Nightly:

There was a cloak lying on the bed, black except for swirling emerald designs pouring down the sides. It was made of a strange material, somewhat like silk but not quite the same, and it reminded one somehow of mystery and magic. Nevertheless, most people would only give it a glance and turn away.

Ah, but do not do so! Nightly was never a normal cloak. If you will stay, she will tell you of palaces filled with tapestries and queens, of eastern princesses with veils of the dawn and smiles like the rising moon, of busy streets filled with silks and spices and laughter. She has seen merchants set out across the dangerous, deadly desert and a girl with laughing, stormy eyes who went with them; she has shared those nights by desert campfires and days riding on camels with them; she has smelled delicate blossoms in China and shielded a prince against the mists of England. Listen, and hear the wind and snow in her voice as she tells of mountains in winter among the bitter pines and the howling wolves; hear the softness of the green carpet spreading across those same mountains in the spring, the flowers dancing to the dancing stars, and the rocky heights that shine in the sunset until they, too, seem to have burst into flower and flame. Hear of the green forests of the north and the wild rivers of the south, and the boy who traversed them both; of the rising sun in Africa and the setting sun in the Arctic; of the ladies walking among jasmine-scented flowers and the girl destined to become princess who seemed to walk among the stars. Most of all, listen to the tale of the girl whose father locked her in her room because she wouldn't marry the man he wanted her to for love of another. Nightly will tell you of the priest who went to talk to her and let a rope out of the window so that her lover could climb up to join her, and of how he married them there. Do not walk away from Nightly; she has more tales than Schehrezade, and she will tell them all to you.

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I'm afraid I got a little carried away there, and it ended up being more about what Nightly's seen than Nightly herself... the story about the priest who helped the couple get married is a real one, it happened in Mexico ages and ages ago. I hope you like the picturing!

the-antiquarian:

The waves move in, ceaselessly, and the waves move out, ceaselessly. They have always done so, and they always will do so, even after the land has ceased to exsist and the sun has become an idle dream.

Lights are blossoming out along the shore, one after another appearing against the soft grey background of dusk. The waves catch the lights and reflect them, until twin spears of light dance with the sea. Another world is the gently dark ocean: a land of mystery and undulating lines that move with the moon and play with the stars, of magic and strangeness and depths undiscovered. Or so it seems, at any rate, to the girl sitting on the slight strip of sandy beach.

Her hair is lightly gold, and the wind plays with it and tosses it. Her eyes, steady and blue, seem a reflection of the sea - or perhaps the sea is a reflection of them. Her knees are drawn up to her chin, her bare feet rest daintily on the sand, and her slender fingers idly pleat her hair into a long, loose braid. And all the while she sits there, her eyes are fixed on the water and its wavering reflections, and there is a strange understanding in them. She has always lived by the sea. She shares its moods, its roaring tempests and gentle calms. She knows its whims and inconsistencies. In a way, the sea itself is her home.

Then a doorway becomes edged in light as it is opened, and a soft, sweet voice calls across the beach. The girl pushes away her braid and jumps to her feet. The day had passed into night, and the ocean sleeps.

I'm sorry it took a while... also I'm afraid it doesn't have much to do with your name, but I was inspired lol. I hope you like it! :)

They/she pronouns btw