At dawn, the fairy queen steps into the glade, her silvered footsteps folding mist and shadow beneath her. She moves with purpose — tracing the edges of the sleeping forest, gathering droplets from leaves and weaving them into threads of light.
She bends low to touch a flower heavy with dew, whispering words only the earth can hear. The stones at her feet shimmer, caught in the shifting glow of her gaze, as she weaves a fleeting spell — a promise bound in colour and rain.
For a moment, time holds still. The queen listens to the breath of the world, calling the fae realm closer, inviting it to brush against the waking day.
Then, as swiftly as she came, she fades — leaving behind a trail of silvered rain and fractured light, a hint of magic that lingers long after the glade falls silent again.
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