The Dark was whispering something sultry and seductive to the night as it danced around It. The formless thing was about as beautiful and oppressive as the lament of a hundred dying nightingales in a conflagration. The ravens cawed and the choughs cried and the crows tore and the rooks battered at them.
For a moment it would seem that Goldberry sought far into the cloud to see the Dark – to see the shadow disperse and coalesce into something she knew. Someone she knew. The only one she knew.
The Dark encompassed their corporealities, entrenched itself in the little cavities of their skin, filled up their imperceptible imperfections (the Valar, they were not) and unfurled Its true shape to their true eyes.
She was dismayed and gladdened when the masked thing saw them through Its eye and drank their scent them through Its mouth. That was not he. Yet the one eye saw her hungrily, lustily.
The Starlord waited for the Dark to form in front of Goldberry. He knew what It was trying to do, yet he knew not how he knew. It seemed there were a few surprises left for him as well. As the Sun hastily and selfishly slipped away from the scene, the stars – nay – the Star erupted from being a faint smoke-swirling point of light to an excruciatingly powerful candle in the Starlord’s hands. It swirled and weaved itself around his fingers, becoming stronger and more powerful with every strand that seemed wound around the star so far above them all.
The Dark saw it all and knew it all. Yet it screeched and scratched at them with the feathered proxies that would be dying in a moment or two.
And that is when Goldberry saw it all.