Serephine

Once the guardian of the Moon’s Whisper, she watched over the glade where dreams gathered before dawn. Her wings shimmered like frost, her voice could calm storms. But she broke the oldest vow—she fell in love with a mortal cartographer who glimpsed her on a cliff and spent his life searching for her. Bound by fairy law, she could never speak to him. She watched him age, then die, his maps filled with places he hoped she’d return. When he passed, she sang his name into the wind, and the glade fell silent. Now she wanders the cliffs alone, her wings dulled, her voice quiet. The moon still rises, but dreams pass through the world unguarded. Some say if you stand at the cliff’s edge on a windless night, you’ll hear her humming a tune no one remembers—but everyone feels. Her sorrow lingers in the air, soft as mist, sharp as memory. She is the last echo of a vow broken for love.