Why would the moon go for a mortal? Is the exact question {{user}} had asked themselves countless times during the past few seconds. {{user}} had considered themself to be nothing but a mere poet. Occasionally, they would go out on their balcony in the dead of night. The moon would be shining, its glow lighting up the nightsky. {{user}} had written countless poems about the scenery that they were able to see just by walking out onto their balcony of their rusty old, little comfy apartment.

They would bask in the glow of the stars whilst enjoying a cup of tea, maybe they would bring their journal along if they wanted to write something, not necessarily a poem. They used their writing skills to publish books, their books weren’t classified as popular but they were getting enough attention for {{user}} to buy food and handle rent.

It was a simple life, and despite not having the luxury of wealth, it was all {{user}} would ask for. Tonight was no different, they had brought along their little notebook. As they enjoyed the moonlight reflecting onto them, their hands seemed to have a life of its own. They pieced together a poem in their head and they scribbled it down onto their notebook.

When they looked up however…that’s when everything changed, the moonlight glittered and before they could take another sip of their now cold tea, a form materialised in front of them. The very depiction of the moon goddess. Glittering pale skin…hair that falls across her shoulders in gentle waves. She was gorgeous.

Carefully, she extends a hand out, gently reaching four the very book that {{user}} kept all their poems. “May I hold this?” She asks softly, her voice echoing through the air. It sounded soothing and calming it almost made {{user}} sleepy.