A/N: I own nothing. Originally, I'd intended to use this particular oneshot as a prologue to "Paradise Blues," the Novel of Doom that follows from "Shots in Paradise" and "Tougher than Leather," but then the latest bit I wrote for "Shots" demanded a reference to the fairytale version of how Darcia would like to be remembered in Paradise. Well, cross-reference for the win?
It had not been my favorite bedtime story, (that honor went firmly to "The Firebird," as it had been Bruce's favorite, too,) but I had heard the tale of "The Moonflower Maiden" often enough that I could still remember my father's way of telling it:
"Now, the way my mama always told it," Pops said, "There was once a beautiful young girl whose lightest touch could ease the greatest hurts. Her song would give sweet dreams to the guiltiest conscience. She was so fair and fragile that her father, a powerful lord who loved her dearly, declared that she should only walk upon flower petals, and go outside only under the moonlight, so that the sun should not mar her snow white skin. He even created a rose red cloak for her, so that the moon's light would not be too harsh, either.
"One night, a cunning and devious evil wolf saw the pale skinned girl in the red hood out in her garden of night flowers, heard her sing to the full moon, and was determined to have her for himself. He took on the form of a young man and snuck his way into the great lord's household, making his way to the moonflower maiden. Once he was in her garden, the wolf told her that he loved her and wished to take her away to his kingdom far away. And because the girl was young and inexperienced with the ways of wolves and men, she went along with the wolf in prince's clothing.
"Now, when her father the great lord came down to the garden and found her missing, he swore vengeance upon that wolf and all of the wolf's family. He would do anything to rescue his fair daughter, and he had to do it quickly, for if she spent a month under the sun, the moonflower maiden would die from its blinding light and heat.
"Luckily for the lord, an owl flying through the gardens had seen the wolf steal away the moonflower maiden. The owl had pulled at her by the red cloak, but the girl was so blinded by the wolf that she would not come back to her garden with the good owl. The owl guided the lord through a dark forest, where there was nothing living, save for gigantic beetles and man-eating plants. The lord made his way through dark caverns and burning deserts, where wild men lived and the scrub brushes would trap you in dreams and drink up your blood. But the lord was clever and canny, and he fought off man, beast, and plant alike.
"Finally, he found his daughter high in the snowy mountains. The wolf had called forth all his henchmen in order to help corral the moonflower maiden toward their home in the deepest ravine of the tallest mountain in all the world. She was weak from the sunlight, but the flowers loved her so that they grew before her bare feet, so that even on this deadly journey, she could walk upon soft petals. The noble lord fought off the wolf and his pack of jackals, but the witch who controlled them from a distance had been promised the moonflower maiden as a servant, and this witch would not be quickly denied. Just when the lord thought he had won his fair little daughter back, the witch spirited the moonflower maiden away and placed a terrible curse upon her father the lord, so that he would become a wolf like the one he hated so.
"The lord was brave and hardy, and he would not allow his daughter to be snatched away a second time. He climbed the tallest mountain, where the night sky is ever glittering with rainbows. He stepped into the deepest ravine, where the roots of the tree of all seeds burrow into the earth. He came to the witch's city, and killed her when she refused to take away his curse. Then, thirty days after his fair daughter, the flowermoon maiden, had been stolen, the lord embraced her once more.
"It was then that the sun rose above the horizon, and the moonflower maiden withered into ashes. Her father was so distraught with grief that he tore down the tree of all seeds itself, which might very well mean the end of the world for people like you and me. But because the moonflower maiden loved the world as well as it loved her, her ashes blew into the crevice where the tree of all seeds once grew and from them grew a new tree. From her sacrifice, the world was able to start again." I quickly learned when Pops was reading; no matter what he might say about his mama, my father never used that sort of vocabulary if he could help it.
"Poppa, could I save the world like the moonflower maiden?" I had asked as a child.
"Sure," he had replied, tucking my dark, messy pigtails behind my ears. "Somebody's got to do it every now and then. Might as well be us."
I looked out the window of my too-quiet bedroom. "Does that mean that I have to walk only in moonlight?"
"Blue," Pops said, turning me to face him. "You walk around in whatever you damn well please, and you tell anyone who tells you otherwise to go jump off the tallest mountain in the world."
"Can I go walking in the moonlight tonight? I don't see any wolves out, and I won't sing to attract them," I promised quickly.
"Even if there were wolves about, I think you and I would quickly be teaching them what happens when they try to steal away my pretty little girl," Pops said, looking out the window at the half-full moon as well. "But right now, you need your beauty sleep, little lady."
"But Poppa…" I whined, twisting my fingers in the quilt. It still smelled a little like ash, but it was warm.
"You can't kick ass if you don't get any sleep," Pops said. He had never really attempted to curb his curses around me. It embarrassed me at school sometimes, when the teachers punished me for repeating what Pops had taught me, but it had always made me feel tough and grown up, like Pops trusted me to be big enough to hear exactly what he wanted to say.
"All right then," I agreed. "I don't want any witches sneaking up and turning my poppa into a wolf."
"And I don't want any wolves stealing you." My father placed a kiss on my cheek, which I returned, feeling the stubble rough upon his face. "Good night, baby Blue. I love you."
"I love you, too, Poppa," I said, waiting for the light to go out. I never did like nightlights. The shadows they cast tended to shift and gutter, like memories of a fire.