In the heart of a quiet jungle, as the golden sun dipped below the horizon, the forest began to slow down. Birds nestled into their trees, the wind whispered softly through the leaves, and a gentle hush settled over the land. In a cozy treehouse made of vines and leaves, little Monkey Lyly curled up beside her mother, ready for her favorite part of the day—storytime.
Lyly’s mother, with her soothing voice and warm arms, always knew how to make bedtime magical. That evening, she began a tale about a brave little monkey who traveled across the jungle to find the legendary Rainbow Fruit—a fruit said to bring happiness to whoever found it. As she spoke, her voice rose and fell like a gentle lullaby.
Lyly’s eyes sparkled at first. She imagined the monkey swinging from vines, leaping over rivers, and meeting colorful animals along the way. Her small fingers clutched her blanket as her mother described the high mountains and glowing waterfalls the hero encountered.
But slowly, as the story grew softer and the night deeper, Lyly’s eyes began to flutter. Her mother’s words turned into dreams, weaving gently into her sleepy thoughts. The brave monkey in the story began to look like her. The Rainbow Fruit glowed just out of reach. Lyly smiled in her sleep.
With one final line—”And when the little monkey shared the fruit, the whole forest lit up with joy”—her mother looked down and saw that Lyly had already drifted off. Her chest rose and fell gently, and a soft smile still lingered on her lips.
The jungle was completely still. Even the stars seemed to shine more softly, as if not to disturb the peace inside that treehouse.
Her mother kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, my little adventurer.” She tucked the blanket snugly around Lyly, then watched her for a moment longer.
So peaceful. So loved. So deeply asleep.
