Picture this. The medival times, autumn, when the harvest moon is shinning bright above the trees in a forest. It was beautiful, no doubt, and the little girl viewing it was just was exquisite.
She was walking slowly, looking at the forest floor, and taking in the sound the leaves made with every crunch of her bare foot. It was normal for her, to be out this late with only her night gown on. For, she wasn't royalty. She lived in a small cabin with her father. Her mother had died when she was born.
She continued to walk, her breathing calm and slow. There came a tree, gigantic compared to her size. She grabbed hold of every branch. Careless of what would happen if one was false. Once she approached the top, she gazed at the moon. This was a regular routine. Getting out of bed. Tip toeing past fathers bedroom, not daring to make a sound. Walking around the forest, looking for a nice tree to climb. And then, (the best part), staring at the night sky. The moon covering most of it, while the stars dance along to its unheard melody. The breeze of the wind flowing in her hair and brushing her face lightly. Somehow, all of this reminded her of her name.
And her name was Anaelle.
