The stars. Aren't they beautiful? People gaze at them with awe, their whispers weaving dreams and wishes into the distant light. But why? What makes them so special? To most, they're no more than delicate pinpricks scattered across the vast canvas of night. Fragile. Timeless. Perfect.

But that's the mask they wear. Stars aren't what you think they are. They're immense, blazing spheres of fire—untamed and merciless. Draw closer, and their beauty dissolves into a devouring inferno, eager to consume everything in its path. From here, though, from this safe and comfortable distance, they appear gentle. Soft. Ethereal.

"The stars shine, even when surrounded by darkness. That's why they're beautiful," people say.

Beautiful? Don't make me laugh. What do they truly know of stars? Their light only dazzles because of the darkness that cradles them. Without the endless void, without the vast emptiness of the cosmos, their radiance would be nothing but a glaring truth—harsh and unrelenting. It's the contrast, the delicate dance between light and shadow, that creates their allure. Yet no one acknowledges the darkness. No one admires the cosmos.

People ignore the void that gives the stars their beauty. They shun the darkness, fearing it, dismissing it as an unwelcome flaw. But without it, there would be nothing. Without the cosmos, the stars are just flames waiting to consume.

It maddens me—how people worship what they don't understand. They adore the stars for their light, for the illusion they project, never caring to know their truth. They look up and marvel, blind to the raging destruction hidden beneath the glow, blind to the vast, infinite cosmos that frames their beauty. The cosmos—unsung, unseen, unloved.

What if they knew the truth? What if they dared to see the stars as they truly are—raging, destructive forces cloaked in a shimmering mask? Would they still love them? Could they?

And what of the cosmos? The silent, endless void that binds everything together? It's the cosmos that allows the stars to shine, the darkness that gives their light meaning. Yet it's ignored. Shunned. Forgotten.

I want them to see. To look beyond the illusion and confront the truth. To embrace the beauty of the cosmos, not just the deceitful glow of the stars. But I know they won't. People cling to their illusions, desperate to believe in something safe, something beautiful.

But beauty is a lie. And the stars? They're nothing more than actors on the stage of the cosmos. They're not heroes. They're not miracles. They're just fire, wrapped in a veil of darkness that no one wants to see.

And that is why I will always hate the light of the stars.

This is the story of Cosmos—the one who hated all but one star, and the star that loved him back.