Nora Hale, star at her throat, gold eyes steady, nothing wrote. Black hair, warm light, the dark held back. She does not speak. She does not lack. Count the sparks. They thin, then die. Count your wish. It leaves the sky. The pendant burns. The rest goes cold. What she keeps will not be told. She will not call. She will not stay. One look, and the rest gives way. No name, no lamp, no hand to keep. Nora Hale. Then sleep.