Princess Talia was supposed to be asleep. But through her tower window she saw something impossible: at the far edge of the castle grounds, past the hedges shaped like swans, a garden was glowing.
She tiptoed next door and woke her old nanny, Rue, who only smiled, wrapped them both in one big shawl, and took her hand. Together they went down the spiral stairs in their slippers, across the dewy lawn, and stopped at a little silver gate Talia had never seen before. On the gate hung a sign, written in letters that shimmered like water: The Moon Garden — open only while the moon is watching.
Inside, everything was upside-down from daytime. The flowers were closed tight in the sunniest spots, but wherever moonlight pooled on the ground, huge white blossoms opened like slow fireworks. Moths drifted between them like tiny paper lanterns.
In the middle of the garden stood an old gardener with a watering can that poured out starlight instead of water.
“Ah,” he said, not surprised at all. “The moonflowers were hoping someone kind would come. We have a small problem tonight.”
He led Talia to the biggest blossom of all. Curled inside it, like a kitten in a basket, was a small silvery wisp of light. It flickered nervously.
“That,” said the gardener, “is a dream. Every night, the moonflowers grow the dreams, and the night wind carries them to sleeping children. But this little dream is lost. It cannot remember which child it belongs to.”
Talia leaned close. The dream showed her flickery pictures: a room with a crooked bookshelf, a stuffed rabbit with one button eye, a window with three paper stars taped to the glass.
“I know that window!” Talia gasped. “That’s Pip, the baker’s son! His window looks over the courtyard — I’ve seen those paper stars!”
The dream glowed brighter, and spun in a happy little circle.
“Then you must carry it,” said the gardener, “gently, like a baby bird.”
Talia cupped the dream in her hands. It was warm as fresh bread. With Rue beside her, she walked it across the sleeping courtyard, past the fountain talking quietly to itself, and lifted it up toward Pip’s window. The dream slipped through the gap under the shutter like a ribbon of moonlight — and a moment later, Talia heard Pip sigh happily in his sleep.
When she returned, the gardener was smiling. “The moon is going to bed soon,” he said, “and so should princesses. But because you helped, the garden will grow you a dream tonight, too — an extra-good one.”
Talia and Nanny Rue yawned all the way up the spiral stairs. Rue tucked her into her big soft bed, and just as her eyes closed, she felt something warm as fresh bread settle softly beside her pillow.
Her room was dim and still. Outside, the swan hedges slept. Down in the courtyard, the fountain talked more and more quietly, until it was only whispering to itself.
Talia thought about the little dream, safe at Pip’s window now. She thought about the moonflowers, closing one by one as the moon went down. Goodnight, garden, she thought. Goodnight, gardener. Goodnight, little dream.
The moonlight on her blanket grew thin and pale, like milk poured very slowly. Her toes were warm. Her pillow was soft. Her eyes closed, and they stayed closed.
That night she dreamed of a garden of white flowers, and a thousand little lights sailing out over the rooftops — one warm dream for every sleeping child, and every single one of them finding its way home.
And tonight, the moonflowers are growing a dream for you too. Close your eyes and be still, as quiet as a garden, so it can find its way. Goodnight, garden. Goodnight, little dream. Goodnight, you.
🌙 The End 🌙
Sweet dreams, little one.
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