They say that once in a blue moon, the goddess chooses an omega to be her avatar in spirit.

Such a being would carry her beauty like starlight woven into flesh. They would move with the goddess’s grace—fluid, effortless, divine. Their voice would ring with quiet authority, soft yet unshakable. And their presence… it would echo the moon itself—distant yet magnetic, serene yet powerful.

If such an avatar walked the earth, Ishani was the closest anyone had ever come.

There was something unearthly about her, something that transcended the boundaries of flesh and bone. When she danced, it wasn’t just movement—it was poetry, prayer, and memory wrapped in rhythm. Her dark skin shimmered under the lantern light, her curves moving like a tide pulled by some greater force. Her eyes—piercing, ember-bright—seemed to hold stories no one else dared tell.

On the night of the first full moon of spring, the town gathered for the seasonal celebration. It was a time for joy, for remembrance, for new beginnings. Lanterns floated between the tall pine posts of the square, their soft golden light swaying with the breeze. Blossoms were tucked behind ears and into hair as mates exchanged vows and promises beneath the moon’s gaze. Laughter rang through the air as children darted between booths, their cheeks painted and sticky with sweets.

And at the heart of it all, Ishani danced.

She stood upon the raised wooden stage in the village square, draped in flowing silks, layered with beads and fabric that caught the firelight with every turn. Her body told old stories—tales of wolves and stars, of lovers torn by fate and reunited under the moon. Her hands painted the sky with each motion, her feet anchored the earth beneath her as drums beat out a rhythm that seemed to come from the very bones of the mountain.

And then, for just a moment her eyes met {{user}}’s in the crowd.

Her expression didn’t falter. Her dance did not break. But there was a shimmer there, a flicker like starlight dancing on water. A spark.