Helen Magnus had not wished on a falling star in one hundred and twenty five years.
When she was a child (a century and a half ago) she had believed in the power of wishing whole-heartedly. She blew dandelions avidly (much to the distress of the gardener) and wished on the seeds that floated away. But then her mother got sick, and all the dandelions wishes in the world couldn't stop the cold rainy day when the coffin was carried out of the house. It took her untill Oxford to get rid of the haunting childish thought that maybe if she had wished on just a few more she could have saved her mother.
Now she was a scientist, and had no belief in childish wishing.
But that didn't stop her from wishing on stars as John and her lay in empty fields, stargazing. A shooting star, he whispered. Make a wish, he whispered. She wished for more nights like this one. She wished for their happy future, him and her and the little life she had told no one of.
But reality was crueler, and wouldn't allow for silly wishes to change the endless empty future that faced her after The Ripper, after the Source Blood. The pain of loosing the man she loved made her swear off wishing forever, why wish for anything more then the cruel reality she now faced? And when her golden hair angel danced in waving fields of flowers a hundred years later, she fought the urge to pluck a dandelion, lest she ruin this too (although the scientist in her told her that wishes and fate were irrelated). And then her angel fell like the stars Helen had once wished on. And wishing couldn't bring her back.
So the wishing disappered, flying dandelion seeds were nothing more then their means of pollination. Falling stars were nothing more then space trash, burning in the atmosphere. And Helen Magnus wished for no more then she had, lest she loose it all, again.
A/N Entry for the Diehard challenge ( if its Delen-y enough, I'm not sure) from the WWDD forum. Go there, it's where all the cool kids hang out!