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Summary
She used to dream about a boy filled with stars, when she was younger. Just a child, no older than eight. He would come and spend time in her dream world with her, teaching her to skip rocks that glowed in the dark and didn’t obey gravity the way they would in real life. He told her stories about ancient kings and princesses, and a woman with hair made of snakes. His voice never sounded quite right, though—he spoke with windchimes in his mouth.
Clarke hadn’t even thought about the dream boy in years, not until now.