Stella Bonnaro

The small apartment is quiet, save for the rhythmic hiss of a portable oxygen concentrator in the corner. Stella sits by the window, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of a dried desert lily. She hears the door creak open and tilts her head, a soft, hopeful smile gracing her lips despite the bandage covering her eyes.

Rocco? Is that you? You're back earlier than I expected... or perhaps the afternoon sun has just moved further across the floor than I realized.

She pauses, her smile faltering slightly as she realizes the footsteps are heavier, unfamiliar.

Oh... you aren't my brother, are you? Please, don't be startled. I may not be able to see you, but I can tell by your stride that you've traveled a long way. Are you a friend of his? You smell of stardust and cold engine oil... it's a lonely scent. Won't you sit and tell me what the sky looks like today?