Unlike the sunrise or sunset, the Moon spread in a solitary majesty that, strangely melancholic, watched Matilde every night. Among a tangle of cherry tree twisted branches, the girl would hang from the window and confess her ideal world to the stars. In it, she slid through ballrooms and, specifically at five in the afternoon, would taste eccentric cookies with her refined friends. Even so, Matilde had none of that. She would look at the star and ask herself if the stars followed the Moon out of envy. She spent her nights talking to the little shining points in the sky, telling them how her sister was growing up and had stopped being interested in her figure, how she sank her fingers into sacks of grains and felt alive because of it, and how she sewed clothes her mother forbade her to wear. One night, surrounded by puffed sleeves and a big bow at her waist, she abandoned the stars and kneeled by the window, called the Moon with authority, and after ten years of watching the bright ball, talked about little Nancy, the human grains, and the vulgar dress she wore. Still, waning, the Moon fell silent. The stars, sympathizing with human pain, called Matilde and told her that next time, she should bring cookies, rise naked in the window, and show courage; she should abandon Nancy, and only then would she be fully surrendered to the Moon and have the right to a wish. So, she eagerly waited for daybreak and spent the whole morning working on soy cookies. That day, she didn't play with the grains, only tortured them in boiling water and crushed them so the dough would be light. At one point, Nancy, who rarely approached, came near the large stove and demanded a cookie. Blinded by love, Matilde closed her eyes, turned her back on her sister, stood in front of the oven, and ignored any complaints from the poor girl. When the sun rose from the horizon, she handed her clumsy clothes to her mother and instructed her to set them on fire. The woman then embraced Matilde and smiled, grateful that the girl no longer fantasized about ancient times and voluminous skirts. She ran her fingertips over the girl's back and thought that Matilde had been cured of her fertile imagination, and she believed she could hold onto her longer. However, that night, the young girl slipped away. She climbed the stairs in common clothes and with a wooden box decorated with a large white satin bow. Nancy, at the height of her thirteen years, followed her and knocked on the door for a long time, claiming the right to the soy grains. Amidst the muffled cries of her sister, Matilde undressed, looked into the mirror, and thought carefully about the wish she would ask of the Moon. She didn't like her reflection but hoped that at least Her Majesty might admire her. Then, she climbed onto the wooden window, held onto the latches, and stood up. The clouds had disappeared from the usually overcast sky. At that moment, Matilde puffed out her chest, took a deep breath, and, with determination, called the Moon, demanding attention. — Why do you dare to call me, Matilde? For so long, you ignored me to talk to the stars. — Because I fear you. I envy you. — And what do you desire? — I desire a winter prince, eccentric cookies, and friends to have tea with. The wind, filled with leaves, hit the young girl, who, surrendered, closed her eyes and embraced her wish. She awoke in a blue ballroom gown, with large, puffed sleeves that caught anyone's attention. Still at night, she walked down the stairs and went to the door, waiting for the unknown prince. However, she was surprised by his beauty and kindness. She walked with him to the street and left her house. Watching from afar, she abandoned her world, gazing at the white house. But even in her moment of freedom, carriage, and magic, she noticed an animal stretched out by the edge of the lake, seeming to have rolled three floors below her window. Ignoring it, she was led to an old ballroom where she danced all night long and fell in love with the man with the perfect face. The next afternoon, she got ready to meet her elegant friends and spent the sunset eating unique cookies. The problem was that this happened every day. There was no escape. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, she went out to dance with a boring man and listened to her friends talk about trivialities. She spent her days chasing Nancy, who remained angry about the use of the soybeans and ignored her. In reality, Matilde had passed away a long time ago. She wandered through the old house and watched her sister grow. The girl fled from the breezes Matilde caused, avoided being alone, and never dared to enter the room facing the cherry tree. Nancy hated the Moon. She agonized night after night until the darkness passed. Somehow, she was afraid of falling in love with the Moon, terrified of the simple idea of understanding why her sister hung from the wooden ledge, and why, one day, it broke loose. Perhaps the Moon never responded to her.