She was crying.

It wasn't what people would call regular crying. She didn't cry like someone in a movie, one silent tear falling down her face. No, when she cried, it was like a thunderstorm. It was a hurricane of blotchy red marks, swollen eyes, and gallons upon gallons of salty tears. It wasn't pretty. But, to be entirely honest, people who cried beautifully weren't really people.

No.

They were probably robots.

Or at least, Star Butterfly, from her unruly blonde hair down to her horned purple boots, thought so.

But no matter how many people cried perfectly like robots, that didn't change the fact of what had happened. The two of them had been together forever. There had been nothing that could've separated them. Her best friend had even said they were meant to be. (And she wasn't one to say such things. Peyton-Hannah—nicknamed Pony-Head due to a several years old halloween costume malfunction—was the most brutally honest girl Star had ever had the pleasure of meeting. So, if she said Star and Tom were meant to be, they were meant to be.)

And Pony-Head had a point. Tom Lucitor was gentlemanly, and tall, with a perfectly styled flash of pinkish hair atop his head. He wore neat button-down shirts that he had picked out himself, tucked into perfectly ironed slacks. He even rolled the sleeves of his shirts up to his elbows, something that (both Star and Pony-Head agreed) was always attractive. He even brought her flowers when she was least expecting it.

He was what both Star and Pony-Head had imagined as a fairytale prince.

And yet…

Here she was—Star Butterfly the brave, Star Butterfly the magnificent—crying. And it was all Tom's fault.

They were having a bit of a bickering argument. It wasn't anything new. Since they had started living together a couple years back, Star had realized how much she loved her personal space and although she loved Tom and everything that came hand in hand courtesy of being with Tom, sometimes she needed a moment to herself. And he didn't seem to understand that. He cuddled up to her at night, holding her firmly. So firmly that sometimes she couldn't even move in the darkness. He refused to leave her side. And although she loved him… If he couldn't understand how she felt, if he could never truly just let her go out without desperately needing to know exactly where she was at all times… It truly wasn't meant to be.

So she told him how she felt. How much she needed her space, how much she cared for him. She had crossed her fingers, and her toes, hoping that he would understand, that his love for her and her love for him would overrule any issue that they ran into.

But, he had yelled at her.

He had called her ungrateful. He said he had given her everything and she hadn't given him anything in return. He used words that were too awful for her to even repeat alone, let alone use upon other people. He had yelled so loudly that he had almost spit on her face.

And then she had snapped.

She hadn't yelled at him. She had waited until he had finished shouting. Until he had run out of words to say to her. Until his voice was hoarse and he was panting, cheeks flushed nearly as red as his hair. And then she said it.

She had told him she was done.

Done.

She had practically whispered it. Mumbled it. Just loud enough for him to hear it. Although she hadn't been thinking about it before hand, almost avoiding the subject within her own mind, stuck on the fantasy of having a prince-like boyfriend, she realized now that it was inevitable. Tom, no matter how much he tried, would always have the same horribly clingy ways that he did then. It had just taken Star much too long to realize it. The whole room had become eerily silent. The moment was frozen. He stood there and it took a split second for the words to register in his mind but it was too late. Star had moved, going into auto pilot. Simple thoughts raced through her mind. She could pick up her clothing later. She could pick up her stuff later. But she couldn't be here.

Not now.

Not now.

It was raining outside. Huh, she had thought rather ridiculously, the sky is mirroring how I feel. She grabbed her purple raincoat from the closet, her kiddish rain boots with the horns on them that Tom had made fun of her for buying, her apartment keys, and her wallet that had a photo booth photograph that she and Tom had taken on one of their very first dates.

And then she had left.

She didn't even hear the door slam on her way out. She was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that Tom wouldn't follow her to reason with her. But at the same time, hoping that he would.

It would've been horribly romantic. The two of them in the rain. He would dry her tears and apologize for everything she had wanted him to apologize for. He would dry her tears with his gentle fingers. And he would hug her tightly. It would've been like the climax of a movie. Something like Breakfast at Tiffany's. All she was missing was the cat.

But he didn't come after her.

So Star Butterfly kept walking.

She kept walking until she could barely see through her own tears. The whole world seemed so fuzzy. So blurry. So unreal. What happened couldn't have possibly happened, could it? Her tears certainly thought so. But her mind did not. She couldn't remember a time when she and Tom hadn't been together. Pony-Head said they were practically attached at the hip. Nothing could separate them.

And yet, here she was.

Separated.

Cut off.

She began to cry. Harder. It was awful.

In fact, it was so awful that she didn't realize where she was going until she looked up from the splattered concrete.

In front of her was that quaint little dessert shop that Tom refused to go into back when they had first started dating. It had a French title, something that Star couldn't pronounce for the life of her. (Tom could say it but, whenever he said it, he managed to make the title sound mean.) From outside, through the rain coated windows, she could see that fabric hung in loose loops from the ceiling. And layers of mismatched material covered the whole ceiling, all sewn together like a makeshift purple and blue quilt. And from between the layers of looping fabric, tiny golden, flickering stars hung at uneven lengths, completing the whole clear night sky look.

Inhaling deeply, Star wiped her cheeks hastily with her sleeves and climbed up the short stairs to the entrance.

The quiet sound of chimes tinkled when she entered.

The hostess, a young woman with platinum blonde hair with an aqua streak on the left side, sat up quickly. She must've been dozing off.

"Welcome to El Ciel Nocturne!" If the woman noticed that she was crying, she didn't say anything. Perhaps she was still half asleep. "Sit wherever you'd like."

Star nodded and walked past her.

The whole room was much more amazing when she was inside it. It reminded her much of being in a blanket fort, or a snow globe. The stars that dangled from the ceiling sparkled and gleamed as she looked at them. Perhaps it was simply her tears, and entirely unattractive gasping sobs that she let out every so often that made the whole room much more magical (in a weird way). Soft, almost elevator-esque music drifted calmly around the room. There were mismatched chairs and tables scattered almost haphazardly about the space, all the type of huge fluffy reading chairs that narrators sat in in movies.

There were only a few other people sitting at tables in the restaurant. Two waiters—one tall and thin with a cloud of dark brown hair and thick, black rimmed glasses and the other rather short and rounder with hair even redder than Tom's—were folding cloth napkins together, their conversation was mumbled, only broken by the occasional burst of laughter. The hostess had put her head back down onto her desk in pure exhaustion (or maybe just boredom, Star wasn't sure). There was only one other customer in the shop. A young, rather mysterious looking man in a hardcore leather jacket. He had a swoop of dark brown hair across the right side of his face and he looked like he had fallen asleep in his comfortable chair, a thin line of drool coming from his slightly open mouth. The whole room just looked… Sleepy. It was strangely comforting, despite the fact that she had never been there before.

Star let out another quiet gasp of a sob, took off her raincoat—draping it around the back of her chair by one of the rain soaked windows—and sat down.

She was lucky that nobody she knew was around to see her.

Star leaned down slightly and pulled the bottom of her shirt up to her face so she could wipe her tears away. It was awkward but, it was better than letting them drip all over the place.

"Do you want a serviette?"

Star looked up, dropping her shirt and smoothing it back down, staying consistently blotchy and flustered. It was her waiter. He was young man with dark brown combed over hair that looked like it had been neat at the beginning of the day but, was now rather messy. He had a mole under his right eye, and thick bushy eyebrows. The name tag that was pinned to his white t-shirt read—in perfect cursive—Marco.

"Err… A napkin?" He paused again, looking a bit awkward. He glanced away from her eyes as he continued to ramble on. "A tissue? Some kleenex? That sort of thing?" He shifted from one foot to the other. "I mean, it'd be better than using your shirt, right?"

Star nodded, worried that if she opened her mouth to try to thank him she might begin to cry a lot more fiercely than she had been previously.

He began to walk away from her before suddenly turning back towards her. "Wait, yes to the tissues or yes to it would be better than wiping your tears on your shirt?" He paused for less than a second, not giving her time to respond, if she was even capable of it. "You know what? Never mind. I'll figure it out." He turned away again and headed towards the kitchen.

He returned a few moments later with a roll of paper towels, and a lavender colored menu. Star noticed that the menu and the fabric used to make all the apron portions of the uniforms that the waiters and the hostess were wearing, were the same color. (Star had to admit it was a nice purple-y aesthetic.)

"There wasn't any more paper napkins and since Alfonzo and Ferguson," he gestured to the two other waiters who were giggling together quietly, "are still folding the fancy napkins I couldn't give you one of those. It's a weird Nocturne thing, don't ask. So here. Paper towels. They'll do the job. But if anything goes wrong and somebody anyone asks? I didn't give them to you." He winked and placed the paper towel roll on her table, followed by the menu. "Have you been here before?"

Star tore one of the paper towel sheets off the roll and began to dab her face dry. She took a few shaky breaths before she answered him. "I haven't… Although, I've always wanted to."

"Well that's a good place to start. People who don't want to be here are generally unhappy." He paused, turning to gesture at the hostess with the streak in her hair and the fact that she had fallen asleep again. "Exhibit A: Jackie Lynn Thomas." Between the look on Marco's face and the way he said her name reminded her vividly of how Tom used to say Star. Star bit down slightly at her bottom lip. She needed to just get her mind off of Tom.

"Well… What do you like?" she said.

It took him a moment to respond. He pulled himself rather forcefully from his thoughts, the tops of his ear slightly pinker than usual. He cleared his throat. "Well, it all depends on what your tastebuds enjoy. There are ice-creams, scones, cakes, croissants…" He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. "But my favorite isn't on the menu. I always love a baguette with melted cheese. I'm just a sucker for cheese, that's what really makes it for me. I'd tell you to get nachos but, the chef doesn't have tortillas here. A French restaurant thing, I guess."

"But isn't this a dessert place?"

"Yeah but, the way I see it, anything can be a dessert. Desserts are just something that you eat after your main meal. A lot of people see that as something distinctly fancy and sweet. But me? A baguette with melted cheese is the perfect dessert, apart from nachos, that is."

For the first time in what seemed to be forever, Star smiled.

Her nose was still red, her eyes were still swollen, there were even still some tears on her cheeks but, out of nowhere, she felt happy. This Marco, this kind and gentle young man had noticed she was upset and he was trying his best to make her at least slightly happier. He didn't need to know what had happened. He just did what he thought was right.

She and Pony-Head had been wrong.

A prince wasn't somebody who wore beautiful clothing and gelled their hair perfectly. A prince didn't yell until he made someone cry. A prince was someone who was kind and gentle no matter what. A true prince was someone like Marco.

"You've convinced me," said Star. "I'll take your secret special."

"Good choice," replied Marco.

Hello! I hope you enjoyed the first installment of El Ciel Nocturne! It's a work in progress but, I'd love to hear what my readers have to say so please send me some reviews, favourites and follows on what you think! Thanks so much! :^)