in an age when the moon still bled silver tears, there was a queen who ruled the night. her beauty was born from sorrow; her crown forged from the bones of fallen stars. she wept not for mortals, but for the gods who had forgotten her. each tear she shed became a shard of moonlight; cold, eternal, and filled with grief. the sky still remembers her lament; that is why the moon glows with a pale sadness even now.