Two iridescent pillbug-like creatures on a wooden platform at night, one looking at a comet, the other at its reflection, in a graphic novel style.

A graphic novel page, high-quality everything, this is the novelized version of the page: "You ever think the stars are watching us back?" Comet asked the empty air, her antennae twitching against the damp night breeze. Above her, the sky was a rippling black ocean, punctured by countless pinpricks of light. She rolled onto her side—an awkward motion for a creature shaped like a pillbug—and fumbled for her picnic basket. Her thick shell scraped against the wooden observation platform of the North Watchtower, sending vibrations down the Great Oak’s massive trunk. The leafy greens sandwich was slightly wilted from the perpetual mist, but Comet didn’t mind. Moisture kept her joints supple. She took a slow bite, her mandibles working methodically as she scanned the heavens. Stargazing wasn’t just a hobby—it was her job. The Forest City’s architects needed to know when storms were coming, and the way clouds moved over the Canopy-Skyline told her more than any bark-carved calendar could. A streak of silver cut across her vision. Comet froze mid-chew. Shooting stars weren’t uncommon, but this one burned brighter than any she’d seen before, its tail shimmering like spider silk catching sunlight. She reached for her mirror—a polished beetle-shell fragment—just as the star’s light washed over her. The reflection staring back wasn’t hers. Or rather, it was, but now her gray plating gleamed iridescent, and where her stubby legs should’ve been, delicate wings trembled. Comet dropped the Ver mais