The air was fine on that summer night. The moonlight was gleaming all over the dale and the wind sung a breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees and sent ripples running down the old dark lake. All was calm and quiet, save for the song of the old wise owl and the melody of the nightingale.

A little girl clad in white was walking at the surface of the water, humming herself a song which one could easily recognize as a russian lullaby. She sang it with such vigor and emotion, with a clear sweet little voice that would give anyone who should be lucky to hear it, the thrills in their very bones.

The fish and all forms of life living in the water followed all her footsteps. Her dark auborn tresses sweeps along with the wind, flowing behind her as she hops daintily along from one place to another, each step lighting up a different color as she sprints past.

It was a beautiful night. A perfect one. One could tell that this night had long been awaited – the night of refuge, of peace, of repose. The girl stared into the dark mass of water beneath her. Tonight had been special; she wished it could last forever. But the rooster had crowed and light was beginning to spread in the sky. She retreated back to the shades of the forest and watched as dawn breaks into the horizon, and in that instant, she understood that it just never could.