Far away, beyond mountains that pierced the clouds and rivers that shimmered like silver threads under the sun, there stood an ancient palace. Its walls gleamed like freshly fallen snow, smooth and flawless, reflecting the faint glow of morning light. Roofs curved gracefully, their tips arching skyward as if they sought to brush the clouds themselves, adorned with delicate jade inlays and carvings of dragons and phoenixes caught mid-flight. Each line and curve told a story older than the tallest mountains, older than the rivers that wound endlessly through the valleys.
The gates, carved from white marble and etched with patterns of flowing water and soaring mountains, stood tall and imposing. Lanterns swayed softly in the breeze, spilling warm light over polished courtyards where silver-leaved trees lined stone paths, their branches shimmering like starlight even under the sun. Every detail—every stone, every lattice, every ripple in the courtyard ponds—spoke of elegance, refinement, and quiet power.
Inside the palace, the grand hall stretched endlessly, every surface draped in pristine white. Columns of polished jade reached from floor to ceiling, etched with faintly glowing runes, humming with a subtle energy that seemed to resonate with life itself. Silk tapestries lined the walls, delicate as gossamer, depicting scenes of heavenly battles, ancient rivers, and vast mountain ranges that stretched into eternity. The floor, made of gleaming marble, mirrored the sunlight streaming through latticed windows, casting shifting patterns of light that danced across the hall like falling petals.
This hall was not merely a room. It was a sanctuary built for one—the one destined to command its space. Every ornament, every detail, every thread of silk seemed created not just to exist but to celebrate her presence. It was the perfect reflection of her power, her beauty, and her place in the world.
And there, at the far end, on a raised dais draped in silks so fine they seemed to float above the bed rather than lie upon it, she slept.
Even in rest, she was breathtaking. Long hair, white as fresh snow, spilled across the pillow and down past her shoulders, framing a face so delicate and perfectly proportioned it could have been carved from jade. Her skin glowed faintly in the soft light, smooth and flawless, and even the faintest rise and fall of her chest as she breathed seemed to command the space around her.
She was the epitome of contrast—majestic and sensual, divine and intimate. Her body was a masterpiece of curves and lines that seemed designed to inspire awe. Her full breasts pressed lightly against the silk, visible even beneath the layers of fine fabric, curving naturally, perfectly, enticingly. Her waist tapered with elegant precision into wide hips, strong and graceful, while her long legs folded beneath her, flawless and pale, the curves accentuated by the folds of her robe. Her hands, relaxed atop the silk, were slender and delicate, each finger seeming sculpted for artistry rather than anything ordinary.
The robe that draped her body clung in certain places, tracing the gentle swell of her chest and hips, while falling in soft, ethereal folds elsewhere, revealing glimpses of her smooth skin along her thighs and shoulders. Even her breathing was mesmerizing—a slow, measured rhythm that seemed to ripple through the room, pulling the light, the air, and the very walls into her orbit.
She slept with the poise of a queen, yet beneath the regal stillness there was a subtle vulnerability, a softness that made her seem astonishingly human despite the aura of divinity she exuded. The room itself appeared to bend in reverence, the polished columns gleaming brighter, the silk fluttering more delicately, the sunlight seeming to pause just to touch her form. One could imagine that even the slightest twitch of her eyelashes or the softest curve of her lips might inspire awe—or desire—in anyone who dared witness it.
The air in the room was cool but carried the faint scent of jasmine, subtle and intoxicating. The silence was profound, yet it hummed with the unspoken energy of someone whose presence alone could alter the rhythm of the world. She was a sleeping goddess, a queen whose authority and sensuality seemed inseparable. Even in rest, she commanded the room, the palace, the world beyond, effortlessly.
Outside, the mountains and rivers continued on, timeless and unyielding, but within these walls, time seemed to pause, bending to the rhythm of her breathing. She was untouched by the chaos and ambitions of the mortal realm. She was beyond the reach of ordinary life, yet perfectly poised between majesty and intimate humanity, regal and enticing all at once.
Her robe's thin layers shimmered faintly, catching the light of the morning sun as it spilled through latticed windows. The material clung lightly across her chest, tracing the swell of her body, while long, flowing sleeves trailed across the bed like ethereal ribbons. Her thighs peeked delicately from beneath the folds, the faintest hint of stocking visible, and her legs were positioned with an elegance that made every line of her figure a study in perfection. Even the curves of her shoulders, arms, and collarbone seemed intentionally sculpted to captivate, yet her posture remained natural, unforced.
She slept, but she was alive in every subtle motion—the rise and fall of her chest, the shift of her hips, the almost imperceptible twitch of her fingers. Every element of her being radiated an intoxicating mixture of power and seduction, a balance that only the rarest of beings could achieve. It was a presence that could dominate a room without a word, captivate a mind without a glance, and inspire awe or longing with the subtlest movements.
The entire hall seemed to honor her. The runes along the columns shimmered faintly in response to her breath, the tapestries lining the walls reflected the light in a more vivid, almost ethereal way, and even the air felt charged with a quiet reverence. She was a queen, a goddess, and a woman whose beauty and authority were inseparable, lying in perfect stillness yet commanding everything around her.
In that moment, she was beyond description, a figure of perfection in repose. Yet there was warmth in her presence, a vulnerability beneath the majesty that reminded anyone who beheld her—even in imagination—that she was not untouchable. She could be admired, revered, even longed for, and yet the power she exuded was undeniable, a force that would shape the world whether she moved or remained still.
The palace around her—the white walls, the jade columns, the flowing silks, and the polished marble—was magnificent, but it existed only to frame her. Every detail seemed crafted not just to exist, but to honor her sleeping form. Even the faint breeze that carried through the windows seemed to linger longer near her, brushing her hair against her shoulders and the folds of her robe with almost sentient care.
She was a paradox—soft yet commanding, inviting yet untouchable, divine yet human. In her sleep, she could inspire devotion, awe, and desire all at once. She was every bit the goddess that legends whispered about, yet she exuded an intimacy, a sensuality, that made the grandeur of the palace feel personal.
And as the morning light shifted, touching the curves of her form, the folds of her robe, the pale smoothness of her skin, the hall seemed to hum in recognition. This was not just a woman, not just a queen, not just a goddess. She was a living, breathing masterpiece, an immortal presence sleeping in the heart of an ancient palace built for her alone.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.
"Moonnnn!"
Her voice shattered the silence, raw and trembling, filled with longing and pain.
"Moonnnn!"
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she screamed again, her sobs breaking through the echoing hall.
"Moonnnn!"
Her cry repeated, desperate, unrestrained, each word drenched in anguish, grief, and a heart-wrenching hope.
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She was the one on the Cover..
🤌🏻