In a kingdom where the sun could never set,
Where shadows lingered only in tales elders told,
The people dwelled in brilliance, free of regret—
Their towers glimmered, wrought of glass and gold.

A princess dwelt within those crystal walls,
Her name was Eve, the jewel of all the land.
She wandered through those ever-brightened halls
And wondered why no darkness kissed her hand.

“What is this night of which the ancients speak?”
She asked her father on his glittering throne.
He laughed, “A curse that made our forebears weak—
We broke its power. It is our light alone.”

But Eve grew weary of the endless glare,
Which left the roses bleached to pallid bone,
And left her people hollow, fixed in vacant stare,
Their eyes like mirrors—bright, yet not their own.

One eve—though eve meant nothing in that place—
She found a door half-hidden from the light,
And through it glimpsed a strange, forbidden space:
A garden where the moonflowers drank the night.

There fireflies pulsed like lanterns, soft and pale,
While crickets wove their hymns into nocturnal air.
The breathing night retold a quieter tale,
And silence held the garden’s wordless prayer.

An ancient woman sat beneath their bloom,
Her silver hair like cobwebs, soft and thin.
“You’ve found it, child—the kingdom’s secret room,
The place where we once let the darkness in.

“I was the one who’d hidden seeds of night,
Who’d smuggled shadow through the sun’s long reign.
They stripped my name, my standing, and my sight
For loving what the kingdom called profane.

“They banished night in root and branch and stem,
To never fear what shadows might betray;
But look at them—each one a captive gem—
None can truly dream, for night was slain that day.”

The princess wept for all her people lost—
The stars, the peace, the mercy of the dark,
The tender rest, the unacknowledged cost
Of keeping bright their one artificial spark.

She made her choice beneath those lunar flowers,
And broke the ancient spell that bound the sun.
Sweet darkness fell across the gilded towers,
And Eve, at last, was finally undone.

She fell the way a candle finds its end—
Not snuffed, but surrendered gently to the cold,
The night wrapped close around her like a friend,
And cradled what the sun could never hold.

They found her still where silver petals fell,
The first to sleep in seven hundred years.
The people howled against the broken spell
And clawed for fire through their streaming tears.

They burned the moonflower garden to the ground,
They burned the libraries and ancient lore,
They burned the forests till no shade was found,
And when that wasn’t bright enough, burned even more.

And still they desperately burn their world today,
And teach their children darkness is a sin.
They never learned the girl they cast away
Was trying to let something precious in.