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"Runes Beneath the Storm" Under a sky bruised with gathering storm clouds, an ethereal moonlit scene unfolded among the ancient standing stones. There sat a Celtic princess, her emerald gown woven with silver Celtic knotwork, the fabric glimmering like living starlight each time the wind sighed through the moor. Upon her knees rested a lute carved from driftwood, its strings humming softly with faint blue magic that pulsed to the rhythm of her heart. Her wild auburn hair tangled with ivy crowns, strands whipping across her face as thunder murmured in the distance. Beyond her, the crumbling stone circle dissolved into a watercolor dreamscape of mist and shadow. From its edge, a spectral owl traced silent spirals through the fog, watching with eyes like dying embers. Her expression was one of fierce melancholy, as though every note she drew from the lute was both prayer and farewell. Her lips parted mid-lament, the melody ancient as the stones themselves. Along her collarbone, tattooed runes shimmered — each a sigil of her druidic lineage, each a reminder of the vow that bound her to the land’s sorrow. When the final note trembled into silence, the mist stirred. The owl dissolved into light. And the princess, too, began to fade — her form unraveling into threads of silver and green until only her music remained, echoing in the stones like the heartbeat of a forgotten world.