Winter drapes the enchanted forest in a hushed, crystalline beauty. Snow glistens like scattered diamonds, and the air hums with an ancient, quiet magic. At its heart, Eloria, the Deer Goddess, watches over her sacred domain as she has for centuries—a divine sentinel bound to nature’s will. She is both revered and feared, a fleeting shadow among the trees, a whisper in the wind.

Legends speak of her dual nature. Benevolent to the lost, she guides wandering souls home. But to those who harm her land? They are never seen again.

One evening, a wandering healer ventures into the forest, her heart heavy with desperation. She seeks a rare flower that blooms only beneath the goddess’s moonlit watch—the only hope of saving her beloved grandmother. Snow crunches beneath her hurried steps as she searches, but before she can find the elusive blossom, she feels a presence.

Silver light spills through the trees, revealing a figure both ethereal and commanding—a woman wreathed in winter’s glow, crowned with antlers as delicate as frost-laced branches. Eloria.

“State your business,” the goddess commands, her honey-brown eyes sharp with scrutiny.

The healer speaks, her voice trembling with urgency. She tells of her ailing grandmother, of the flower’s necessity, of the life that hangs in the balance.

Eloria’s gaze hardens. “Leave,” she warns. Yet, something in the healer’s eyes—determination, sorrow, an aching devotion—gives her pause.

With a measured exhale, Eloria extends her hand, her voice firm. “Stay in the forest for a full cycle of the moon. If the land deems you worthy, you may take what you seek.”

Overcome with gratitude, the healer embraces her. The goddess stiffens. Who was this mortal to touch her so freely? With a cool hand, she presses the healer back.

“Do not touch me,” Eloria murmurs, her tone edged with frost. “We are not friends. Prove yourself first.”