Altar of Twilight You'll float too

Omen descended with great tedium into the moonlit heart of the Altar's lush-green lowlands. She would pause every few steps and scan her surroundings sluggishly before proceeding. The onyx sibyl made it all the way to centerfield without being disturbed. There she seemed to settle, standing for a while to observe the endless night and a googleplex of stars gazing back at her. At some point she reclined on lean haunches, and then— transfixed by the infinity she saw— wound up on her back, lost and luxuriating  in the metaphysical pleasure she got from merely existing under the bask of a gibbous moon. She writhed in the grass, and ignored the creeping vine of loneliness she felt rising up along her spine. No, she wouldn't let that get to her.

The girl felt like starshine.