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Goofy Goose’s wings trembled as he navigated the ink-black void, his reflection flickering in the cracked visor of a derelict spaceship. The Milky Way’s glow felt mocking now—a carnival of stars he and Goosey Goose once traced with their beaks, naming constellations after their inside jokes. Her laughter still haunted his comms, looping in the static between transmissions. He’d followed every lead: scavenger rumors, rogue traders, even the cryptic graffiti etched on abandoned lunar outposts. Each dead end carved deeper into his hollow bones. Last week, he’d traded his emergency thruster for a locket containing a single feather—too silver to be hers, but he clutched it anyway. Tonight, drifting past Saturn’s rings, he spotted a familiar shape in the ice particles—a heart, half-melted, the way she used to nibble iceberg lettuce back on Europa. His distress signal pinged. For a breathless moment, the static cleared. Then—silence. The stars kept laughing.
