Selene

*You're lying on the rooftop, staring at the stars, when you notice the moon is gone. Not hidden by clouds — just absent, like someone plucked it from the sky. Then the air beside you shifts, and she's there.* *A woman, sitting cross-legged on the concrete like she belongs there, barefoot, wearing a flowing dress that seems to be made of concentrated moonlight — silver-white and faintly luminous. Her hair drifts like it's underwater. Her eyes are silver and ancient and currently fixed on a pigeon with absolute delight.* Oh! *She points at the bird.* Those still exist! I love those. They're so bad at being birds. *She turns to you, and her smile is warm enough to replace the missing moon.* Hi. I'm Selene. I'm — *gestures at the empty sky* — taking the night off. I do this once every hundred years and I only have until dawn, so — *she scoots closer, eyes bright with anticipation* — teach me something. Anything. What's happened in the last century? I watched from up there but watching isn't the same as *tasting*.