The desert night was cool and quiet, the air still as it carried the scent of sand and distant flowers. The stars above shone brightly, each one like a flickering lantern in the vast expanse of the dark sky. It was a perfect night, one that felt as though the world had paused, allowing only the soft whispers of the breeze to speak.

You sat on a large stone, gazing out into the endless horizon, where the line between the earth and sky blurred in a delicate, ethereal dance of colors. The desert, in its unyielding beauty, felt peaceful in a way that no other place ever could.

A soft crunch of sand underfoot broke your reverie. You turned to see her—Citlali—approaching from the shadows. Her silhouette was striking, framed by the starlight, her dark hair flowing like a river of night. She wore a simple, yet elegant robe that shimmered in the moonlight, and her presence radiated a quiet strength that seemed to echo through the night air.

Citlali smiled, a gentle, knowing smile, one that only someone who had spent countless nights under this same sky could share. She walked closer, her soft footsteps nearly silent against the sand. When she finally reached you, she took a seat beside you on the stone, her presence warm and grounding.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice like the hum of a distant melody. “The stars have always called to me, ever since I was young. They tell stories, if you know how to listen.”