under an impossibly lit night sky, lit not by a silvery moon but a glowing painter's palette splashed carelessly across the sky, a hearbeat of blue light lulls the island to sleep. the waves break on the shore with every pulse of blue light, tracing the outline of the island with the shimmer of bioluminescent plankton; an outline demarcating the the known, and the mysteries lying deep beneath the sea.
it was on a night like this that the twins were born: one with eyes so dark and so deep, they hide the secrets of the universe; the other with eyes full of joy, the sun rises everytime he laughs.
the twins were inseparable opposites; Dawn and Dusk, Mirth and Solitude, Pensiveness and Passion, Imagination and Reality, Coherence and Chaos. one kept the island's beauty a secret; the other revealed its impossibility.
because at night, the twins come out from their tiny hut on top of a rocky outcrop, gingerly managing the carved steps on the side of a steep cliff down to the powdery white beach below, with their mother in tow.
in the shallows, the children will try to catch the perfect cup of saltwater between their tiny hands, and wait until the water goes still and reflect the stars above. the other will then pluck the star from the cupped saltwater and put it in their pockets.
and when their pockets can no longer hold more, they would race back to their mother, who, with a patient smile, waits for them on the shore.