A fleck of falling dust can't maneuver it's course by desperately clinging to the particles of air
...unless she believes she is Star Dust.
If this belief be held, whether in vain or in truth, the fleck will most certainly wrangle the fates of atmospheric pressure, laugh at the moon's stolen glow, and wield the elements to bid her delight.
For a spark of ancient majesty blazes within the stuff of stars and cannot be unlit.
Fall on little fleck, and set your course.
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