Babyling: Lustery

And the forest, old and patient, leaned in close and whispered: Stay small a while longer. The world will wait.

It was no ordinary creature, not quite bird nor blossom, but something in between — a small, shivering thing with petals for lashes and the soft fuzz of a moth's wing. The world greeted it with a sky the colour of old pearl, weeping a gentle, glittering rain. Every drop that kissed its skin left behind a tiny, shimmering bruise of wonder. lustery babyling

So it wandered — through the lustery wood where shadows were kind and the rain never truly decided to stop. It cupped its hands to catch the drizzle and drank. It curled up under a toadstool’s brim and slept while the afternoon turned slowly, quietly, toward evening. And the forest, old and patient, leaned in

The babyling stood on unsteady legs. It took one step, then another. Each footfall left a faint, phosphorescent print that glowed for a heartbeat before fading. A robin paused on a twig, tilted its head, and sang a low, questioning note. The babyling tried to answer, but all that came out was a breath shaped like a question mark, drifting upward into the grey. The world greeted it with a sky the