Anton hands her the dress with pride and nostalgia warring in his chest. Stella. His precious little morning star. She reminds him so much of Christa it hurts; when she's not with him, the bright colours of the circus fade.

He knows it can't last forever, this life washed grey without his glittering snowflake. Eventually he'll find a way to bind her, as he did with Christa. It was his job to secure her rope the day she fell and smashed her kneecap, the day her skating dream ended. She never blamed him, nor will Stella. Their glow is his.