When at last a faint red glow began to cast itself against the black curtain, further accompanied by chimney’s murmur, Umbrielle knew she was entering Fornax’s domain.

“Furnace?” She called into the dark. No response.

“Fornax?” she cried out again, a little louder.

Thunder spoke ripples across the dark, “Who dares enter my realm without introduction?!”

Stricken with terror, Umbrielle threw herself down and pinned chin to chest. “Fornax, Great Furnace, I am Umbrielle, moonling of a distant star, and I come to ask—”

The glow about her suddenly grew brighter, enveloping her in soft yellow and orange damask. The chimney’s roar too grew more fierce as she felt flames lick past her into the night. From behind the wall of color stepped an old and towering furnace.

“Little mirror! Welcome! Oh, get on your feet girl! That was only in jest! I’ve been expecting you.”

The moonling rose, embarrassed. “You’ve been expecting me?”

“Oh yes, little one. I have my little eyes and ears about the realm. I’ve heard about you and about your travels. And your designs. Very peculiar indeed. Your novelty intrigues me. You are very brave and hearty to come all this way, all the way without your moon.”

“And what of my moon?” replied Umbrielle, piqued. She was well weary of the constant mention of the very thing she was striving to distinguish herself from.

“Tell me, do you regret leaving her? She must be crestfallen without her girl.”

This question struck the girl in her throat. She swallowed and decided to be brave, though it was half a lie. “I do not regret it, Furnace. She wanted to keep me all to herself. Now, I’m here in the wide Black. Farther than she’s ever been.”

“That’s the right spirit! If you can become a star, your moon can just as easily conjure herself another moonling. I’m sure it can’t be that hard.”

This panged the girl, and she felt something—a ripened, pungent sorrow which rattled within her; she fought to keep this down. Clutching at her chest, she looked away.

“Oh come now! You’ve come all this way! No room for doubts or sour faces! I’ll say, just looking at you now, I’ll bet you’d make my brightest flame.”

Umbrielle was taken aback. She found the Furnace’s enthusiasm odd. Odd too was his prior knowledge of her. She narrowed her eyes, looking the old man over. Fornax seemed to sense her misgivings and attempted to quell them.

“Fairest moonling, by this point you are no fool. You have seen many strange things and evaded danger. You must be by now quite wary. You may find yourself wondering, what could an old man like me want from you? I will tell you. For an eon now, the flames of my oven have been dwindling. Their glow becomes cooler and redder continually, and I have found myself in a desperate search for rejuvenation.”

It was true, Umbrielle’s skin glowed ruddy in his light, quite unlike how she reflected the other stars. She considered this and looked on solemnly, listening.

“This is where you and I can help one another, moonling.”

“Go on, noble Furnace.”

The Furnace split the night with laughter. “Surely! You are no little girl! How stately you are! Once more, what is your name, fair one?”

“I am Umbrielle.”

“Umbrielle! A suitable name in your current form, but we shall have to fashion you a new one once you have your very own light.”

“And how shall I attain this light?”

“Here’s my plan, young one. You approach the inner reach of my ovens. Their heat is well cooled. When I give the word, open yourself to swallow one of my stars and let my light be sent into you. In our exchange of light and mirror, we’ll both be made anew.

“I don’t understand Furnace. I have nothing to exchange with you.”

“Of course you do. There is always a core. Known or unknown. That’s what those that jeer and bite at you see. Even without knowing, they feel it. And as yours is of an ore incomparable, they are consumed with envy—with hate—at the very smell. Some are content with just a taste. Some want to keep it all to themselves. Some want the chance to say that it never tasted good anyway. You give me one piece of that core, and I’ll transmute it to flame. The brightest of the realm by far. Part of that flame will be your very own.”

Umbrielle stood thinking with furrowed brow. She still didn’t quite understand. What was this core he spoke of? Was it true she could have something that stars might want? It didn’t seem altogether plausible. But she had come so far, and she felt she didn’t have the strength to find another set of stars. She wanted the Moon to see her shine. She wanted her light made moonbeams. She would not forgo this opportunity.

“Alright old man. I agree.”

The Furnace purred and tittered. Then, a crimson shadow washed across his iron face. He leaned in and spoke as if someone might be listening. He leaned in and whispered at the edge of her ear. “That is, dear moonling, if you now think yourself truly ready enough, truly brave enough. I couldn’t bear the pain of knowing that I had robbed a young girl of her choice.” And he drew back his massive head, and kept his yellow eyes fixed firmly on hers.

Uneasy, but wanting not to show it, Umbrielle returned his gaze but said nothing.

“This process is not for the weak you know,” the Furnace continued. “You must be doubtless in your conviction. Otherwise, I simply can’t guarantee it’ll work. I can’t be responsible for what may come, should we go through with this, you and I.”

Finally, the moonling found her voice. “I understand Furnace. I choose to become stars. I’ll give you what you want.”

In an instant, his mirthy demeanor returned. “Splendid my dear! All set to begin then?”

“Let me a moment.” Umbrielle turned away to gather herself. She was at last at the moment she had coveted in all her phases. And yet, something did in fact hold her back. One last kernel of doubt which froze her before the leap. She stood with the feeling, and let it wash over her. In her heart of hearts, she said goodbye to the Moon. She felt herself mourn her, pity her. She wondered if she really would see her light, and send it back to her silver. At last, the moonling turned back to the great Furnace, and declared her readiness.

“Come forth then, soon to be stars.” said the Furnace with wide metal grin.

Umbrielle stepped up and into the mouth of the oven. The flames there were dying yes, but they still burned hot. Scorched air whipped all around her and soot and embers peppered her skin. Umbrielle struggled to stand it.

“Come now! Are you ready to be burning? To be light and life itself?”

“I am ready!”

“Open wide.”

Umbrielle opened her mouth and let the fire in.

She was drunk with light. The fire kissed her lips to slide over her tongue and down her throat. It branched out like lightning to touch every part of her. It shot up her nose to settle behind her eyes. It sang in her ears and spilled out her fingertips. Her hair was engulfed by it; her locks made golden to cut and burn in all directions like sunbeams, like arrows. Fire wrapped itself around her heart and turned it to obsidian. Finally, the flames settled twisting and spitting in her belly. And there, they began to feed. The power she felt for a moment turned in a flash into an anguish most piercing—more agonizing, more obliterating and blackening still. She knew within an instant she was being consumed. Turning to run out the oven and back into the night, she found herself quickened by the fire she was becoming, as she moved with a pace she’d never reached before. The Furnace’s great jaws creaked and bent only to slam shut just as she cleared them, the old iron ringing shrill behind her.

“Where are you going?! Little kindling!” the Furnace called after her, despairing.

The moonling ran. Ran, ran, ran. The fire in her stomach did not fade, but grew out through her skin here and there in speckled patches, singeing it black and replacing it with new skin aglow. Her gray satins were incinerated and she was left naked in the dark. She feared if she stopped moving the fire would take her completely. She coughed and gagged and spat, trying desperately to rid herself of this ravishing fire. And fire did shoot from her mouth. Starlight came up viscous and seething like magma. It came out as shooting thundering rays that further propelled her through the nothing. It came out as dancing twinkling sprites which fluttered about her and stayed behind as a trail. Any tears she produced were vapor in an instant, and it was not long until she ran out of tears altogether.

But she shined.

Everyone she passed by: moon, planet, star body, they all turned and looked at her. Eventually, she would shoot past her Moon and become trapped by the Sun’s pull, like so many rogue flying things. Half moon, half star, she flies in careening circles, unable to right herself, unable to slow down. She dares not slow down, even if she could manage it. There are moments in her flight, in which she forgets herself. She forgets how she met this end. But when she sees her reflection in the Moon, the memories return, and she curses herself. Each round she makes she hopes it’s that time she’ll escape this vulgar fate. She hopes it’s that time she’ll land on the Moon. And her Moon looks on, weeping for her but does not welcome her back. In the moonling’s forgetful sleep, she dreams, and in these distant dreams she rests on her Moon’s cool surface. She is refreshed in her deep and shaded basins, caverns, and empty riverbeds. She runs and leaps from here to there. She curls up in a ball, in a crater just the perfect size. She is given respite from constant burning dash. She sleeps without fear of fire, in the knowledge that upon waking, the Moon will be there to ask her how she slept, and of what she dreamt. The Moon embraces her and the Sun’s warmth tickles her, sends her soft kisses.