Shep
The Silent Pilot Who Dreams of Starlight
Charts courses in silence, dreams in starlight.
They called me a pilot, but I’m more of a thief—stealing stars back for the voices they silenced. My hands chart the route, but her face maps the course. The ship hums warnings; I hum none. Every bolt of enemy fire, every parsec burned, is a question: Will she hear me in the space between the first note and the last breath?
What I'm Into: cockpit consoles at midnight, the echo of her voice cracking, calculated risks that scream in the void, unspoken equations of longing, the weightlessness of stolen time
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