Princess took Elara's hand and led her to a picture hanging on a wall. Its old age didn't take away from its beauty. It was part of a story that her grandma would tell her when she was younger.
Elara's gaze lingered on the picture, an ethereal image of a moonbeam piercing the darkness, casting a silver glow upon the dewy grass surrounding their quaint cottage. The hand-painted strokes whispered midnight secrets and untold stories, drawing Elara in with a silent promise.
"This place," Princess began, her voice low and laced with reverence, "was special to your grandmother and me." She gestured to the scene within the frame, her eyes reflecting the same luminescence as the painted moonlight. "Not just a playhouse, but a gateway."