At the very bottom of the deepest, quietest part of the sea — far below where the dolphins play and the sea turtles drift and even the fish with the little lights on their heads swim — there lived a young mermaid named Pearl.

Pearl had dark red hair that floated around her like a cloud of sea anemone, a shimmer-green tail that caught the light in the same way fish scales do, and a small woven basket made from sea grass which she carried everywhere she went.

The basket was for collecting moonbeams.

She would swim along the sandy floor, her lantern held low, picking up the moonbeams one by one. They were warm to the touch, like a mug of something cozy, and they glowed gently in her palm before she tucked them into her basket.

One evening, a small octopus named Ink was watching her from behind a rock. Ink was only young — his arms were still a bit too long for his body and kept getting tangled — and he was very curious.

Pearl smiled and shook her head.

Ink blinked all eight of his eyes at once, which was his way of looking confused.

Pearl sat down cross-legged on a patch of soft sea grass and held one moonbeam up so Ink could see it properly. Inside the little drop of light, something was moving — shapes, colours, a flash of green meadow, a curl of silver river, a tiny fox running through tall grass.

Ink was very quiet for a moment.

Ink thought about this carefully. Then, very slowly, he began to help — using all eight of his arms at once, which it turned out was extremely efficient for collecting small glowing things off the ocean floor.

Together they worked through the night. Pearl’s basket grew heavier and warmer. The moonbeams glowed and shifted, each one holding a different dream — some bright and adventurous, some soft and peaceful, some silly and full of laughter.

Just before the sky above the water began to lighten, Pearl held the basket up and blew across the top of it very gently. The moonbeams lifted — one by one and then all at once — and drifted upward in a soft, glowing stream, rising through the dark water toward the surface, toward the light, toward the windows of sleeping children all across the world.

Ink watched them go, all eight eyes very wide.

Pearl shook her head, smiling.

She tucked her empty basket under her arm and began to swim home, her green tail catching the first thin light of morning filtering down from above.

And somewhere far above, in a warm bed, a child smiled in their sleep — and dreamed of a silver fox running through tall grass, and didn’t know why, and didn’t need to.

It was just a beautiful dream. And that was enough.