That night the bird didn't sing. From all these years of constant use, it was finally broken. The King laid to his soft bed and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, pulling his brown locks back.

"No. Not now." He spoke with fear and got up, heading to the wide balcony doors. He opened them and let the soft night breeze enter his room. Pain suddenly crushed in his chest and the King moved back to the soft futon, afraid of the silence, which had fallen on his room.

As he placed his tired, burning from fever head on the pillow, the black dressed figure caught his eye; he lingered on the edge of his bed, with a hood above his head and dread filled the King's heart.

His haunting visions, the dreams of this form had made the King shiver from fear. This was Death; the one everyone knew and feared. Of all times the King now was feeling more vulnerable than ever.

"You...came for me?"

"Of course I did idiot. And it was about time!" Death spoke with annoyance, making the King frown.

The King blinked with a startle and pulled his sheets closer to his trembling body, afraid of both Death and the cold shivers on his back.

"What do you mean?"

"You were supposed to die that night on the garden but the Nightingale saved you."

Nightingale. Her name made his heartache from the pain of her absence. Oh, how he longed to see her again even for a moment.

"She will not return; I pushed her away with my words and actions. I even tried to replace her music with that of a fake bird's. I don't deserve her singing anymore."

"Of course you don't. You were the one who destroyed her home after all. It was the first forest you cut down, in order to fulfill your egoistic desires, and now your time has come." The figure giggled with amusement as he tortured with his words the sick King.

The King didn't answer, stunned by both Death's words and the realization of his actions. His mind traveled in that first meeting with her. How beautiful her smile was, even when she knew that he had taken her home away from her. How foolish he was and how hollow his achievements looked now.

He fell to his bed, exhaustion making him slowly close his eyelids. "I have found the one thing I was missing Nightingale." The King murmured as Death's shadow was covering him more and more, ready to devour him "I miss you and your voice." The man spoke with a hoarse voice from pain and solitude.

The wind suddenly blew from the open balcony, making the silky white curtains swipe strongly as the coldness rushed into the room. The wind carried a whisper, which became stronger and stronger until a lullaby was heard. A divine music, ethereal just like the King had remembered it.

He fell from his bed and with trembling feet he got out in the balcony, searching for the voice. The tree with the pink petals, the one which had grown with the years closer to his balcony, started to move its branches as if it was dancing following the sound of the song. And there, under the bright light of the hanging moon, the King spotted the tiny little bird.

It was brown with shades of blue and two tiny black buttons of eyes. The Nightingale turned and locked gazes with him; the small beak opened again and the melody came out with more strength, more love and affection the sick King hadn't felt in years.

Flapping the small wings, the bird was covered into the moonlight and soon the body of a woman appeared before him, bathing into the light, just like he remembered her to be.

"Let him go Death. He has much more to learn." Nightingale spoke firmly at the black hooded man and he rose to his feet.

"You beat me again cutie."

She shrugged at his comment and smiled.

"That's a part of who I am after all."

"And you petty King" Death pointed at the man who stood beside her "never lose sight of those who are close to you. You will be lost without them; hold your eyes open to the truth of things around you."

And with these final words, he disappeared.

The King turned to the Nightingale, drowning in her features. He had grown, reaching his 25 years of age, but she remained unchanging, young and beautiful, just like he remembered her to be.

"You came back." And soon his arms were covering her whole as the King tried to recognize if she was real or an illusion.

"I am sorry my King. I couldn't let you see me as I truly was."

"No, I am the one to blame. I destroyed your home, but still, you came and sung for me, even after all these years."

He cupped her white moon glowing face and kissed her softly on the lips.

"I love you, Nightingale."

She smiled at him and left out a melodic tune, responding to his feelings.

------------------

The King from that day on changed completely. He announced that everyone in the Kingdom was to rebuild together the lost forests and help the nature heal from the scars they, as humans had created on her. Nightingale helped him with all her might, watching him on the day with the form of a bird and singing him at night, dancing with her gown spinning around her under the moonlight.

Never in his life hadn't he been happier, having Nightingale by his side. Word of his achievements reached the faraway lands and more birds started to return from the South. As the trees started to grow again, more flowers started to bloom and the people welcomed the blessing, nature brought to them, with growing crops and peace on the borders.

The King saw his people happy, gazed across at the slowly growing trees at the far horizon and lifted his fingers, calling the small bird from the branch she was always sitting. Nightingale flew to his side and rested on his strong palm, letting his warmth fill her.

"What do you think? Isn't it beautiful Nightingale? And more will come. And more your forest will grow."

The small bird flapped its wings and flew to his shoulder, resting its beak close to his cheek; a small kiss given by the most kindhearted spirit anyone had known.

"I know. I love you too."

-------------------

The day the King peacefully left his last breath was also the day Nightingale returned to the forest. The people remembered him as the most kind and wise King of their times but no one ever noticed the small nightingale, which was always accompanying him.

Tales of the soft sound and music, which could be heard in the Palace's corridors, the day of the King's funeral, were told by those who worked for the kind King. The successor was also taught by the actions of his predecessor; he was the one trained by the late King after all, even if they were not related by blood.

The forest grieved also for the King and that night no songs were heard from the woods.

And now in the present, the forest lies as one of the largest and richest of all. Many go there for courage challenges or playing mischief on Halloween. But there are few who stop laughing, screaming or eating sweets and stand to hear in the forest singing.

Even fewer are those who can sometimes catch a glimpse of two beautiful nightingales a pair which always fly together and sing at the night, seeking the beauty of the moon, inseparable forever.

So their story lives on, until the day the moon will stop shedding its light and the Nightingale stops singing at night.