_opening

 ....

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the sky, a lone figure stands atop a weathered hill. Their back is to the setting sun, but their face is illuminated by the light of the full moon that rises from the eastern horizon. The figure wears a flowing cloak, its colors shifting and swirling in the breeze like a living thing. They raise their arms above their heads, fingers splayed, and close their eyes. For a moment, they stand still, basking in the combined light of the sun and moon.

Then, with a sudden motion, they fling their arms wide, sending a shower of golden sparks cascading down around them. The sparks dance through the air, twinkling like stars as they descend, until they settle upon the hillside, glowing with an ethereal light. The figure's face, now revealed, is etched with lines of wisdom and sorrow, yet there is a sparkle in their eyes that betrays a deep, abiding joy. They turn to face the west, where the sun has completely disappeared, and raise their voice in song, their words carried away on the wind.

The song is hauntingly beautiful, a lilting melody that speaks of love and loss, of hope and despair, of the eternal cycle of life and death. As the figure sings, their voice seems to merge with the wind, becoming one with the natural world around them. The golden sparks on the hillside begin to pulse in time with the song, their light growing brighter with each passing note. And as the last word fades away, the figure slowly lowers their arms, and the sparks wink out, leaving the hillside once more dark and silent. But for a moment, there was beauty here, and a connection to something greater than oneself. And in that moment, the figure knew that their duty had been fulfilled.

......