This is for two competitions at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum! The first is the Second Person POV competition, and the second is the Poet's Pen competition. My prompts for Poet's Pen were "Heaven and I wept together, And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine.", and "To her, he is the moon". Except I switched around a ton of those pesky pronouns XD So enjoy!
To you, she is the moon and Victoire is the sun. Because when Victoire shines, she outshines all else. She outshines the fragile light of all the moonbeams pouring form Lily Luna. It's fitting, you think, that Lily Luna is the moon.
She'll only shine when the sun is gone. She'll go off and hide in who-knows-where when the sun blasts the world with radiant light. And anyone can shield their eyes from the sun's light, but that doesn't mean the sun isn't shining – eventually everyone turns towards it.
And so you do. You turn towards the sun that is Victoire and away from the only light that isn't extinguished when the darkness takes over.
You and Victoire could outshine the moon, and so you do.
And you tell her sweet-but-shallow things and they mean just as much to her as deep things would to moonshine.
"You're beautiful," you tell her.
She giggles.
The face in the moon sheds a tear.
Giggles and smiles, peacocks, sunflowers, pale pink roses, diamonds, sunshine, it's all Victoire. You and Victoire – the ones who've been dating for years without ever getting engaged.
Why? Because you're sick of seeing hidden moontears.
"Victoire…what do you think about…us?" you ask her one day.
"We're perfect," Victoire sighs, leaning into your shoulder.
You don't know what to say to that – because it's almost true. You're almost perfect. But what stops perfection is that you always wonder if the moon is shining. You can't tell through all the sunshine.
Moonbeams are far harder to place than sunshine. Trying to see a moonbeam amidst sunlight is like trying to keep a wave upon the beach – the wave rolls onto the sand and wipes away footprints, but it's gone in a split-second. You can't hold it somewhere it doesn't belong.
"Hey, Ted, we've been dating a long while," Victoire says, her true meaning thinly disguised. Sunlight cannot often succeed at subtlety.
"We have," you nod, and don't make any other response. You can't bring yourself to commit to a world without mystery, a world where every dark corner is exposed by sunlight.
You'll spend hours bent over your piano and you'll just play on and on, just letting the notes pour out of you like a flood or like the light of the moon.
You spend a week at your godfather's house and every midnight you hear the slight tapping of ballet feet leaving the home.
One night you follow the steps of the dancer feet, outside to a world bathed in moonlight and cloud-tears, ground soaked with moonshine, rain, and dew. You follow the dancer's bare feet into the forest clearing where a ray of the moon touches down and kisses the puddles.
You watch her dance there, Lily Luna dances there, her hand balanced on the shoulder of an imaginary partner. She's swaying gently under the light of the moon, dancing in the rain, and it only takes a few seconds for you to take the place of her invisible partner.
As you dance with the girl who shines in the dark, you feel like you're suspended in midair, floating off the ground, defying gravity, weightless, limitless.
Her dark red hair is plastered to your shoulder, where her elegant cheek rests, and you and she breathe out to the same rhythm.
This is moonstruck madness.
You keep her warm as you dance in a downpour. The torrent of falling water and falling moonshine soaks your skins. The sky is heavy above you, and the paths between the stars are long roads, but neither can limit the power of weightlessness and moonstruck madness.
Night is falling on top of you, with the rain and the moonbeams in a dark world where the sun has no place. Here you are safe from blinding light – here is a place where water can soak your skin and no one will have to know or see.
For some reason she's crying. She's crying on your shoulder, and suddenly you're crying too. You two cry with the sky, and all the water pours over everything like a wave upon the sand.
It's all cold water, but you're holding her, and you're keeping her warm, warming up the moonlight.
The wet wind picks up, swirling her hair around, blowing it back, and oh, you think you might be lost at sea.
Because weeping in the rainy falling night with Lily Luna is the sweetest feeling you've ever felt.
You kiss her lips gently, and her tears run over your mouths – hers are sweet, and yours are salt, and they blend together. You two blend together in the rain, the lines of separation blurred by moonshine.
The dancer walks away, alone in the rain, bare feet falling into the wet ground, with no one to keep her warm. And she leaves you in the moonshine as she glides away in a certain remorseless guilt.
And the next day you abandon sunshine for darkness – after all, the moon can only shine in the dark.
And sunshine asks why you'd leave her.
"Because I tasted heaven. Heaven and I wept together. And her sweet tears were salt with mortal mine."
So what did you think about that? I'm on a bit of a second person kick right now, so if you enjoyed this you should check out Counting The Riddles Of Darkness, and also If Our World Should Fall Astray. :D Sorry this one was a touch weird - yet another bout of midnight writing. :D Please review - my muse needs the stimulus.
Love always,
Lily