The night was quiet in the old city apartment. Outside, the hum of traffic softened into a low lullaby, and the glow from the streetlamps spilled across the living room rug like honey.
A fire crackled gently in the small fireplace — one of those things that didn't quite belong in modern apartments anymore, but the old woman loved it too much to let it go. She sat in her rocking chair, wrapped in a knitted shawl, her silver hair catching the firelight.
On the couch beside her, her granddaughter, Crystal, had just turned sixteen that morning. The cake crumbs were still on the table, the last candle melted to a stub.
"Grandma," Crystal said with a sleepy smile, "you promised you'd tell me a story before bed. But not a fairy tale, okay? I'm too old for that now."
Her grandmother chuckled softly, her eyes still bright and sharp despite the years. "Too old?" she teased. "No one's ever too old for stories. They're what keep us alive."
Crystal rolled her eyes playfully. "You sound like Mom."
"Ofcourse, she is my daughter." the old woman replied, leaning forward. The firelight flickered over her face, "Now listen closely, child. This isn't a fairy tale. It's a story that's been told in our family for generations — from mother to daughter, like a thread that never breaks."
Crystal tilted her head, curiosity replacing her skepticism. "So it's… a legend?"
Her grandmother smiled faintly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Some things in it may have been twisted over time, others forgotten. But I'll tell you what my mother told me — and what her mother told her before that."
The old woman took a slow breath, her voice softening as she stared into the flames.
"They say once, long ago, there was a girl who fell from the sky — and a man who wasn't meant to love her."
Crystal sat back, eyes reflecting the golden light. "A girl who fell from the sky?" she murmured.
Her grandmother nodded. "Yes. Her name was Lyriel. And her story, my dear, began not in our world, but in the space between."
She smiled then, the kind of smile that carried sadness and wonder in equal measure.
"Now," she whispered, "let me tell you the little I still remember."
And with that, she began — as all stories should —
"Once upon a time…"