Once upon a time; there was a boy who found that he had fallen from a very great height, like a cliff or a tree or something like that. At least, that is what he thought. He kind of had a rather large bump on his head he guessed that he could not have come by any other way. And other than that, he lived the life of a boy; average, unremarkable.
What had actually happened was this: The boy had fallen from a very great height indeed, much further than he had ever suspected. He'd fallen from the sky, boom, crash, like a meteor or a gold skinned, gold-haired creature with gold flecks in his gold-rimmed blue eyes, and scars from where something that might have been wings had burned away in the fall. The Dawn came up and swallowed him without his knowledge, and at night he stared up at the stars and didn't know why.
Stars are funny things. They shine and glimmer and twinkle but they don't make the dark any less so. They are lovely and ceaseless and sad in their lovliness. So there was a star that went out with the sun, gleaming and glimmering against the brightening of the sky, until it dissappeared beneath the thin layer of blue that always covers the black expanse of space. And when the darkness returned, there would be the stars again. And eyes looking up at them. Just as lovely. And just as cold. And they looked at each other, the stars and the boy, and they didn't, none of them, know why. Ever.