Page 54 of Stars in Nova

She prepared meals with the same care she once poured into her designs, each dish an act of love and defiance against the despair that sought to creep in.

She was there to dry Liora’s tears when nightmares woke her at night and to guide Malik as he carved small wooden animals, encouraging his creativity.

Her presence was a quiet but unyielding strength, a reminder to everyone in the household that no matter how dark the days became, their little world would not fall apart.

Misandra also evolved into a confidante for Samira, a source of wisdom and comfort.

On the rare nights Samira returned to her residence exhausted and battle-worn, Misandra brewed her a soothing tea, sat with her in silence, and offered her the solace of understanding without judgment.

Though her grief lingered, Misandra channeled it into purpose.

She would never forget her husband and son, but their memory now fueled her dedication to protect the family she had found in Samira’s home.

She was no longer the seamstress whose creations turned heads at galas, but she was something far more vital—a cornerstone in a world desperately needing rebuilding.

Misandra’s voice broke the silence. ‘You hungry?’

Samira turned, nodding, ‘Starving.’

Her aunt guided her to a dining table and handed her a bowl of fragrant stew.

In an instant, the aroma of herbs and root vegetables soothed Samira.

She ate, taking her time, savoring the simple flavors of a hot meal after a day spent patrolling wet caves and tunnels.

‘What of the mask?’ Misandra asked, sitting and facing her, setting her needlework down.

Samira sighed, setting the vessel down. ‘No progress. Sharin’s trying, but it doesn’t want to wake. She’s testing a disruptor tomorrow. Maybe it’ll work.’

Her aunt reached across, her hand snug and steady as it clasped Samira’s. ‘You’ve done everything you can, child. Rest now. You won’t win this war in a day.’

The kitchen was lit by the glow of bioluminescent moss, casting a pleasant purple hue over the stone walls.

Samira rose and moved to the sink, her sleeves rolled up. Her hands were submerged in the warm water, which trickled from a natural spring through a handmade spout.

She scrubbed the last plate clean, running her fingers over its smooth, uneven ceramic surface, and then set it aside to dry on a wooden rack.

Misandra bustled behind her, folding linens with practiced efficiency. ‘You’ve been on your feet all day,’ the older woman said, chiding and concerned. ‘Sleep, love. Let me finish.’

‘I’m fine,’ Samira replied, though the weariness in her voice betrayed her. She picked up a cloth, dried her hands, and turned to her kinswoman. ‘I’m done now, anyway.’

Her aunt sighed, brushing back a strand of gray-streaked hair. ‘Kiss me good night before you disappear into your room.’

Samira leaned in, pressing her lips to Misandra’s weathered cheek. ‘Good night andSante—for everything.’

The older woman patted her arm. ‘Go on, then. Get some rest. You’re no good to anyone if you wear yourself down.’

Samira slipped into the alcove—a makeshift bathroom carved into the rock.

A small fountain bubbled up from the stone, its crystal-clear water flowing into a basin chiseled from a boulder. The space was simple and functional, with shelves holding soap made from wild herbs and folded linen hanging from a peg.

She cupped her hands under the spring, letting the flow run over her fingers before splashing it onto her face.

The shock brought a fleeting clarity, washing away the day’s grime. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening the braid that had kept it out of her face during the long hours in the cavern.

The water trailed down her neck, cool on her flushed skin.

She dried with the towel, the fabric caressing her cheeks. For a moment, she lingered, savoring the simple act of cleaning, of doing something just for herself.

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