The night unfurls its velvety cloaks upon the sleeping town of Elohir. Within its heart lies a small, forgotten dingle, a cradle of shadows where whispers take form and sing the song of past elves.
Amidst the dew-kissed grass, a solitary figure sits, cradling an invisible truth. It is said that in the depths of this meadow, melodies lost to time vibrate between moments, waiting to be heard by a single, attentive ear.
Her name, Celestia—a girl with starlit dreams woven into her hair. Every night, she ventures into the dingle, drawn by the murmur of unseen things. The lullabies call to her like moths to flame, offering solace wrapped in nostalgia.
"Sing me the secrets of the world," she whispers, her voice barely a tremor against the zephyrs. The dingle answers in hushed tones, a chorus of memory and sigh, stitching echoes into the fabric of reality.
As the leaves dance in rhythm, a tale unfolds, unanchored by time, where each note resonates with the heartbeats of ancients. Elohir listens, a silent witness to the symphony of existence itself.
The twinkling stars above seem to applaud, though no one but Celestia hears their ovation. She laughs, a sound pure and sweet, blending with the murmur into a melody of eternal twilight.