They say when the Goddess steps outside, nature listens.

The light bends to kiss her skin.
Birds abandon their songs to follow her rhythm.
The wind hushes, then swirls in playful circles at her feet.
Rivers shift direction—no longer pulled by gravity, but by her presence.
Even the butterflies, timeless messengers of fleeting beauty, gather around her in awe.

She does not command it.
She is the command.

And as the leaves tremble and the sun dares to glow brighter,
one must wonder…

Is this mere coincidence?

Or the gentle echo of divinity revealing itself, for those who still remember how to feel?