A shooting star, shining bright, radiance outlasting, those of the rest.

A girl gazed at the sky, awed by the beauty that was displayed in a performance of light. She was sitting on the fence of a small wooden balcony, protruding from a quaint, though fancy, wooden house. The girl herself was but a child, an age of fifteen, at the very most.

The shooting star crept across, brighter and brighter, closer and closer, it's radiant light illuminating the girl's face.

Closer and closer it crept, until it seemed less than a fingers breadth away. The breath left the girls lungs, and she reached out. The star, seeming ever so close, yet so far away, streaked forwards, into the girls awaiting palm. A massive shockwave billowed out, rocking the house and countryside trees.

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The star shrunk and condensed, quickly no more than a mere marble resting between her fingers. The corners of her beautifully sculped lips began curling into a smile, one of awe and joy and fear and shock, her eyes shining with the vigour and excitement only found in the most untainted of youth.

The girl sat up happily from her previously slouched position, pocketing the celestial trinket, remembering to get off the fence and stand straight - the maids would be worried and she didn't want to get scolded by them for slouching and sitting on the fence.

Concerned voices reached her ears from a few floors down, a few floors up, and on the same floor as her, and the sources hurriedly climbed or descended to the floor she was at, heading to the balcony. The door opened, free of unwanted noise like creaking and the girl sauntered over, about to boast about the star in her pocket, before a thought hit her, and she didn't.