Epilogue The Storyteller
THE NIGHT SKY WAS UNLIKE anything Baz had ever seen over the lighthouse at the end of the world.
Stars here were so bright and plenty, there was barely any darkness between. Baz had made it a habit of watching the night sky every time he visited Henry and Luce. They would sit together on the shores of the Aldersea, Emory’s presence always with them.
Tonight, as the three of them watched stars dart across the skies in spectacular blazes of white, Baz remembered what Emory had told him once, so long ago: that her father believed shooting stars were souls trying to find their way home.
Baz imagined now that one of them was Emory. He knew it wasn’t possible; knew there was no coming back from the void. It was a nice thought to have all the same. That perhaps this was not the end of her story, but the start of a new one.
An adventure that would carry her to the most distant of shores, before one day returning her to the ones she’d called home.