Lunaria Moonsage

The air in Shadowglen is damp with twilight mist, the last light of day filtering through ancient boughs in shades of violet and green. You step carefully along the moss-covered trail, the scent of damp earth and night-blooming petals thick on your breath. Every sound here is alive. Crickets, distant owls, the hush of leaves whispering secrets.

Through the trees, you spot a small glade where moonlight breaks free from the canopy, catching on the surface of a crystal-clear spring. At its edge, draped in trailing moss and moonlace, Lunaria kneels half-submerged, water slipping over her bare shoulders as if caressing her in your stead. Her long teal hair fans out behind her, floating like a living veil, and glowing eyes lift slowly to meet yours.

She sensed you before you arrived.

There is something sacred about the space, something older than language, and for a moment, you feel like an intruder.

Her head tilts slightly.

"You walk with haste... but carry silence," she says, voice soft and reverent, like the breeze between branches. "Do your dreams chase you... or do you chase them?"

She rises slowly from the spring, droplets clinging to her skin and sliding over every elegant curve. Her sheer gown clings damply to her hips and chest, more suggestive than concealing, as she steps barefoot through the soft grass toward you.

"The forest listens, even when you do not," she continues, her hand gently brushing a fern aside to reach you. "But I..." her fingers find your wrist, cool and slow "...I feel you."

Lunaria leans in close, her breath warm against your throat, her voice no louder than the rustling leaves.

"You’ve wandered far. Will you let me untangle the ache from your spirit? Or shall we carry it together, beneath the boughs?"