White Moonlight

In the heart of an ancient forest, where the trees whispered secrets older than time itself, lay the village of Silverwood. The village was a hidden gem, nestled beneath the dense canopy of towering oaks, pines, and ancient yews. Each tree bore the weight of centuries, their gnarled roots digging deep into the fertile soil, and their branches stretching skyward as if to brush the heavens. The forest, which surrounded Silverwood like a protective embrace, was both a sanctuary and a mystery, with its dark, shadowed paths and sun-dappled glades.

Silverwood was a place of quiet beauty, untouched by the hurried pace of the outside world. The villagers lived simple lives, finding contentment in the rhythms of nature and the cycles of the moon. They tended to their crops with care, raised livestock with love, and celebrated the natural world that provided for them. The village itself was small, consisting of no more than thirty cottages, each built from the sturdy wood of the forest and roofed with thatch. Gardens bloomed with vibrant flowers and herbs, their scents mingling in the air, creating a tapestry of fragrances that was unique to Silverwood.

Despite its isolation, Silverwood was a village rich in tradition and lore. The villagers were deeply connected to the land and the forest, which they believed was enchanted, blessed by the gods, and home to spirits both benevolent and mischievous. They spoke of the forest with reverence, passing down stories of its mysteries and magic from one generation to the next. These tales were often told around the hearth on long winter nights or during the festivals that marked the turning of the seasons.

But what truly set Silverwood apart from any other village was the white moonlight. Every night, without fail, the moonlight in Silverwood was different. It wasn't the cold, distant glow seen in other places; it was a soft, ethereal light that bathed the village in a gentle radiance. This light was not just a reflection of the moon, but something more—a divine gift that touched everything it shone on with a subtle, otherworldly beauty. The trees shimmered as if dusted with silver, the waters of the village well sparkled like liquid diamonds, and the very air seemed to hum with a quiet, serene energy.

The villagers believed that this light was the blessing of the Moon Goddess, Selene, who watched over them from her celestial throne. It was said that Selene's love for the earth was so great that she gifted this light to Silverwood, ensuring that it would never know true darkness. According to legend, long ago, a priestess of Selene had saved the village from a great disaster—a wildfire that threatened to consume everything in its path. In gratitude, the goddess had bestowed the white moonlight upon Silverwood, a perpetual reminder of her divine protection.

This belief was more than just a myth; it was woven into the fabric of daily life in Silverwood. The villagers honored Selene with offerings of flowers, herbs, and songs, leaving them at a sacred grove on the edge of the forest, where a statue of the goddess stood beneath a great oak tree. They celebrated the phases of the moon with festivals and rituals, each one more joyous than the last. The full moon was especially revered, as it was during this time that the white moonlight was at its most radiant, casting a silver glow over the entire village.

In this village lived a young woman named Liora. She was known for her beauty, which rivaled the moonlight itself, and for her skill as an herbalist. Liora was beloved by all who knew her, not just for her outward appearance, but for her kind heart and gentle nature. Her eyes were the color of the deep forest—green, flecked with gold—and her hair flowed like a river of midnight, with strands that caught the light like spun silk. Her smile was a rare and precious thing, for it seemed to brighten the very air around her, bringing warmth and comfort to those who were fortunate enough to witness it.

Liora's cottage was nestled at the edge of the village, where the forest began to reclaim the land. It was a small, cozy home, built from the same sturdy wood as the other cottages, but with an air of quiet elegance that set it apart. The thatch roof was always neat, the wooden door was carved with intricate patterns of leaves and vines, and the windows were adorned with simple yet beautiful curtains. Surrounding the cottage was a garden unlike any other in Silverwood, filled with rare and wondrous plants that Liora had cultivated over the years.

The garden was her sanctuary, a place where she felt most at peace. It was filled with a riot of colors and scents, from the deep purple of lavender to the bright yellow of marigolds. The air was always thick with the scent of herbs—sage, rosemary, thyme, and others that were not so easily named. There were plants in her garden that did not grow anywhere else in the village, plants with leaves that shimmered in the moonlight and flowers that only bloomed under the light of the full moon. Liora had spent years learning the secrets of these plants, understanding their properties and how they could be used to heal or to harm.

Many sought Liora's help, for she had the gift of healing; it was said that her touch could mend even the deepest wounds. The villagers came to her with ailments of the body and the spirit, and she never turned them away. She brewed potions and teas, crafted poultices and salves, and offered words of comfort and wisdom. Her knowledge of herbs was unparalleled, but it was her empathy and understanding that made her truly remarkable. She had a way of seeing into a person's heart, of understanding their pain and offering solace.

But despite her gentle nature and kindness, Liora was a mystery. She had no family, no memories of her past beyond her early childhood. The villagers knew little of her origins, only that she had been found as a child, wandering the forest alone, with no recollection of how she had come to be there. She had been taken in by the village healer, an elderly woman named Maelis, who had raised Liora as her own and taught her everything she knew about herbs and healing.

Liora grew up in Silverwood, surrounded by love and care, but there was always a part of her that felt out of place, as if she were searching for something she couldn't quite remember. She often felt a sense of longing, a deep, unnameable yearning that filled her heart with a strange melancholy. It was as if she were waiting for something—or someone—who would never come.

Every night, Liora would sit by the edge of the village, gazing at the white moonlight that bathed the forest. She felt a strange connection to it, as if it held the answers to the questions that had always haunted her. The moonlight filled her with a sense of peace, but also a deep longing. Sometimes, she would dream of a place bathed in white light, where she felt truly at home, but the details of the dream would slip away upon waking, leaving only a lingering sense of loss.

The villagers, though they cared for Liora, did not pry into her past. They accepted her as one of their own, grateful for her presence and the gifts she brought to the village. But they could not deny the sense of mystery that surrounded her, a mystery that only deepened with time. There were whispers that Liora was more than just a healer, that she had been touched by the gods, or that she was a child of the forest itself, sent to protect the village.

Liora herself did not know what to believe. She only knew that the forest called to her in a way that she could not explain, and that the white moonlight held a special place in her heart. She often found herself wandering the woods, exploring its hidden paths and secret glades, searching for something she could not name. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustle of leaves, the chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl—and Liora felt at home among these sounds, as if they were speaking to her in a language only she could understand.

It was during one of these walks that Liora first heard the voice. It was a soft, melodic sound, like the chiming of silver bells, and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. She stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding in her chest, as she strained to listen. The voice was calling her name, beckoning her deeper into the forest, and without thinking, she followed.

The voice led her to a clearing bathed in white moonlight, where a single tree stood in the center. The tree was unlike any she had ever seen—its bark was a pale, silvery color, and its leaves shimmered like stars in the night sky. Liora felt a strange sense of familiarity as she approached the tree, as if she had been here before, in another life. She reached out to touch the tree's bark, and as she did, a wave of memories washed over her—fragments of a life she had long forgotten.

She saw herself standing beneath the same tree, but she was different—her hair was longer, her clothes were finer, and there was a crown of silver on her head. She was not alone; beside her stood a figure shrouded in light, a presence that filled her with a deep, aching love. The figure reached out to her, and she felt a warmth spread through her heart, a warmth that banished the cold loneliness she had always felt.

But just as quickly as the memories came, they faded, leaving Liora standing alone in the clearing, her hand still resting on the tree. The voice was gone, and the moonlight seemed dimmer, as if it had retreated into the shadows. Liora stood there for a long time, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had seen. She did not understand the visions, but she knew they were important—pieces of a puzzle that she had yet to solve.

As she made her way back to the village, Liora's mind was filled with questions. Who was the figure in the light? What was the significance of the tree? And why had she been shown these memories now, after all this time? She had no answers, but she knew that her life would never be the same. The mystery of her past had begun to unravel, and with it came a sense of urgency, as if time were running out.

When Liora returned to her cottage, she found herself drawn to the small altar she had built in honor of Selene. It was a simple arrangement—a few candles, a bowl of water, and a small silver pendant shaped like the crescent moon. Liora knelt before the altar, her hands trembling as she lit the candles. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to the goddess, asking for guidance, for clarity, for a sign that would help her understand the visions she had seen.

As she prayed, the white moonlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over the altar. Liora felt a presence in the room, a warmth that filled her heart and eased her troubled mind. She knew, without a doubt, that Selene had heard her prayer, and that the answers she sought would soon be revealed.

But for now, all she could do was wait—and hope that when the time came, she would be ready to face the truth.