The fire curled upward, its glow wrapping around her like an old friend. Sparks leapt and fell, painting her warm brown skin in flickers of gold. Her dark, wavy hair shimmered where the embers kissed it, strands catching red light as though the flames themselves had chosen her.
They gathered close—strangers, friends, wanderers—drawn by something they couldn't name. Silence pressed in, heavy and expectant, every eye fixed on her lips as if the night itself waited for her to speak.
Above, the sky was alive: stars scattered like dancers across velvet darkness, the moon hanging low and watchful, intent on her alone.
Her gaze never lifted. She followed a single ember from the flame, glowing in her eyes like a star watched by a goddess, swaying in the fire's breath—back and forth, back and forth.
When she finally spoke, her accent was warm and fluid, every syllable touched with a softness that made even the fire lean closer.
"Every story's been told a thousand times... forgotten... then told a thousand more... This story begins many, many years ago."