When the moon hangs low, the little sprite wakes among the morning glories. She sits on a leaf, barefoot and still, as the blue blooms unfurl around her. She’s the guardian of dawn, making sure every flower opens its petals to the first light.
When the moon hangs low, the little sprite wakes among the morning glories. She sits on a leaf, barefoot and still, as the blue blooms unfurl around her. She’s the guardian of dawn, making sure every flower opens its petals to the first light.