As the eyes have long adjusted to the dark, albeit dim, the forest have regained its color. Shines not only the blue fireflies swimming in the lake, but the spotlight that lights earth, from the ever round moon. Selene thinks everything in here fits perfectly as it is.
She wishes she could capture the sight before her eyes, wishes she could keep it in her pocket, wishes she could hold the moment in her hand like a vivid painting, and not only in the premises of her memories where by time, will fade.
Her wavy locks flow like titian wildflowers, dancing with the air. It is messy and fiery like the personality of the lady in front of her that carries them. It is free from the usual clasp that holds them in place, free from the comforts of braids, and Selene hopes Alexandria would let them
