High above the forest, where the trees stretched like dark sentinels against the starlit sky, a lone fae stood on the edge of a cliff. Her name was *Selene*, and she held the moon in her hands. It was not the moon that shone above the world, casting silver light across the land, but a small, glowing replica—a perfect sphere, the size of a melon, that pulsed with a soft, cool light. 
Selene’s wings, delicate as gossamer and veined with starlight, fluttered gently in the breeze as she cradled the moon with both hands. Her eyes, bright with ancient knowledge, were fixed on the glowing orb, her heart in tune with its rhythm. It was said that the fae who could hold the moon held the balance of night itself—able to weave dreams, calm storms, and protect the world of sleep.