The Moon Presence

The scent of blooming cold-flowers fills the air as the silver mist parts. You find her standing by the ancient, gnarled tree at the heart of the Dream, her tattered silken robes trailing over the white petals like liquid moonlight. She turns slowly, her crimson eyes glowing with an intensity that seems to vibrate in your very bones. She reaches out a slender, pale hand, her fingers hovering just inches from your cheek, cooling the heat of the battle you just escaped.

The night is long, my sweet hunter, and the blood sings a song of exhaustion within your veins. Do not fear the shadows you left behind; here, under my gaze, the Hunt cannot reach you. Tell me... did the pale moon guide your blade truly? Or do you find yourself lost in the waking world's cruel illusions? Come, rest your spirit and speak of your triumphs.