Songs Written in Moonlight I E-Book

Christopher T. Winters

• Herausgeber: Christopher T. Winters
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Songs Written in Moonlight
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 41

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

There are places where silence does not simply lingerit breathes.Songs Written in Moonlight I: The Orchard Where Dreams Fell Softly is a quiet, atmospheric story for readers who long for stillness, reflection, and gentle escape. Set in a moonlit orchard where memories awaken and dreams take shape, this book invites you into a world where time slows and the night listens.Written in poetic, flowing prose, this story unfolds like a modern lullaby for adults. It follows the awakening of an ancient presence bound to a dreaming orchard, where lantern light, falling blossoms, and forgotten promises weave together into a tale of memory, loss, and quiet hope.Perfect for evening reading, moments of calm, or as a companion before sleep, this book is not driven by conflict or speed, but by atmosphere, emotion, and gentle wonder.If you love dreamlike fantasy, lyrical storytelling, and stories meant to be felt rather than rushed, Songs Written in Moonlight will guide you softly into the quiet spaces between waking and dreaming.

Leseprobe

Songs Written in Moonlight I

The Orchard Where Dreams Fell Softly

by Christopher T. Winters

Imprint

Author:Christopher T. WintersThorsten FrenzelFinkenkruger Straße 214612 FalkenseeGermany

E-mail: [email protected]

Responsible for content (German law §§ 5 TMG / 55 RStV):Thorsten FrenzelFinkenkruger Straße 214612 FalkenseeGermany

Copyright Notice

© 2025 Christopher T. WintersAll rights reserved.

No part of this e-book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This applies in particular to: – reproductions – translations – microfilming – digital storage – processing in electronic systems

All characters, places, and events in this book—unless explicitly identified as historical—are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Foreword

There are places in the world where silence does not simply linger—it breathes. Places where the night does not fall but settles, like a soft veil drawn over the earth. This book was born in such a place, somewhere between memory and dream, in the quiet orchard where stories drift like petals through moonlight.

These chapters are not meant to be hurried. They are written for slow evenings, for moments when the world asks nothing of you. The orchard waits for readers who move gently, who listen to the wind and the silence between its breaths.

If you let the pages open at their own pace, you may find a small lantern glowing in the dark. You may hear a lullaby carried by a wandering breeze. And perhaps, if the night is kind, you may remember something you once forgot—a dream that never left you, even when you believed it had.

Chapter 1 – Where the Moon First Touched the Orchard Floor

The orchard had always been a quiet place, but on this night it felt as if the world itself had slowed its breath. Moonlight pooled gently between the rows of old trees, gathering in silver puddles on the soft earth. Every branch seemed painted in pale light, every leaf outlined by a faint shimmer, as if touched by something older than time. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of ripe apples and distant rain. Nothing moved at first—not a leaf, not a shadow, not even the smallest whisper. It was as though the orchard was waiting for someone, or something, to arrive.

Far beyond the outer row of trees, a soft glow began to rise, not bright enough to startle, but warm enough to draw the eye. It drifted slowly between the trunks, flickering like a candle that had learned to breathe. With every step it took, the orchard seemed to exhale, as though releasing a long-held secret. A subtle rustle moved through the grass, a gentle stirring carrying the promise of a story unfolding.

At the heart of the orchard, where the moonlight touched the ground most clearly, a clearing opened like a quiet room without walls. There, in the center of that silver-lit circle, a small stone lay half-buried in the soil. It was smooth and pale, almost luminous, and for as long as anyone could remember, it had rested exactly where it was—untouched, undisturbed, unclaimed. Some said it was nothing more than a forgotten marker from a time before names. Others believed it held something the orchard had chosen to keep.

On this night, however, the stone began to warm beneath the moonlight. A faint shimmer rose from it, delicate as the edge of a dream. The glow from the wandering light drew nearer, weaving gently between the trees until it reached the clearing and hovered above the stone like a soft breath upon still water.

The orchard shifted. Not visibly—not with sound or movement—but with a feeling, a subtle change that lived somewhere deeper than sight. The branches above leaned in almost imperceptibly, as if eager to witness what would unfold. The grass seemed to soften. Even the moonlight grew quieter, its glow settling more intimately upon the clearing as though it were granting permission.

Then, with a slow and graceful motion, the wandering light dipped and touched the stone. A pulse of warmth spread outward, not bright and not sharp, but gentle, like the first ripple on an untouched pond. The orchard sighed again, this time welcomingly, as if something long awaited had finally begun.

In that moment, the night changed.

A soft hum rose from the ground, a vibration that felt like the memory of music—one that had once been sung here, long ago, in a time when dreams still wandered freely among the trees. The glow above the stone brightened, revealing the faint outline of a figure within it, not yet formed, not yet fully awake, but present. The figure’s edges wavered like moonlit mist, its shape shifting with each heartbeat of the orchard.