In the heart of a lush, sun-drenched jungle, Libby Katrina stood barefoot on the edge of a wide, flat stone. Her hair was tangled by the breeze, her eyes bright with curiosity. Surrounding her, like wild dancers in a sacred ritual, were dozens of monkeys—swinging, jumping, and chattering in pure delight. The stone was no ordinary rock. Ancient and moss-covered, it sat in the center of the forest like a forgotten throne. Libby had discovered it during one of her many solo adventures. But this time, she wasn’t alone. The monkeys had found her—or maybe she had found them. At first, they watched her from the branches, unsure. But Libby, always gentle and fearless, offered them fruit from her satchel. One brave monkey leapt down, then another, until the stone became a stage for wild acrobatics. Libby laughed and spun with them, her arms lifted like wings, her voice echoing through the trees. It was a moment beyond time—girl and nature, united in joy. The monkeys drummed their tiny hands on the stone, a rhythm of ancient play. Libby responded with claps and a song her grandmother once sang. Somewhere in the distance, a hornbill called. The jungle listened. That day, Libby Katrina was crowned queen—not with jewels, but with banana peels and monkey kisses. She had no need for castles. Her throne was stone, her court wild and free. When the sun began to set, casting golden hues across the canopy, the monkeys disappeared one by one. Libby stayed a moment longer, hand on the warm stone, heart full. She would return. The jungle had claimed her, and she had claimed it in return.
