The Leo Constellation ring

Leo isn't one shape. It's two. Six stars curl into a backwards question mark. Astronomers call it the Sickle. That curve is the head, the mane, the chest. Regulus sits at the base of the curve. Brightest star in the whole constellation. Sits right where the heart would sit. Behind it, three more stars form a triangle. Hindquarters and tail. Nine stars total, always drawn this way, for a few thousand years. Nobody added a border between the two shapes. The sky just agreed where the front ends and the back begins. That's the actual constellation. Now the part people born under it already know. You don't do quiet entrances. You walk in, the room notices. You didn't ask it to. It just happens. You give people your full attention or none at all. No in-between. When you love someone, you love loud enough that everyone in the room knows it. You forgive slow. Cross you once, that's a memory now. You won't bring it up. You'll just remember. You need to be seen. Not liked. Seen. There's a difference and you already know which one you want. You lead because somebody has to, and you got tired of waiting for that somebody. Warm as hell, until you're not. Then it's fast, and nobody sees it coming. Nine stones on this ring trace that exact shape. Sickle. Triangle. Regulus, dead centre, doing what it's always done. Nothing added. Nothing softened. Built because the shape already existed.