Chapter 13: Day 1 Princess Starlight Part 1

Emerald, unholy light pulsed. Colossal, needle-toothed tendrils clawed from a vortex at the World Tree's base. The Devourer Legion swarmed, a hungry tide, rending bark, splintering wood, their guttural chorus a scream. The luminous tree shuddered, leaves dimming.

A midnight blur, Shadow Sapphire danced phantom-like, void-blades scything monstrosities to acrid smoke. Strikes precise, lethal; her face a weary mask of fury. Nearby, Princess Starlight, a gold-and-rose comet, flared, her beam vaporizing Legion swathes, cries desperate and defiant.

Sapphire parried a snapping maw, void-blades whispering. Spinning, she cleaved a Devourer. The onslaught eased: a fleeting island in the destructive sea. Her breath caught, ragged, lost in the din.

I, Shadow Sapphire, hate myself, hate this shell I roam,

She thought, or perhaps whispered, the words a bitter taste against the backdrop of roaring chaos. Her blades met another wave, a dance of death born from a deep, cold wellspring.

My parents torn away, I watched, abandoned and alone.

A flicker of memory: fire, screams, and then an empty, silent house.

I hate this ceaseless sorrow that drags me into despair.

Her movements became sharper, almost savage, each slain monstrosity a momentary release from the weight on her soul.

But lately hate has softened; sadness hums in silent air.

Starlight's hesitant hand on her shoulder after a brutal loss, not pity, but quiet understanding.

Then she came, blinding, radiant, a dawn that pierced my night,

Sapphire glanced towards Starlight, a brilliant nova cutting through the Legion. The golden light was almost painful to look at, yet…

At first I hated her brightness, that shattered my shadowed plight.

The memory of their first encounters: Starlight’s effusive, almost naive optimism clashing against Sapphire’s guarded cynicism.

We were rivals locked in silence; her joy a bitter sting,

Sapphire's darkness deflected a shadowy claw, contrasting Starlight’s glow.

Her light an affront to darkness, a truth I could not bring myself to embrace.

Yet she stayed, steadfast, gentle; her kindness knew no end,

A series of fleeting images: Starlight sharing a meager ration, Starlight defending Sapphire from unjust accusations, Starlight simply sitting with her in comfortable silence when words failed.

Piece by piece, my guard broke down; her laughter learned to mend.

A memory: Starlight tripped, her genuine laughter startling Sapphire's reluctant smile.

She didn’t shine unbroken but chose to burn anew,

Struck, Starlight faltered. Sapphire saw her grit her teeth, then unleash even stronger energy, fierce determination in her rose-gold eyes

Despite her scars and battles fought, her courage ever true.

She reached the parts of me I thought were lost beyond repair,

Sapphire’s own blades felt lighter now, not fueled by hate, but by a different, fiercer emotion – a protective loyalty.

She made me laugh uncertain, let hope replace despair.

Her shuddering breath met Starlight's gaze; a silent battlefield acknowledgment passed between them.

So yes,

Sapphire admitted, the confession a raw, unvarnished truth echoing in the core of her being,

I, Shadow Sapphire, hate myself,

However, Starlight light found me.

(Emily’s POV)

A faint, distant whisper, like wind chimes just out of reach, carried on a cold draft: "Emily… the colors… they’re fading… please wake up"

The word "leukemia" wasn't said to me, not at first. It was just a quiet, bad word dropped into Dr. Chen’s sunny office where Mommy and Daddy sat. I was in the waiting room with a coloring book, crayon in hand.

The silence from that office, then Mommy’s muffled sob, told me everything. The air felt thick and cold.

When they came out, their faces looked strange. Mommy’s hand, usually warm on my arm, squeezed tight, her knuckles white, her lipstick trembling. Daddy, my booming, strong Daddy who lifted me to the sky, seemed to shrink, his shoulders bowed. His laughter lines, from silly jokes, looked deep and sad.

He tried to smile, but his mouth twisted, and his eyes looked wet and scared. That’s when I knew. My world broke. I braced for the fall.

The hospital became my second home. It smelled of antiseptic, a constant reminder: sick girl. Hushed voices, squeaky shoes.

Needles, once scary, became like crayons. Cool sting, then dull ache, over and over. My arm got tiny purple bruises, each one a poke to make the monster disappear. My medicines had long, hard names. They made me feel yucky, tiny bitter pills I swallowed, like sadness.

At home, our sunny yellow kitchen looked too bright, like it laughed at me. Food, even my favorite mac 'n' cheese, tasted like sad cardboard. I couldn't swallow. Daddy’s jokes fell flat, echoing in heavy silences that felt too thick to breathe. Mommy’s hugs were fierce, almost painful, bruising my ribs. A silent scream of "don’t leave me" pressed into my shoulder, her tears dampening my hair.

Nights were worst. Tucked in bed, Princess Starlight plushie worn and matted from tears, held tight, I’d listen. Whispers from my parents’ room, once soft murmurs, were now sharp, scary sounds cutting through walls.

“The bills, Arthur… another one came today. For the transfusion. The red envelope one.” Mommy’s voice, thin and reedy, like a stretched rubber band.

“I know, Martha, I know! I called about that second mortgage again, but the bank… they said our debt-to-income ratio… with my hours cut…” Daddy’s voice, gravelly with unshed tears and frustration, vibrated through the floorboards.

“And Dr. Chen mentioned… that new experimental drug, it’s not covered. Thousands, Arthur. Thousands we don’t have, not unless we…” A choked sob.

“We’ll find it. We have to. For Emily. There has to be a way. We have to find a way.” His voice was a ragged promise in the dark.

Each whispered word was like tiny hammers hitting my heart. It’s me, I’d think, tears hot on my pillow. I’m doing this to them. I’m why they’re sad and scared. I’m too expensive. I’d pull Princess Starlight closer, burying my face in its soft, worn fur, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could take their pain away, even if it meant taking myself away too.

Sarah, my best friend, burst into my hospital room like chaotic sunshine. Her backpack overflowed with whispered school gossip, sour gummy worms (my favorite), and homework. Her chatter was a vibrant rope, holding me to normal life as it slipped away. We’d paint nails – glittery purple for me, neon green for her – pretending the IV stand was a fancy hat rack. Her laughter was a balm.

But as weeks turned to months, Sarah’s visits became… scheduled. Less spontaneous. Her stories of dances, sleepovers, football – once eager – now had faint hesitations, her eyes flicking to my pale face, my hair, like she knew I couldn't do those things anymore. Silences grew longer, filled by monitors.

Sarah checked her phone more often, gaze drifting to the door, wanting to leave. Last time, Sarah brought a generic "Get Well Soon" Mylar balloon from the gift shop. It felt like an obligation, not a wish. She hugged me goodbye, a quick, too-tight embrace that felt like escape, promising to visit "really soon!"

I watched her flee. I knew, cold, I wouldn’t see her again. And I didn’t.

Mark from next door, shy and sweet, shared my love for obscure animated movies and alien spaceship designs. He’d brought a big, careful map of his fantasy world, “The Whispering Isles,” with glow-in-the-dark dragons and smart talking squirrels. We planned adventures for when I was “better.”

Then came the "incident." Chemo was brutal that morning, leaving me weak. Mark arrived, eager to share a new graphic novel, “Cosmic Crusaders Volume 3.” I tried to sit up, to smile, when nausea overwhelmed me. I threw up. Yucky puke splashed his new graphic novel, his favorite sneakers.

Mark's face went white. He quickly said "It's okay!" but I saw his fear, and it hurt more than any shot. He left fast. His novel lay abandoned on my sticky table, pages wrinkled, smelling of vomit and my shame. He never came back. Through my window, I’d see him play soccer. He always pretended not to see me.

The Brownie Troop arrived soon after diagnosis, giggling girls in brown uniforms with shiny badges, led by a nervous Mrs.Smith. They sang "Make New Friends" a little off-key, very happy, and gave me a giant, bright card covered in glitter and misspelled wishes for “speedy recovery” and “lots of ice creem!”

Their big, curious eyes, wide and unblinking, looked at my machines, my pale skin, my dark eye circles. I tried to smile, to be the “brave little trooper.” But their visit felt like a zoo trip, my sickness the unsettling show.

They left nice words – “You’re so strong!” “Praying for you!” – then the room got too quiet. I felt more alone than ever. Later, a small, clean card came. Only Mrs. Smith's name. It felt like goodbye.

Happy balloons above my bed sagged, deflated. Their colors dulled, happy words mocking my fading hope. Stuffed animals I used to hug just sat, staring, dusty, smelling of my sadness. Loneliness moved in, unpacked its bags, stayed right beside me, a cold, heavy lump.

A soft, almost inaudible hum, like a distant song trying to break through static: "Emily… look up… a star… is waiting…"

Days blurred: beeping machines, bland food like wet paper, my body tired and sick. Hospital air felt thick with antiseptic and fear. My tablet, screen smudged, was my only window. I scrolled listlessly through vibrant pictures of other children’s lives – bouncy castles, football goals, giggling sleepovers – each a tiny poke in my sad heart, reminding me what I missed.

Then, a recommended video. The thumbnail showed a character with shiny, color-changing hair like stars, and eyes like galaxies. Title: "Stellaris: Galaxy Gliders GRAND PRIX!" Her costume made my breath catch. The familiar lines, starry designs, colors… it was Princess Starlight. Not a copy, but a vibrant echo of the hero who vanquished nightmares with her Sparkling Heart Wand. I felt a big wanting.

Stellaris’s voice, when the stream started, was bright, energetic joy that felt like warmth spreading through my cold room. She played games with skill and enthusiasm, her commentary funny and smart, her laughter warm and real. She talked about hope, resilience, finding light in dark galaxies – messages that made my tired heart stronger.

Watching Stellaris became my most important thing. I saved energy for streams, enduring painful pokes and bitter medicine, with Stellaris’s bright world waiting. It was a rope, a secret way to get hope into my sad heart, a quiet fight against darkness.

Trembling, clumsy fingers typed "I love Princess Starlight too!!!" into chat, a tiny desperate prayer. My heart hammered. Stellaris, mid-game, glanced at chat. "Aww, so many Starlight fans! High five to all my fellow Starlight cadets!" I gasped. It wasn't a direct reply, but it felt like it. A tiny spark, fragile but insistent, ignited in my dark isolation.

A warmer, clearer whisper, like a guiding hand gently resting on my shoulder: "Emily… you belong… speak your heart… they will hear."

I named myself "StarBrightSeeker6" and cautiously ventured into Stellaris’s Discord. It was overwhelming, so many names and fast messages. Then I found #princess-starlight-nostalgia. People shared old show memories, debated episodes, posted grainy screenshots. It made me happy and sad, wishing things were simpler. Shyly, clumsy fingers shared a crayon drawing of Stellaris with her wand and a tiny Princess Starlight charm. Reactions were instant, really nice. "OMG that's adorable!" "Captured her sparkle!" "Amazing talent!"

For the first time in forever, a warmth spread through me, not from fever. It was belonging, like I fit. Here, I wasn't "the sick girl." Just another fan, another Star-Fam member, sharing love for a magical girl.

Stellaris hosted a fanart showcase. Gathering courage, I submitted a detailed drawing of Stellaris and Princess Starlight, wings open against a colorful star-sky. Stellaris paused. Her character's eyes got big, she sounded so happy. "Oh, wow! StarBrightSeeker6, this is… beautiful! Captured the spirit! Look at this, chat, isn't it incredible?" My face burned with happy, proud heat. My drawing, praised by my hero, was on screen. I taped a screenshot above my hospital bed, next to fading cards. It was a bright picture of tiny joy, a small light.

My parents noticed. I hummed Princess Starlight tunes. I asked for strawberry yogurt, not touched in months. Its sweet taste was a fragile victory. They wept with relief, clinging to these signs, thinking my sickness was getting better. I didn’t correct them; I wanted them to have that comfort. I loved Stellaris. She showed me good things and heroes were real.

A distorted, crackling whisper, like static building in a failing radio, filled with an anxious, rising anger that felt alien yet disturbingly familiar, not mine but echoing something close: "Emily… they don’t understand your pain… they mock your fight… make them see… make them listen…"

My health worsened. Energy from Stellaris vanished, replaced by crushing tiredness, like chains to my bed. Bones ached. Sleep was shallow, punctuated by sharp pains and lonely beeps from machines that watched me sicken. Daddy watched me fade, grief festering in his eyes. He saw me watch Stellaris streams late, pushing my weak body awake, my pale face lit by the screen, ignoring doctor's orders for rest.

(Arthur’s POV)

I couldn't stand it. Watching Emily, my brave little star, fading. Each shallow breath, each wince, a knife in my gut. Doctors gave useless platitudes, empty promises. Martha, bless her, tried to be strong, but her eyes were hollow, smiles brittle.

Emily… obsessed with this Vtuber. Stellaris. Every night, glued to that screen, pushing herself, needing strength to fight this monster. The chat, the fans… so much noise, careless energy, trivial excitement – "Stellaris is a goddess!" "Can't wait!" – while my daughter fought for her life, wasting energy. They didn't see her dark circles, her pain, the strain.

Tonight, she was finally asleep, a drugged, unnatural stillness terrifying me. Her tablet lay open to the Discord server, fans buzzing about a stream. A red mist descended. My shaking fingers found the keyboard. StarBrightSeeker6. Her account. Emily's voice. I had to make them understand.

"You’re so fake, Stellaris." Emily is real, her pain is real.

"This persona is just an act for money." Emily’s life isn’t your game.

"Stop pretending, we know you're sad and bitter." Emily will soon see through you.

Words poured out, sharp, accusatory, my unbearable grief and fury disguised as disillusionment. I wanted to shake Stellaris, force her to see the cost of this online world, the stress on children like Emily. I am protecting her. I hit send. Shame? Fear? I quickly deleted the messages, watching them vanish, a futile attempt to erase madness. No one would know. It wouldn't matter.

(Emily’s POV)

I woke fuzzy, confused, mouth tasting like old pennies. I reached for my tablet, eager for the Stellaris stream. Instead, I found chaos. Videos of Stellaris’s furious reaction to "StarBrightSeeker6" were everywhere, flashing across my screen, shared with glee.

My hero yelled, her face twisted with anger I'd never seen. It felt like she hated me. My tummy felt yucky. I knew something bad happened. Comments under the videos were mean, a big ugly wave of hate just for me. "StarBrightSeeker6 is a psycho." "Deserved that roast." My hands shook. I didn’t remember typing anything angry. I wouldn’t. Not to Stellaris.

A panicked, fragmented whisper, choked with static and fear, the words barely discernible: "Emily… they’re being mean… it’s all… wrong… it’s not your fault… not in the least"

My "StarBrightSeeker6" account pulled all Stellaris’s fans’ anger. Hate messages flooded my DMs, a vicious tide. "You asked for it, toxic troll." "Get banned, psycho." "Stellaris is a saint, you're a pathetic hater." Words felt like sharp claws, ripping my tiny happiness.

My safe place in Stellaris’s Discord shattered. Screenshots of comments – ones I didn’t remember, so unlike me – were everywhere, circled, called bad. I was called a mean trouble-maker, a monster. My online 'friends' either stopped talking or joined the mob, trying to show Stellaris loyalty. I was banned, a cold cut severing my last rope. My laptop’s quiet hum turned deafening.

Daddy saw all this. His face, when I showed him the messages, was terrifying, his knuckles white on his phone. His attempt to help went wrong. Guilt turned into hot anger, aimed at Stellaris and her fans. He saw them as new monsters, attacking his sick child.

He hunched over his computer for hours, click-clack typing. His pale face glowed from internet pages, eyes burning to get them back. I’d hear him mutter how it wasn't fair, that Vtuber was bad, her voice low with menace. Mommy watched, eyes wide with alarm. Her attempts to calm him met furious outbursts or cold stares. Our small home’s air grew thick with unspoken accusations and Daddy’s heavy anger, like a bad smell.

I lay in bed, pulling Princess Starlight closer, listening to their muffled, angry arguments. The sound tormented me more than pain. "Bills, Arthur! Lawyer!" "Evidence, Martha! Lawsuit!" "Arthur, you're scaring Emily! Making it worse!" Each sharp word, a new wound. I’m doing this. Ruining everything.

I stopped eating. Food tasted like ashes. Doctors, alarmed by my decline, spoke in hushed, worried tones to my parents outside my hospital room. My leukemia, briefly better, got really bad again, like the sickness was twisting a knife in my broken body.

My parents’ arguments exploded, shouted, raw with fear and blame. "YOUR obsession, Arthur! Your insane online vendetta! You brought these lunatics to our door! Look at her!" "My obsession?! That Vtuber and her cult are destroying our family, Martha! I have to protect her!" I pulled covers over my head, tears soaking my pillow, wishing the world would end. Wishing I would end.

A terrified, weeping whisper, dissolving into pure, formless dread, the words now almost completely swallowed by darkness: "Emily… I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry”

Online harassment came into my real life, like cold fingers wrapping our house. Small things about me – my age, where we lived, secrets about my sickness – appeared on secret, mean internet places, put there by obsessive fans. Then, a blurry Google Street View picture of our house appeared online, circled in red: "Home of the Stellaris Hater. Let her know how you feel." It was an arrow marking our safe place for bad things.

Late-night calls started. Sometimes silence, heavy breathing. Other times, distorted laughter or whispered threats: "We know who you are. Where you live." Dozens of unordered pizzas arrived. Daddy roared at delivery drivers, purple with helpless rage, spitting apologies to protect us.

One evening, trying to force down bland soup, ignoring fear, a sharp CRACK echoed from the living room. We froze. A brick lay amidst shattered glass from the front window, a jagged hole. A note tied to it: "LEAVE STELLARIS ALONE, SICKO FREAK. OR ELSE. WE'RE WATCHING YOU."

Mommy screamed, a high, thin sound shattering my calm, pure terror. Daddy, face scary with anger, called police, voice shaking. He installed new locks, boarded the window, making our home a ruined prison. He slept on the sofa with a baseball bat, haunted. He paced like a caged animal, jumping at every creak, tired and sad from watching.

I couldn't breathe, stuck in a bad dream. Whispers in my head, once just anxieties, got louder, repeating mean things from the internet: You did this. You’re a curse. You deserve this. You are too much, too expensive, too sick, too much of a burden.

A single, piercing scream of absolute terror, then an echoing, fading whisper, the words now just faint, desperate impressions swallowed by the void: "the light is fading… Emily… help… me…please"

Suddenly, deafening sirens ripped through the quiet evening, shredding my peace. Red and blue lights strobed violently through my window, painting my room in pulsing crimson and sapphire, like a scary, flashing light party with my hammering heart. Mommy burst in, her face sheer terror, eyes wide. "Emily! Get up! Oh God, hurry!" Her voice a strangled rasp. She yanked me from bed, grip painfully tight, dragging me to the hallway.

Heavy, rhythmic banging thundered against the front door, rattling the house, shaking pictures. "POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR! ARMED INDIVIDUAL AND HOSTAGE SITUATION! HANDS UP!" The loud, buzzy voice was menacing, inhuman, echoing like a monster god.

Daddy, jumpy and paranoid for weeks, face tired, eyes red, appeared from the kitchen, baseball bat gripped tight. His eyes were wild, like a cornered, terrified animal. "It's them!" he roared, voice cracking with terror and mad anger. "The Stans! They've come to finish us! They won’t take my Emily!"

Mommy shrieked, pure anguish tearing at my insides. "Arthur, NO! It's the POLICE! Don't be a fool! Put the bat down! Please, Arthur, for Emily!"

Too late. The front door broke inwards with a crashing BOOM! Wood screamed. Dark, armored figures poured into our hallway, a terrifying tide of black clothes and shiny visors. Blinding helmet lights stabbed the dim interior, making my eyes go white. Through the glare, I saw menacing guns, black barrels glinting, pointed at us. "GET DOWN! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" Shouts, so many, so loud, made my head spin, like a scary, mixed-up song of anger.

Daddy, caught in blinding lights, confused, terrified, thought these were the internet people. He swung the baseball bat wildly, a desperate, hopeless swing at something too big.

A sharp command: "Suspect armed! Non-compliant! Threat!" Then, CRACK. A sound so loud, so final, it sucked all air, leaving a ringing silence, the sound of a universe breaking.

Daddy cried out, a choked sound of disbelief and terrible pain I’d never heard, echoing in my bad dreams. He crumpled, the bat clattering. Blood, shockingly bright, blossomed on his arm, soaking his shirt, splattering red drops onto the floral carpet where I played dolls. Mommy shrieked, pure anguish tearing through the sudden silence. She lunged past officers, oblivious to their shouts, scrambling towards Daddy. He lay groaning, clutching his bleeding arm, his face confused and lost.

My vision tunneled. The scene warped, dissolved into a yucky, spinning black hole. Strobing lights, shouting, gunpowder smell, fresh blood, Mommy’s cries – everything was pure horror. My vision blackened, tightening around my eyes, squeezing the world to a tiny, scary dot. My chest felt squished. I couldn't breathe. Air, I need air! Mommy! Daddy! I can't breathe! My lungs burned. I hyperventilated, ragged gasps tearing through the chaos, my body trembling.

"My fault," I wheezed, words barely audible, each a fresh stab of guilt. "Daddy… hurt… they shot him… because of me… I did this… I’m a curse…"

Whispers in my head, silent under terror, returned with a deafening roar: YES! YOU DID! YOU DESTROYED EVERYTHING! YOU ARE THE DARKNESS! YOU ARE THE CURSE! The world tilted, spun violently, the tiny dot of light contracted to nothing, then dissolved into infinite, welcoming blackness. I lost consciousness, last sensation the cold floor rushing up, a final, merciful oblivion.

The grey. Everywhere. A big, empty, soundless place. No pain now. Needles, nausea, Daddy’s sadness, Mommy’s tears, scary lights, gun sound – all far away, like hearing through cotton, growing quieter. Only stillness. A very deep tiredness, and a quiet desire to simply… stop. Let the grey swallow me. So easy. So quiet. No more burden. No more pain. For anyone.

A whisper. Faint. So faint. Almost lost in the vast, grey silence.

"Emily… wake… please… wake…?"

I didn’t want to listen. The grey was peaceful, a final, soft blanket. Why leave? Nothing left to fight for. But the voice… familiar somehow. Warm, like sunshine ages ago. Urgent. Insistent.

"Emily! It’s me! Stellaris! I’m here! You have to wake up! Please! Please, Emily!"

Stellaris? Here? But the voice... it felt so real.

A flicker. A pinprick of light – impossible sapphire blue, then gold, then rose – bloomed in the grey. It pulsed, growing. The voice again, clearer, stronger, cutting through the grey like a blade of pure energy.

"Emily! Listen to me! It’s Stellaris! I’m here! You have to wake up! Fight! For your Mommy and Daddy! For yourself!"

Iris? Stellaris? The names resonated, pulling at something deep inside, a tiny, sleepy spark I thought was dead. With a hard effort, like pushing a giant star, like remembering how to breathe, I turned my sleepy mind to the sound, to that insistent light. The grey resisted, pulling me back, but her voice was a stronger magnet.

With an effort that felt monumental, like pushing against a physical weight, I forced my mental gaze upwards.

The oppressive, featureless grey sky of my internal despair fractured.

Light, brilliant and golden, pierced through, shattering the fog like breaking glass. The pain, the whispers, the heavy weariness – they recoiled, shrinking from the sudden, incandescent radiance.

And there, suspended against a backdrop of swirling, stardust-blue nebulas, was Stellaris.

Not just the avatar on a screen.

Her.

Real.

Her iridescent hair flowed, catching the impossible light. Her eyes, Princess Starlight’s vibrant rose-gold, blazed with fierce, loving determination. Starlight wings, vast and feathered with pure luminescence, spread wide behind her, shimmering with an inner power. In her hand, the Star Wand pulsed, its crystal tip glowing with a gentle, inviting warmth.

She wasn’t just an image; she was a presence, radiating hope, strength, and an almost unbearable kindness.

Stellaris. Princess Starlight. Here. For me.

I wished with my whole heart to see her, to talk to her, to tell her all the things I never had the courage to say.

Then, the grey world broke.