Chapter Thirty-Five: The Cosmic Egg

This is Mira’s story — part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.
(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.)

🎧 Listen while you read: “Ophelia” by The Lumineers
She was never mad. Just unheard.

Mira’s Story: The Cosmic Egg
Where magic meets the mundane

Gentle months had passed in a rhythm they hadn’t know they were building. They had weekly family dinners and homework kerfuffles. Mira cheering Ellie on at drama rehearsals. Rowan and Pepper whispering through zombie movies only the two of them enjoyed. And everyone, perplexedly but devoted, cheering Cal at Mathletes.

And while it wasn’t perfect, it felt like theirs.

The kids resisted the lull in their own ways. Ellie by over-scheduling, Pepper by retreating into video games and journaling, Cal by going quiet. But still, they showed up for one another and the strange little unit they’d become.

As the school year ended, the shift to summer came suddenly. Ellie and Cal were headed to what they called the beach house mansion. It was a sprawling coastal home shared by their mom’s side of the family. No one was allowed to sit on the white furniture and linen shirts were worn once and then dry cleaned for nostalgia. Mira was taking Rowan and Pepper to one of her favorite festivals instead. It was loud, barefoot, and she had to warn them that clothing was optional.

They’d planned to leave later that day. Mira had just finished stuffing the cooler when her phone buzzed.

The car was already packed with snacks, sleeping bags, biodegradable glitter, and too many layers when the message came in from an unknown number:

Hey Mira. Ellie gave me your number, hope that’s okay. She was asking why Pepper wasn’t coming, and honestly, all the kids seem pretty set on including her in the beach sleepover. So… if it’s not too weird, I’m happy to take her to the beach house for the weekend. No pressure. Just figured you two could use some time.

They’d been half-joking all week that Mira’s real festival “plus one” was a teenage Leo with strong opinions about drum circles and a standing threat to gouge her eyes out if Mira went topless. Still, she’d been ready to make it work.

Mira stared at her phone.

Then read it out loud.

Then read it again, like it might vanish.

Mira tapped out a reply before she could second-guess it:
Bold move. Brave woman. If she gets glitter in the car, I take no responsibility. Thank you, really.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Is this a trap?”

She snorted. “If it is, I don’t care. Come on. Let’s disappear for a little bit.”

---

The ferry ride to Orcas Island felt like a gateway to another world.

Mira leaned against the railing, her face tilted toward the wind, eyes closed in that quiet bliss that only came when she was moving toward something untethered. Rowan stood beside her, sipping bad coffee and watching her like she was the sun.

She didn’t notice.

That made it better.

They arrived at the Lucid Oasis Festival to the smell of woodsmoke, music drifting through the trees, and a kaleidoscope of people in velvet cloaks, painted faces, LED wings, and barefoot joy.

It looked like a Renaissance Faire fell in love with a Burning Man afterparty and decided to raise weird little forest children.

Mira lit up.

This was her magic.

She could feel it humming under her skin, the rhythm of drums syncing with her heartbeat, the smell of sage smoke and damp pine, strangers smiling like they already knew her soul.
It wasn’t a party. It was a remembering.

A remembering of being in community, connected with nature, and daring to play.

She danced barefoot across the grass to Halley, who was already setting up a canopy near the drum circle, a string of mushrooms woven into her braid.

“You brought the egg?” Mira asked, grinning.

Halley grinned wider and held up a ridiculous camping light shaped like a glowing orb. “You know I did. It’s our sacred cosmic egg.”

Rowan squinted at it. “I’m not gonna ask.”

“Too late,” Halley said. “It’s your spirit guide now.”

They set their tent up under two small bowing trees that Mira said was a fairy portal.

Rowan unzipped the tent bag and paused. “This is… a canvas yurt?”

“And a memory foam mattress,” Mira said, casually unrolling it like this was standard issue for camping. “And solar lights, a diffuser and fan… oh, and a clothing rack if you want to hang anything.”

Rowan blinked. “This isn’t camping. This is… “

“Glamping,” she confirmed. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have life’s luxuries in the woods.”

He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

After setting up the tent (and marveling at Mira’s portable solar shower), they wandered the grounds. Rowan tasted strange kombucha from a stand carved into a fallen log. Mira made him try smoked jackfruit. They shared hibiscus elixirs while a man in a velvet vest read poetry to a golden retriever.

At one booth, Rowan stopped. Picked up a woven cuff embedded with bits of green stone. Held it up to Mira’s wrist. “Matches your eyes.”

She blinked. Surprised. Then smiled slowly. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

He bought it. Fastened it for her himself.

They ate dinner on a blanket in the grass, music spilling from the main stage. Mira leaned back on her elbows. Rowan stretched out beside her, brushing crumbs from her lip with his thumb.

She licked his fingers. Shot him a grin.

Then stood.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“To dance.”

He hesitated, glancing at the people swaying barefoot in the sun.

Mira didn’t wait.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

Rowan followed. Not because he knew the steps. But because it was Mira. And wherever she was leading, he wanted to go.

At first, Rowan moved stiffly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his limbs, surrounded by barefoot strangers smelling of patchouli and sage, twirling scarves and making interpretive gestures at the sky.

But Mira turned toward him, eyes crinkling, hair catching in the light like fire and he let himself get lost in her rhythm.

In their rhythm.

She stepped closer, and he let his hands settle at her waist. The music shifted, something slower, deeper. He pulled her gently in. Let his body memorize hers… sun-warmed and soft.

“See?” she murmured. “You’re dancing.”

“I’m being dragged.”

“Semantics.”

She tipped her forehead against his, and he couldn’t help it, he smiled. That smile that made his dimple show and stretched through his chest and down his spine.

As the sun began to fall beyond the trees, casting long golden lines between the tents and lanterns, they wandered from the music, still holding hands.

A man in a kilt with leaves tucked into his hat intercepted them near a wooden archway, holding a wicker picnic basket.

“Feeling brave?” he asked.

Rowan blinked. “That’s a loaded question.”

The man grinned and held out the basket. “Draw a quest.”

Rowan and Mira exchanged a glance. Then, without speaking, both reached in and pulled out a small purple velvet pouch.

Rowan opened his first.

Inside was a smooth pink stone and curled slip of paper.

He unfolded it and read aloud:

Rose Quartz: Stone of love. Opening.
Your Quest: Say the thing you’ve been scared to say to someone who matters.

He looked at the stone. Then at Mira. His throat suddenly felt dry.

“Rose quartz,” she said softly. “Very on brand for you.”

“You think I’m soft?”

Mira tilted her head, eyes steady. “No. I think you’re the kind of strong that doesn’t hide softness. That’s braver.”

Mira untied her pouch and tipped its contents into her palm.

A deep green stone gleamed in the waning light.

Malachite: Stone of growth and protection.
Your Quest: Connect with someone. Discover what’s outside your comfort zone. Then, with your newfound malachite courage, take the leap. Together.

Mira let out a breathy laugh. “Of course. Risk-taking. Very on brand for me.”

She looked at Rowan. “So… want to find out what we’re afraid of?”

He held up his rose quartz, lips twitching. “Only if you go first.”

She stepped closer, pressing the cool green malachite into his palm, their stones meeting like a pact.

“Fine,” she said. “But no backing out.”

Rowan’s fingers closed around both stones. “Deal.”

They tucked the pouches away, not quite ready, but knowing that they would be.

---

Back at camp, the energy was soft and giddy.

They curled under blankets with Mira’s weird and wonderful circle, talking about dreams, astrology, the time Halley dated a man who spoke in song lyrics for a week.

The fire cracked, casting shadows across Halley’s face as she launched into a dramatic retelling of the cosmic egg’s “origin story.” Something about a pan-dimensional chicken, an eclipse, and an intergalactic prophecy of light.

All the while the cosmic egg glowed in the center of the group like a talisman.

Mira chimed in, grinning: “Yolanda the Luminous. She’s been through multiple incarnations. All in one weekend.”

Rowan nearly snorted into his tea. “You named the egg?”

“Of course,” Halley said with solemnity. “She’s our spiritual elder now. We bow before the egg.”

Mira was in stitches, doubled over, tears in her eyes. Someone passed her a joint, but she waved it off, still laughing.

And still, the egg pulsed beside them. A soft glowing green from within its ridiculous plastic shell like it was listening. Like it was in on the joke.

Someone grabbed the egg and cradled it like a baby. They laughed so hard they cried. Rowan laughed harder than he had in years.

Rowan leaned back on his elbows, watching Mira light up in a way he wished he could bottle. Loose. Radiant. Herself.

“You’re a menace,” he murmured when she nudged him with her foot.

“I contain multitudes,” she replied, looking at him through the haze of firelight and wine and thought, this is the real thing. The quiet joy. The belly-laugh connection. The man who showed up and stayed.

Rowan didn’t say much. But when Mira caught his eye across the fire, there was something awestruck there, like he’d stumbled into a dream he didn’t know he’d been hoping for.

Someone offered them roasted peach slices dusted in chili sugar. Someone else asked if they wanted to join a midnight sound bath. Mira declined with a hand over her heart and whispered, “We’re on a different kind of journey.”

Mira pressed her palms together and bowed dramatically.

“Thank you, Yolanda, guardian of cosmic debauchery.”

Rowan added: “We’ll return before your next hatching.”

They slipped away soon after, fingers laced, laughter still lingering as they headed toward the cove.

There was no plan. No words. Just the pull of water and moonlight and each other.

They stripped slowly, daring the cold, daring the sky to look away.

The water bit at her skin at first, cold and shocking, but she didn’t flinch. She followed him in, step by breath by heartbeat.

And then, skin met skin. Weightless.

This wasn’t the kind of night she’d imagined in her old daydreams. It was better. Weirder. Realer. Hers.

They slid into the water, into each other, into a rhythm that felt more like remembering than discovering.

She wasn’t afraid. Not this time. Only stunned by how easy it was to stay.

There was no rush. No firestorm.

Just heat.

Just gravity.

Just love.

---

After, they lay naked on a towel beneath the stars, the trees whispering above them.

The night was warm, not hot, but soft and forgiving, like the kind that holds you gently instead of cooling you down.

Still, their skin was traced with gooseflesh, the lake’s memory lingering in small shivers neither of them rushed to chase away.

They were warm in all the right places.

Rowan turned his head, his voice a soft rumble.

“You feel like freedom.”

Mira smiled, eyes still on the sky.

“So do you.”

The stars stretched endlessly above them.

“You still have our rocks?” she asked after a while, voice quiet.

He reached for his jeans, pulling the tiny pink and green stones from the pocket, and held them in his palm. “Rose quartz. Say the thing I’ve been scared to say.”

Mira plucked the green one from his hand, holding it to her chest. “Malachite. Take the leap.”

They looked at each other, and for a moment the playfulness gave way to something still.

“I’m so afraid of failing,” Rowan said, his voice low. “Of disappointing. Of letting things drop.”

He paused, fingers curling over the stone in his hand.

“Might be why I didn’t let myself want for so long… Because if I didn’t let myself have it, I couldn’t fail at keeping it.”

“And now?” She asked.

He looked at the stone again. Then back at her. His voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve been holding my breath for years. Waiting for the moment something breaks.”

Rowan met her eyes. “Now I think that loss is just the shadow of love.”

Her breath caught. “How so?”

“To really love is to risk something. Risk grief. Risk change. If you don’t, it’s not love… it’s safety dressed up. Mira, I wouldn’t have even know how to dream of loving someone like you if I hadn’t been through loss. If I hadn’t broke open first. And now…” he swallowed, steady but unflinching, “I can’t imagine not loving you.”

She slid her hand over his.

“I’m scared too,” she said. “But I want this too. So much.”

They pressed their stones together between them.

“Activate quest?” she said.

Rowan smiled. “Beam me up Scotty.”

---

They slept in a tangle of arms and breath that night, curled under blankets and the glow of the cosmic egg, which someone had lovingly propped next to them like a guardian.

They laughed like it was a joke. But it glowed beside them all night, like it knew something was being reborn.

No alarms. No plans.

Just them.

Alive. Open. Held.

---

Blog Post: When the Body Remembers Joy
The rebellion of joy that doesn’t ache

We talk so much about healing.

But what about joy?

What about the moments that don’t ache?
The ones that shimmer? That rise like laughter at midnight around a campfire with people who really see you?

What about dancing barefoot in the grass, skin painted in stardust, wrapped in someone’s hoodie and too many blankets and exactly enough yes?

Healing is hard work.

But joy is sacred, too.

Because when you’ve survived enough to feel safe again—
when your nervous system no longer flinches at peace—
joy becomes a kind of rebellion.

And in those rare, glowing moments, when you remember how it feels to be light again…

Let yourself stay there.

Even if it’s fleeting.

Even if you know the world will ask you to carry things again tomorrow.

Let your body remember joy.

Let yourself feel the sun on your shoulders. The arms around your waist. The echo of your own laughter, unrestrained. Let the moment in. Not like a memory, but like medicine.

Let your soul soak in the weird, the wild, the wondrous.

And when the fire dies down and the stars stretch overhead and someone you love reaches for your hand…

Let yourself stay.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤️

Have you ever felt your whole body exhale in someone’s presence? Tell me about a moment that shimmered — not because it was perfect, but because you were finally free to enjoy it.
(Or just whisper it to the version of you who’s learning that joy is safe now. She’ll hear it.)

☁️ New here? You can start Mira’s Story from the beginning with Chapter Zero.

➡️✨ Continue Mira’s Story with Chapter Thirty-Six: Reentry

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