So long ago that even the oldest people I know don't remember it, on a land still young and utterly virgin, in a small settlement, lived a young, extraordinary girl. Why extraordinary? Her eyes were like deep lakes, her complexion was fair, her lips small but eager to smile, ruby red like raspberries, involuntarily inviting you to kiss them, and all of this was framed by shining ebony hair. She was the most graceful creature ever to walk the face of the earth. Some legends claim she was an elf. Don't believe them, she was human, just like you or me.
Despite all her charms, her beautiful, angelic face, seemingly so sensitive, hid a heart of stone, full of defiance and jealousy. Aware of her beauty, she ruthlessly, out of pure envy and vanity, drove young men madly to love her, giving them false hope, tempting them with sweet lies, only to then, without scruple, break their hearts with a single word.
Then she departed with a smile of triumph on her face.
It was like this, and it probably would have lasted for a long time, if she hadn't met a traveling musician whose music could shatter stones and summon fearful, volatile birds, charm people, and tame wild animals. He seduced the beautiful girl as easily as she caught naive boys in her nets. She fell in love with the singer's sweet song, and he promised so much. They met at night, by a dark lake, whispering words of love. He said he would always be there, that he would never leave her until his death. Who knows if he lied? Perhaps he had good intentions, but what good was that to her? He left the beautiful girl alone, showing her what it meant to have a broken heart.
He left. Playing on, singing sweetly. He disappeared into the darkness that followed day, unillumined by any light. The night, dark and alien, took him, stole him from the girl. The forest, previously filled with love and warmth, greeted her with emptiness and cold. No one waited for her here anymore, and the lake, always calm, whispered only with the rustle of reeds. For the first time, she loved, and for the first time, she felt the bitterness of separation and longing. She begged the gods for mercy. She asked them to let her meet her lover. She wanted to wrest a few more moments from her life at his side. She felt what others had often felt because of her. She regretted it. Yes, she wanted to turn back time; she was fading, and her eyes were losing their luster. Her ebony hair had lost its smoothness.
The stern gods, so long deaf to her prayers, saw her cry, watched as it called upon the darkness to engulf her and give her shelter, heeded her pleas. When the world was shrouded in darkness, they kidnapped her and carried her into the sky, high above the mountain peaks. They seated her on a silver throne, and the tears she had shed earlier were transformed into diamond drops. Young goddesses, born to serve her, collected small jewels, and silent bats placed them in the girl's hair. Night birds combed her hair until the light returned, and the lake returned the sparkle to her eyes.
Do you know her name yet? It's Luna, the moon that rises every night, and the stars are teardrops woven into her hair as black as ebony.
Did she hear her lover? She hears him every day as he descends from the sky, his song bids her farewell, awakening birds and wild animals to life. When he rises, she hears lullabies sung to the world. Who is he? It's Sol, the moon's sunny lover, the traveling musician.
But how did this happen, this treacherous lover suddenly sits on a golden throne? He awakened love in the heart of a girl who knew only mockery and jealousy, but he scorned the feeling that, like the sun, warmed his heart and soul. Who was he, where did the mysterious musician come from?
A young boy, a traveler, was just returning from a long journey, where his home—I don't know where his heart—don't ask. Here, by a lake in a shady forest, he stopped for a moment of respite, sat on the bank, gnawing a hunk of bread. Suddenly, behind him, a soft rustle compels him to turn and look. Behind him, a wonderful angelic maiden with hair like a raven's feathers, blown by the wind, and eyes as deep in color as the lake itself. Suddenly, his soul burst into song, he seized his pipe, and played the music he had heard in his heart for the girl.
Days passed, slowly but steadily, running, never stopping for a moment, and the two of them, beneath the treetops, by the cold lake, hidden every night in impenetrable darkness, whispered sweet words and innocent lies into each other's ears. He confessed his love to her and promised fidelity. But like a needle, like a mischievous imp, anxiety soon entered his thoughts. He recalled a tale from home about a water maiden who captures boys, having captivated them. At night, when she was waiting for him in the darkness, he, possessed by fear, slipped away, running away from the village, from his thoughts, from his feelings, because his mind told him he had done the right thing, but his heart told him he was losing everything.
He set off, his heart torn with love and fear, carrying it within his youthful breast. He walked, unable to find a place for himself anywhere. Memories chased him, unable to forget the face so dear to him, which awakened tenderness and joy within him. He saw again the eyes, like two lakes, the chest heaving like the waves of the sea, and he cried, wanting to return, for what kept him here? But he continued on, despite his heart, despite his thoughts, having circled the world (which was then so small, so tiny), he came back to the village where he recognized Luna. He ran to the lake in the cool night, and there, amidst joyful dances, pale goddesses caught crystal drops from the water. It was they who told him where to look for Luna, where his heart was, where his home—both in heaven. So he turned to the heavenly chambers, with cries and songs, beseeching the perverse fate that he might see the girl, even for a moment, apologize to her, kiss her lips, so that he might once more play a song on the lute for the girl, for this beloved. They said that on the silver throne, sits sad and silent, one who will inspire poets, comfort or fear for the lost. The youth beats his breast for the pain he has caused, regretting the suffering that Luna has befallen him through his fault. He gazes at the stars, where the glow of her eyes remains, and weeps.
He searches for the lady of his heart every day, and when he finds her, he is about to touch her, he hears the nightingale's song, and a light flashes, separating the lovers. But they stand forgotten, her silver throne, dimmed by the sun's gold, slowly, slowly dissipates in the mist...
The gods, silently sad, gazing at them, cruelly changed fate's decrees so that they would not both yearn, to bring them joy, they created a golden throne so that above the bright dawn, Sol would become king, but his voice was taken away, so that this trill would become the voice of a gray bird and every morning it would wake the world with its song, freeing Luna from its night watch.
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