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ωαт¢нιηg тнє ѕтαяℓιηgѕ αѕ αυтυмη ∂яαωѕ ιη

αѕ тнєу мαкє gнσѕтѕ α¢яσѕѕ ℓση∂ση ƒιєℓ∂ѕ

αη∂ ι ωσυℓ∂'νє мσνє∂ συт тнєяє тσ вє ωιтн уσυ

ι ωσυℓ∂'νє мσνє∂ συт тнєяє ƒσя яєαℓ...

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   𝕴𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙. Freezing even, for a lonely dragon that laid dead on the grass, on the hills where it's blood poured on. How sad it must be to die alone... 

   It all happened underneath the night sky of painted stars along with the moon. So big and bright, beautiful like a white rose, it just shined its light on the dragon as if it was a plant. That lonesome dragon suddenly didn't felt cold.

   It felt alive again.

   The dragon opened its eyes, its e/c (eye color) eyes beaming with life and its pupils became round and wide. They purred a small groan then look up at the moon, cooing at its light with such thankfulness.

   They look at themselves. Lifting their arms up, stretching their wings wide, and flicking their tail. 

   Looking up again at the moon. Their ear-like fins flicker hearing a deep voice. Gruff and yet soft, that they could probably lay and listen to all day till night.

   That voice spoked to them. 

   That was the only time the moon spoke.

   And that was a long, long time ago....