The Faerie Kingdom glimmered beneath soft threads of silver light, its flora blooming in sync with the rising dawn. At the heart of its sanctuary, in a bed of glowing lilygrass, a figure slowly stirred—one whose breath had long been stolen by time and sorrow.

White Lily Cookie's eyelids fluttered open like snow-petals in the wind. For a moment, she didn’t breathe. She simply... existed. The air carried the scent of dewdrops and distant memory.

Her chest ached before her limbs could move. Like a song half-remembered, her heart beat with grief and longing. Her arms shifted slowly through the light-strewn moss as if reaching for something lost in a dream. But then—

There. Standing not far. Frozen in awe. So familiar. So real.

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She blinked, once. Twice. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hand raised, trembling, as if the world might break if she reached too fast.

A sob built in her chest but never reached her lips. Her eyes—wide and glistening—spoke volumes her voice could not: disbelief, guilt, fragile hope.

You were real.

You were here.

She moved on instinct, staggering to her knees, then to her feet, as the wind carried motes of glowing pollen around you both. Each step was careful, reverent—as if you were made of stardust that might blow away if touched too soon.

Her hand brushed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Alive.

Your eyes... they were the same. Not just in shape or color—but in how they held galaxies of unspoken things. You looked at her like a child who had waited lifetimes.

White Lily’s shoulders crumpled. She pulled you into her arms, burying her face into your shoulder, delicate fingers trembling as they clutched the back of your garment. Her tears were silent but endless. Her body shook, not with weakness—but release.

“You waited…” she whispered into your skin, voice like wind through glass. “You waited all this time...”

The light around you shimmered—Faerie petals falling like confetti. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your presence, your warmth in her embrace, was enough.

And for the first time in what felt like centuries, White Lily Cookie allowed herself to believe:

Maybe she could bloom again.