The story begins thirty years before Lily’s birth. On the night the lullaby was finally heard, her mother’s fate took an unexpected turn.

  ?? ??

  Close your eyes, the shadows fall,

  But don't be scared, they mean no harm.

  The night is soft, it holds us near,

  The world's asleep, but beauty's here.

  The moon will follow, wherever you roam,

  Silver eyes watching, to guide you home.

  And even in darkness, the stars will sing—

  A lullaby wrapped in the night's dark wing.

  Listen close, the silence hums...

  ?? ??

  Her song broke off. Daisy stopped singing without meaning to, holding her breath as a strange quiet settled over the trees. It felt like something out there was listening. Instinct told her to run, but she forced herself to stay, her eyes searching the dark for any movement. Only then did her hand move to the small knife at her side, her fingers tracing its worn hilt for courage.

  "Who's there?" she called out, her heart thudding as she dared to break the silence. "If you're a wolf, I'll cut you. If you're a man with bad intentions, I'll do the same."

  The wind rustled the leaves, nothing else. In the distance, an owl hooted, but no one came forward.

  Daisy’s grip on the blade loosened as the tension drained away, replaced by shaky relief. She breathed out slowly, telling herself she’d only imagined it. Still, her embarrassment stayed, tempered by lingering caution.

  She bent over her basket and got back to work, picking thyme and mint and placing them inside. She kept the knife nearby as she hummed, her voice a soft, wordless line of the lullaby drifting over the grass. As time went by, her fear faded. The night felt almost safe again.

  ...

  The next night, Daisy returned, but she wasn't calm. Her cheeks were still wet with tears as she climbed to the old tree where the moonlight shone brightest. She dropped her basket onto the stone and sat down hard beside it.

  "Useless," she said. "I picked herbs all night, scraped my hands bloody, and the healer wouldn't take them. Said they were too crushed, too common. Worthless." Her words shook, but she kept talking, scolding the darkness. "And then I broke a vase at the lodgings. Just one slip, and they yelled at me like I'm a curse. Maybe I am a curse."

  She grabbed a small stone and threw it hard. The sharp sound matched her frustration. Then she looked up at the moon, her voice rough with tears she hadn't cried. "Why was I even born, hmm? To struggle every day just to eat? To be passed from hand to hand like a burden nobody wanted?"

  She laughed, dry and humorless. "Since I was a child, no family wanted me. Everyone else got chosen, everyone but me. Now I'm grown, too old for kindness, too young for work. Just stuck. Alone. Always." She pressed her hands to her face, muffling her last words. "Sometimes I think, Moon, you made a mistake letting me live. Maybe you should have left me unborn."

  Her sobs echoed through the valley until they faded, leaving her raw and hollow. The moon’s glow settled around her, gentle, but unable to lift the ache from her chest.

  At last, she wiped her face, red-eyed but calmer. She drew a deep breath and sang again. Not quite strong, but enough. A fragile thread of lullaby drifted beneath the watching moon.

  ?? ??

  Listen close, the silence hums,

  A thousand secrets softly sung.

  Dreams awaken where the daylight dies,

  Magic lives beneath the skies.

  The moon will follow, wherever you roam,

  Silver eyes watching, to guide you home.

  And even in darkness, the stars will sing—

  A lullaby wrapped in the night's dark wing.

  ?? ??

  ...

  The third night, Daisy climbed the hill again, seeking only quiet. Yet when she reached her usual place below the old tree, she froze. Something waited on her stone.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A flower.

  It wasn't just any flower. It was a lily, its petals glowing as if touched by starlight. She bent to pick it up. "A lily..." she whispered, her heart fluttering. "A glowing lily. Rare as a miracle."

  She stared, the pale light brushing her skin like moonlight. She smiled, clear wonder on her face. "So I wasn't imagining it. Someone was here." She looked to the trees. "Hello? Are you out there? Come out, please."

  Only the wind rustled.

  She stepped closer to the brush, pulse racing. "I know you're here. You left this for me, didn't you?"

  No answer.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and a small, surprised laugh slipped out, relief and gratitude mixing as she realized she wasn't alone. She pressed the glowing lily to her chest, the cool petals steadying her. "...Thank you, mysterious friend. Thank you." She stayed for a moment, warmed by the unexpected kindness.

  She sat again, the flower in her lap. Her voice rose once more, more confident this time, carrying on the night air like a silver thread. The lullaby, sung for whoever might be listening.

  ...

  The fourth night, Daisy came early, her steps light with anticipation. She carried a small loaf of bread, still warm, cradled carefully in her hands.

  She set the loaf on her rock beneath the old tree.

  "Hey, friend! Whoever’s out there," she called softly. "That flower you left, it was rarer than I ever imagined. A healer saw it with me last night and offered to buy it. He paid me enough coins to eat for days." Her smile wavered as she glanced at the bread. "So... this is for you. It's all I have to offer, but it's warm."

  She chuckled to herself, brushing her hair from her face. "But listen, if you don't come out, I'll have to stop singing, you know?" she teased, hoping it might finally show itself. "No more lullabies if you stay hidden."

  She waited. And waited. From standing, she sank to her knees. She idly dragged a twig through the dirt as the minutes slipped by. The loaf sat untouched on the stone. Its steam faded into the night until it cooled. Still, the trees remained silent.

  Her chin dipped. "Fine. If you're not going to show yourself, then don't. Maybe I only imagined you after all." Her next words came out softer, heavy with resignation, "I probably won't come again tomorrow. The matron punished me for breaking that vase. I'll be stuck indoors for days. So tonight might be the last."

  She moved the loaf once more, placing it carefully back on the stone. "But... thank you, whoever you are. If I did imagine you, then at least my dreams were kind for once." She turned away, steps slow.

  The bushes rustled.

  Daisy spun, her eyes wide. The loaf was gone, as if someone had snatched it from the stone. Relief rushed through her, lifting her disappointment. "Aha!" she pointed at the shadows. "I knew it. You are here. I saw your shadow." Her laughter bubbled up, surprised but also happy. "Don't be shy. Please, come out. I won't hurt you. I just want to thank you properly."

  There was a silence. Then the leaves parted.

  A tall figure stepped into the moonlight, cloaked, with a satchel over his shoulder. The moon's glow caught his eyes, silver and watchful, just like in her lullaby.

  Daisy froze, the world shrinking to the silver eyes looking at her. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Then she blinked, half expecting the vision to disappear. "Gods... are you, like, the moon's figure or something?" she whispered, stunned and breathless.

  At first, he just stood there, staring quietly at her. Then, finally, his lips moved, his voice low. "Sing."

  Daisy got confused. "...What?"

  His eyes never left hers. "Sing."

  She held his gaze, searching his expression. Then, slowly, a smile dawned. "Ah... you like the song, don't you?"

  He nodded, just a small movement.

  She let out a soft laugh. "Well, if that's what you want..." She cleared her throat, lifted her chin to the stars, and began to sing the lullaby from start to finish, her voice gentle and clear.

  Her voice held on the last note, hanging softly before fading into the quiet of the hills. Then she saw something change in him. His shoulders relaxed, his breath deepened, as if her song had lifted a weight from him.

  "There." Daisy's smile grew tender. "Was that enough?"

  Silence stretched between them again before he finally answered. "Yes."

  She took a small step closer, curiosity bright in her eyes. "Well, since you already know my voice, I should probably introduce myself properly," she teased, but her tone was warm. "I'm Daisy."

  He regarded her quietly, the moonlight glinting in his eyes.

  She tilted her head. "And you? Do you have a name?"

  He gave a slow shake of his head. "No."

  She pressed her lips together, thinking. "Hmm. Then maybe I'll name you." Her eyes moved over him in the pale light. "You look like someone from the moon. How about Moon? Or maybe you're the moon god himself."

  The hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "I'm no god."

  "Alright, fine," she said with a teasing sigh. "Then what should I call you, stranger?"

  He didn't answer.

  She crossed her arms lightly, her lips quirking in thought. "You know," she said with a light laugh, "every night I've called out, 'Hey, are you there?' I never really thought anyone would actually answer. So maybe that's what I'll call you instead—Hey."

  His expression changed, almost amused. "Hey..." he repeated quietly, trying out the name. “I like that."

  She laughed under her breath. "You do? Well... then, Hey, it is."

  Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, but he didn't object.

  "You're strange, but I suppose that's alright."

  From that night on, her lullaby wasn't just to calm her fears. Now, she sang it for him.

  They became unlikely friends under the stars. At first, they always met by the old tree. But soon, even when Daisy didn't go up the hill, Hey would visit her lodgings at night, never during the day.

  He never visited often enough for her to expect him, and never stayed long enough to be sure he'd return. Some months, he came every night, leaving glowing lilies on her windowsill. At other times, he would vanish for weeks or months. But Daisy always knew when he was back. She'd find one of those rare flowers waiting, and she knew he was near, hoping to hear her song.

  And she sang. She sang every song she knew from childhood, but his favorite was always the first, the lullaby she had sung the night they met.

  It went on like that for months—lullabies, small gifts, and quiet meetings beneath the moon.