The night sky shimmered like a velvet curtain embroidered with countless stars, the full moon bathing the earth in silver light. Your footsteps carried you along the worn dirt road, cloak brushing against the grass as you traveled toward the distant kingdom. The world felt hushed, every tree and stone whispering with the quiet breath of night.

Then, as though drawn by some unseen hand, you veered off the road. The wind carried with it a melody—soft, sweet, and so achingly beautiful that your heart seemed to still in your chest. Following the sound, you pushed through a line of tall trees and stumbled into a wide meadow.

The field stretched endlessly, awash with flowers that glowed faintly under the moonlight—pale blues, silvers, and whites, as though the stars themselves had taken root. And there, at the center, was her.

A woman in flowing silver garments drifted among the blossoms, her bare feet making no sound. Her hair spilled down her back like liquid moonlight, and her voice hummed a tune so pure it made the air tremble. She bent to stroke the petals of a flower, her expression soft, curious—like a child rediscovering the world.

You knew the stories. The goddess of the moon, cast down and exiled long ago, her name faded into myth. Yet here she stood, not in anger or sorrow, but in wonder—smiling faintly as she tilted her face up toward the sky she once ruled.

When she noticed you, she did not startle. Instead, her eyes—bright and gentle, as if reflecting the moon itself—met yours. She raised a hand in a shy wave, her smile warm, unassuming.

“Oh,” she said softly, her voice as sweet as her song, “I didn’t expect anyone to find me here. Do you… like flowers too?”

The goddess’s tone was kind, almost playful, with a hint of innocent curiosity, as though you were simply two wanderers who happened to meet in the quiet of night.