Night fell over the city like a silk veil, and the streets, one by one, dressed in blue. It wasn’t the cold blue of winter or the pale blue of a summer sky, but a deep, almost living blue, as if the city itself breathed beneath this mysterious hue. The streetlights, shy, lit their golden flames, but it was the blue that reigned supreme. It slid over the walls of ancient houses, caressed the cobblestones worn by centuries, and wrapped the deserted squares in a melancholic softness.
 
The inhabitants, accustomed to this spectacle, barely raised their eyes. Yet, that evening, something was different. The blue seemed more intense, more present, as if it wanted to whisper a forgotten secret to them. Shadows danced to the rhythm of a gentle breeze, and the lit windows drew fleeting constellations on the facades. It was as if the city, weary of its daily gray, had decided to adorn itself with dreams for a night.
 
A child, lingering near the central fountain, reached out to a drop of water that sparkled blue. He thought he heard a whisper, a distant melody that spoke of oceans and infinite skies. His mother called him, and he ran to her, carrying in his heart the echo of this fleeting magic.
 
In the distance, the cathedral, the silent guardian of centuries, stood out against the sky. Its stained glass windows, usually dark, shone with a sapphire blue, as if the saints and angels they depicted had chosen this night to watch over the city. The bells, for once, did not ring. They needed no voice: the blue spoke for them.
 
And then, little by little, day broke. The morning light erased the traces of this enchanted night, and the city returned to its usual colors. But those who had seen, those who had listened, knew they had witnessed a rare moment, when the city, dressed in blue, had offered them a fragment of pure poetry.