oneword: forge

The grass rises above her head, curling over, creating an illusive archway. She looks up and through the slices between blades shines the cool, blue sheen of the midnight moon. It forges through the gaps, gently illuminating her forehead with a nighttime magic, an energy that glows constantly but is often overlooked. And somehow, everything feels natural, like it was meant to be, like it always was, like it will be throughout all time.