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There was an emperor of China and he lived in the most magnificent palace in the world. A nightingale lived nearby, in the great forest that ran to the sea, and people came from all over the world to hear it sing. Everyone marveled at the bird’s beautiful song. The bird became so famous that when people met each other on the street one would say “nightin” and the other would say “gale.”

Moon has heard the nightingale’s song. He has watched her for many days. Not long ago he sat in the dark, surrounded by others, lost in the wonder of the music. Her voice had been pure and magical and lilting, the sound of tiny glass bells.

Now the nightingale is silent.

Today Moon waits for her underground, the sweet fragrance of the emperor’s garden dizzying his head. He feels like a nervous suitor. His palms sweat, his heart beats. He has never felt quite like this before.

If she had not been his nightingale, she might have become his princess.

Today it is time for her to sing again.