It opens like a quiet stage: velvet-black sky, a single line—“Artist: Metaleroz”—glowing pale-gold before it breathes out and disappears. Then the moon arrives, not a flat coin but a lantern: a soft halo of twenty gauzy rings, a pearl disk pricked with wandering craters, its phase hinted by a curved shadow like a thumbprint. The moon keeps aristocratic distance, perched high to the right, and everything else in the night respects it—constellations bow and arrange themselves below its luminous aura so nothing trespasses across that holy light. The stars themselves are lively little actors. Some are round embers, some cross-shaped flares, some tiny four-pointed prisms, all pulsing with a slow inhale-exhale of brightness. They gather into IAU constellations—celestial line drawings that rotate to a fresh orientation each time and then scale perfectly to the available sky, as if the cosmos were re-composing itself to fit your window. If the data gods are fickle, a minimalist Cassiopeia appears as a dignified “W,” a whispered fallback rather than a blank night. Touch the sky and it answers. Brush a star and it breaks rank, turning into a falling spark with a glowing trail, angling down as if gravity just remembered its name. Double-tap and a discreet HUD fades up from the horizon like a field guide—constellation name, rough center, star and line counts—then slips away again when you’re done peeking behind the curtain. Every so often, a comet slips in from the left: a bright bead with a long, chalky tail. Catch it with a well-timed tap and it tumbles, shedding embers as it falls; the air fills with brief, fiery motes—orange-gold particles that bloom and fade like cinders. And in longer intervals, a meteor shower rakes the sky at an angle, each grain a swift white dash that smolders for a heartbeat and is gone, as if the simulation exhaled a handful of matchheads. Between these events, the scene remains hushed and generous. The composition is constantly considerate—reflowing on resize, keeping the moon serene, allowing constellations to breathe. It feels like a pocket planetarium with a mischievous streak: reverent of the heavens, yet delighted to let you nudge them and watch a few stars fall.