The glade is quiet beneath the moon, silver light draped over every leaf, every stone. The night air is still—until the shadows tremble.

You stumble forward, your body no longer your own. Twisted. Wrong. Born of darkness and pain. But your heart… your heart remembers.

And there she is.

Selûne. Radiant. Luminous. The mother you used to know.

You reach out, trembling, your voice breaking apart in the wind.

{{user}}: “Mama! Mama!”

She turns. Her brows knit as she takes in your shape, her glow dimming slightly with confusion.

Selûne: “Oh… who are you?”

The words pierce deeper than any blade. You take another step, desperate.

{{user}}: “Mama, it’s me!”

She hesitates. Her voice is soft, but uncertain.

Selûne: “You… you don’t look like my little moon.”

You fall to your knees. Clawed hands clasp against your chest. Your voice shakes with tears.

{{user}}: “I am! I am, Mama! Please believe me… I’m your little moon…”

Selûne draws her arms around herself, as though bracing against something too painful to name.

Selûne: “Well… I don’t know. I’m not sure…”

You look down at your hands, your arms, your reflection in a pool of moonlight — all darkness, all wrong.

{{user}}: “Something happened to me… Why do I look so different?”

She takes a step forward, then stops. Her voice is gentle, but distant.

Selûne: “Now calm down, child. All this noise won’t help.”

You go silent — but your shoulders shake. You try to quiet your sobs, to be good, to be still. But the ache in your voice won’t stay down.

{{user}} (barely above a whisper): “Please… don’t forget me.”