Years had passed since the day Maribelle left Thaloria’s gates, and though the kingdom flourished in her absence, her presence was never forgotten. Tales of the Strawberry Queen—the girl who had healed the land and walked among the people—became legend, passed down from elders to children beneath the golden boughs of the Heart of Thaloria.
The land, once on the brink of ruin, now thrived. The golden vines spread further each year, their nectar ensuring prosperity. The people cared for one another, no longer divided by old fears, and the kingdom stood as a beacon of unity and hope.
But where had their queen gone?
Some said she had traveled beyond the Whispering Rivers, where the skies shimmered in twilight hues and the winds carried the songs of unseen creatures. Others swore she had ventured into the Moonlit Forest, where the trees whispered secrets of ancient magic.
The truth, however, was far more wondrous.
One crisp morning, a young girl named Eliana, with wild curls the color of ripe strawberries, stood at the edge of the Thalorian orchards, her bare feet brushing against the soft earth. She had always loved to wander, to explore beyond the paths carved by her ancestors.
That morning, she stumbled upon something new.
A single strawberry plant grew at the edge of the woods, unlike any she had ever seen. Its leaves shimmered faintly, as though kissed by magic, and among them, a single fruit hung—rosy red, freckled with gold.
Eliana knelt, her small fingers tracing the delicate petals of the plant’s blossom. As she did, a warm breeze stirred the air, carrying with it a scent she had never known but somehow recognized.
And then, on the wind, she heard a voice.
“The land remembers.”
Her heart raced, and when she looked up, she saw a figure standing at the edge of the forest—a woman dressed in a flowing cloak the color of ripened berries, her hair cascading in waves like fields of summer wheat. Her eyes, deep and kind, held the weight of a thousand journeys, yet they sparkled like morning dew.
Eliana gasped.
She had only heard stories, but she knew.
“Strawberry Queen…?” she whispered.
The woman—Maribelle—smiled softly and knelt beside the girl. With gentle hands, she plucked the golden-flecked strawberry and placed it in Eliana’s palm.
“This land is yours now,” Maribelle said, her voice warm like sunlit honey. “Take care of it, as it has taken care of me.”
The little girl clutched the fruit to her chest, eyes wide with wonder.
And when she looked up again, the Strawberry Queen was already gone—her cloak blending into the golden morning light.
But the land remained.
And the seeds of tomorrow had been planted.
The End. 🍓✨
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