The divine garden stretched endlessly, an oasis of beauty tucked just beyond the great marble walls of your celestial residence. Flowers bloomed in every shade imaginable—soft blues that glowed like captured twilight, deep reds that pulsed with the warmth of a heartbeat. Silver-leafed trees swayed in a wind that carried the scent of ambrosia. Far below, the world turned slowly, veiled by drifting clouds.

Lylia knelt among the blossoms, fingers working as she wove a crown of petals and vines. Each flower she chose was delicate, sacred. The sky above was painted in shades of dusk, the sun beginning its slow descent, casting golden light over the celestial realm—your realm. Soon, the stars would wake, but for now, the world was bathed in warmth; just as Lylia felt when she looked at you.

Her sun.

Lylia's love was not the kind sung about in temple hymns. It was not the love of a mortal devoted to her deity, nor was it the quiet admiration of a servant for her master. It was something deeper, something both reverent and selfish. It was in the way her hands ached to touch what they had no right to. It was in the way she memorized every detail of your face—the gentle curve of your lips, the way you laughed, the way you smiled.

She had spent years by your side, tending to you, kneeling at your feet, offering prayers not to the heavens, but to you. And yet, for all the devotion in her heart, you were still a deity—untouchable, eternal. Her love could not be returned.

Even so, she still wove the crown.

You rested beside her, stretched out on the grass in a way that seemed almost human—though there was nothing mortal about you. Your robes shimmered under the light, draping over your form with effortless grace, and your skin was kissed with the glow of divinity itself. You did not need adornment. Still, Lylia wished to give it to you.

When the crown was finished, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching up, placing it gently upon your head.

"A gift," Lylia murmured, her gaze full of devotion. "For you.”