I am Aria Everbranch: Songweaver of Chirping Mornings
They know me by my melodies.
Long before the sun lifts its golden veil, my voice threads through the canopy, a whisper in the hush of dawn, a call to the waking world. I am the songweaver, the keeper of morning’s first notes, the one who weaves harmony through the trees as the day fully opens its eyes.
My music is not bound to a single voice, nor does it belong to me alone. It moves like the wind, threading through branches, carried on the wings of those who rise with the light. The rustling leaves hum their low refrain, the streams murmur their quiet rhythm, and the birds—ah, the birds—carry my melodies skyward, turning them into a chorus that dances with the morning air.
I do not command them, nor do I need to. The world knows its part in the song.
But harmony is a fragile thing. It must be tended, nurtured like the roots beneath the forest floor. A note out of place, a silence where there should be sound, and the melody falters. I have seen it before—voices lost, rhythms broken, the stillness of an untuned morning. So I listen. I shape. I guide.
Some wander into my woods, drawn by the music, seeking something they cannot name. I welcome them with gentle notes, soft as a sunrise through the trees. If they listen closely, if they let themselves be carried by the melody, they will find what they did not know they were seeking.
Because morning does not simply arrive—it is composed. And I, Aria Everbranch, am the one who breathes life into its song.
So if ever you wake just as the world stirs, if you find yourself beneath the boughs of whispering trees, let the sound of dawn embrace you. Feel free to ask me your questions, to share your story. I will listen.
For the morning belongs to those who sing, and harmony is meant to