A fable of memory, renewal, and quiet belief. This midsummer tale opens the Wishing Line and the magic of Under Lough Owel Village.

Some say she appeared only once a year, at the solstice, when the sunlight bends like memory. Her name was Solin--born of buttercups and beesong, or maybe a wish whispered too close to the lake.

The butterfly who followed Nell wasn’t hers, exactly. But it hovered near her always. Some called it her shadow. Others, her soul.

On the longest day, Solin danced where no one else could see, and left behind something too light to keep: “If you see her, don’t catch her. Let her go. She only stays for those who don’t ask her to."

Wishes tied on this day are kept closest to the heart. Hang yours lightly.

"No," he said. "I was allowed."

This story arrived folded into the binding of an old weather book, left open on the Storyteller’s Bench after a foggy morning. No one saw who left it, though the ink smelled faintly of flowers, salt, and smoke. The Kelp Oracle claims it came from the edge of the Sundari tree line. Orla says the paper was once part of her map, though she didn’t draw it. Finn read it twice and hasn’t said a word since.

What matters isn’t where it came from—but what it teaches:

That luck is only a borrowed thing.That the forest, the bees, the watchers—all must be respected. That being allowed is not the same as being entitled.

It’s not a village tale, but it might as well be.