HER ALPHA'S FORBIDDEN MATE

The world awakens under a blanket of silent mist. In the pre-dawn stillness of the mountain forest, the air is cold and heavy with the scent of damp earth, pine needles, and the deep, rich musk of decaying leaves. A hazy gray light filters through the canopy, turning the towering firs into towering, indistinct ghosts. The mist clings to every branch and cobweb, beading on the velvety moss that carpets the forest floor and creating a silvery sheen over the sprawling roots of ancient trees.

Sound is muffled here, each crunch of a fallen twig or rustle of a leaf absorbed by the thick air. The only sounds are the quiet drip, drip, drip of water from the leaves above and the faint, almost imperceptible whisper of the wind moving high in the unseen branches. Suddenly, a single, clear note pierces the silence-the call of a distant bird, a tiny beacon of life in the cool solitude. A single shaft of golden light breaks through the haze, illuminating a small patch of ferns, their fronds frosted with dew. The moment is fleeting, a perfect, quiet communion with the waking world. It is a place of profound peace, where time slows and the only thing that matters is the simple, breathtaking beauty of the natural world.