shaky sigh. He rubbed the skin around his eye, soothing the lines left behind by the patch, blinking as he acclimated to the sensation. Eve would unwittingly inspire a new fixation. Growing up, Pericles had a penchant for collecting eyewear, from centuries-old glasses to international recreations of Omnioculars. The fascination adapted into prosthetics. He would collect them in broad varieties, some acrylic, some glass, one even gold. She was right in that he couldn't have his eye back, but at least in this, he had choices. In this, he didn't feel like something was missing. He would wait until they were all together again at dinner before he caught her eye with the gift, closing in close, uttering a soft yet ardent "Thank you."
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