They say there was once a time when Day and Night were strangers.
The Sun walked alone, bold and burning, shaping the world with firelight and certainty. The Moon drifted in silence, her path gentle and curved, whispering dreams into the rivers and trees.
But the world longed for balance—
and so She was born.
She carries both light and shadow in her gaze. The left side of her face is kissed by starlight, the right by dawn. Her hair flows like the midnight sea, and from it, galaxies blossom. She is not torn between two worlds—she is both.
Children call her Mother of the Turning Sky, the one who watches over transitions—between joy and grief, beginnings and endings, what was and what may be.
She teaches this:
That there is strength in stillness.
That you can burn bright and rest deep.
That you are not made to choose between softness and fire—
you were born to hold them both.
And every night, as the stars unfurl their ancient dance,
and every morning, as the sun spills golden truth across the earth,
She is there—quiet, whole, and eternal.
Watching.
Holding.
Becoming.
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