An alternate Huntress, all human. I got this idea by from a dream. I developed it when I listened to "SuperStar" by Taylor Swift. Knowing the song won't ruin anything in the story. Well, maybe one thing.
I don't own Night World, or "SuperStar", but I do own the storyline.
Jez and Morgead: SuperStar
Chapter 1
Jez POV
We were just walking, not even talking.
It was enough. We'd known each other for so long; we knew what the other was thinking, almost as if we were twins.
After all, Morgead was my best friend.
He dropped me off at my house, then walked down to his apartment a couple of roads down. He'd lived alone since his mother had run off with some guy from Europe when he had only been fourteen. It had been a complete battle with the authorities for several months to stay living in the apartment. He'd won after a while, but had had regular check-ups. Now that he was eighteen he could live by himself, without the government interfering.
He was my best friend, and I loved him for that. It would be a sad day when I couldn't be friends with him anymore.
I walked into the kitchen. My uncle Bracken was sitting at the table, surrounded by letters. I grimaced. His business had gone bust, and we'd had so many money problems since.
"Uncle Bracken?" I said. He looked up. "It's going to be fine."
"Doesn't look like it, Jez," he said. He looked at me in complete despair. "You know... I think you may have to move. Your mother's sister lives in Sacramento (A/N That is the state capital of California, right? I did my research :D It's about 100km away from San Francisco, I think [I hope]), so I think you could go there. I'm really sorry, Jez."
I looked out the window. "I... If that would be best..."
"It would. I really am sorry."
"What will I do about Morgead?" I looked back at him. I knew my eyes were pleading.
He paused. "I don't know. You know him better. Just trust your instincts."
I nodded. "I don't know whether I should tell him I'm leaving... Maybe I should just go and not tell him..."
Uncle Bracken nodded, but I could tell he thought I was wrong.
But I didn't know whether I could tell Morgead I was leaving, for good. Maybe it would be better for him if I just left.
Underneath, I knew that was wrong, but I didn't think I could bear seeing the look in his eyes when I told him I was leaving.
And I would come back. Maybe in a couple of years, maybe sooner. I hoped it was sooner.
I went upstairs to pack, taking everything that was important to me and laying them out gently on my bed.
A locket that had belonged my mother. My diary. Some drawings that Morgead and I had drawn when we were younger. A brooch that Morgead had gotten me. My photo album, most of them portraying Morgead and I. My favourite book, signed, that Morgead had given to me. A necklace that Morgead had given me.
Everything in my life had revolved around Morgead and I. He'd always been there for me. We'd comforted each other. I loved him, and I knew he loved me.
I sat on my bed, my head in my hands for a minute, trying to think that I had to go. I picked up my photo album and looked through.
It was in chronological order, so I could revisit my life whenever I wanted. I watched us again grow from being three and four-year-olds, showing Morgead looking adorable, with dimples and a wide smile, and me with my red hair to the middle of my back. When we were slightly older, seven and eight-year-olds, having water fights and walking around the streets holding hands. Early teen years, going to town and looking through the shops, pictures taken in the clothes stores when I dragged Morgead there, him looking a bit annoyed, but his eyes still alight with happiness. The time just after Morgead's mother left, when he was fourteen. He looked sadder, more reserved than he had before, but his eyes were still full of life. And finally, the last picture. We'd gone to prom together. He looked handsome in a black tux, and I was wearing a silver-blue dress. We were looking at each other and laughing.
I shut the book and stared at the cover. It was tearing me apart to look at those pictures. Even the picture I'd glued on the front. Morgead and I when I was twelve and him thirteen. I'd quickly snapped it before he knew, and we'd had a massive water fight afterwards because I wouldn't delete it.
I put it to the side and instead picked up the notebooks that were my diary. I flicked to the first page of the blue notebook with Indian designs down one side. There was an inscription that Morgead had written on the inside of the cover.
Happy 13th birthday, Jez!
I know how much you love reading diaries, so I thought you might like to write one yourself.
Love, Morgead xxx
I looked at the first entry
28th June 1993
Morgead got me this diary for my birthday! It was by far my best present; he always knows exactly what I like. Uncle Bracken got me a few t-shirts that I pointed out to him when we went shopping a few weeks ago. They're really nice, but I personally prefer this diary.
I got up early this morning, understandably. But I had to wait for Morgead to open my presents. He came late!!! Can you imagine? I was really annoyed. What a time to be late!
I opened my presents, and then went out to eat with uncle Bracken and Morgead. It was my favourite restaurant, so that was nice.
We got back home and I had fun drenching Morgead outside. I don't think he was too pleased, as uncle Bracken wouldn't let him back in the house, but I was kind and stayed outside with him. He then drenched me. Which wasn't funny. I thought it being my birthday meant getting what I want? Not with Morgead around, apparently.
I think I'm going to have fun writing in a diary. I'll be able to look over it when I'm older, and let Morgead see it after a few years, maybe. At least I won't forget anything that way.
I stayed staring at the page for a while. When I was thirteen, I thought that Morgead and I would be together always, always be best friends.
If only I'd known. I would have savoured our friendship more.
Morgead POV
I dropped Jez off at her house, then walked the road to my apartment.
I found myself thinking about Jez. She was never far from my thoughts. When you have a best friend who looked like an angel who's just dropped from heaven, it did that to you.
I remembered how she looked when she smiled, how it felt when I held her.
We were close, and knew each other perfectly, but I wanted more. I always wanted more.
I remembered how she'd looked that day we went to Prom together. She'd had some of her hair clipped back, but the rest was swirling down her back to her waist. Her wide silver-blue, heavily lashed eyes were the same colour as her beautiful dress, and she had a brooch that I had given to her clipped to the front. Her skin had been creamy white as orchid petals, but the natural blush in her cheeks had still been there. She'd also been wearing a locket that had been passed down to her from her mother.
I remembered how it had felt to hold her when we were dancing. Her body had fit against mine so perfectly.
I knew we were perfect for each other, but I didn't dare tell her I loved her. I would rather die than loose the perfect friendship we had at the moment.
She loved me like a brother, but I was in love with her.
I found myself outside the door of my apartment, and chuckled. Having an angel for a best friend also made you loose track of time when you were thinking about her.
I let myself in, and felt myself overwhelmed by loneliness. It happened every time I came home alone after seeing Jez. If she came home with me, though, she lit up the bleak walls with her brilliant radiance, and drenched happiness into every dark corner. She was like a candle after only seeing dark.
Light always won over darkness. The bleakness of this room didn't stand a chance against Jez's beauty and wit and intelligence and... perfection.
As I did almost every day, I reached underneath my bed and pulled out a small box. I opened it, and there lay a picture.
It was of Jez, of course. I had taken it one day when we had gone to the lake that was on the outskirts of town (A/N There probably isn't a lake on the outskirts of San Francisco but... Ah well. Pretend for my sake). I'd gone to get a couple of ice creams for us, and when I'd come back, she was just looking out over the lake. Her eyes had been distant, and she'd looked so other-worldly and wonderful that my breath had caught in my throat. I'd needed to remember that moment, so I'd taken the picture. It was a perfect memory. She didn't know that I had taken it.
Something else I did every day was music. It was my second favourite thing in the world, after Jez. My prize possession would be the beautiful baby grand piano that I had.
I walked over to it, sat down and let my hands drift over the keys gently, without playing anything. I placed the photo on the stand, and started playing.
It was my favourite. One I had composed. I always felt that I could express things better through music.
This one's for you, Jez I thought as I played.