by Bill Tiepelman
Twilight Coronation in the Rose Dominion
In the veiled heart of the Rose Dominion, where the whispers of the ancients sway the starlit skies and the caress of the twilight sun graces the earth with a lover’s touch, a ceremony of timeless significance unfolds. The very air hums with a magic as old as the cosmos, and the wood itself breathes in anticipation of the twilight coronation. The Faun, lord of the wildwood, stands tall, his imposing form a symphony of nature's finest artistry. His horns, grand and winding like the olden trees around, are adorned with runes that glow softly, a testament to the sacred knowledge they hold. His skin, a tapestry of swirling patterns, speaks of the earth’s secrets, and his eyes, reflecting the untold depth of the woods, glint with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes. His scepter, a masterpiece formed from the gnarled branches of the sentinel trees, is a beacon of authority, rooted in the very soul of the forest. It whispers of the unyielding power of life that courses through the veins of nature, an unspoken oath to protect the sanctity of the wild. To his side, the Queen stands with a quiet dignity that belies the formidable power she wields. Her gown, a cascade of the deepest red, is like a river of roses in full bloom, each petal trimmed with the essence of life itself. Her crown, a fragile yet fearsome array of brambles and beads of morning dew, frames her face, a visage of serene command that sets the night alight with its beauty. The moment is suspended in time, as the creatures of the forest, from the tiniest of insects to the most elusive of shadows, gather in a silent circle of reverence. There is a pause, a breath, a heartbeat, and then the ancient oaks begin their chant, a low, thrumming melody that resonates with the core of the earth. The monarchs' hands touch, and a shiver runs through the land. It is the touch that brings forth spring after the harshest winters, the touch that commands the roses to bloom, the touch that binds the fate of all living things. And as they speak the vow, the vow that is as old as the stars watching overhead, a surge of life explodes in a riot of color and fragrance. The roses, guardians of the Dominion, unfurl their blooms in a spectacle of color, their scent a heady perfume that fills the air. The rivers, catching the last light of the sun, turn to molten silver, their waters singing with joy. And above, the stars twinkle in delight, their silver light a benediction on the land. This is the twilight coronation in the Rose Dominion, not just a ceremony, but the dance of life itself, the eternal promise of growth, of strength, and of an unbreakable bond between the rulers and their realm. And as the night deepens, the Faun and his Queen step forth into their kingdom, their reign an echo of the timeless pulse of the forest’s heart.
