For those of you who were following Deeper, I'm going to do the worst thing a writer can do and not write any more of it I thought that it would be more interesting and logical to tell the same story about Rogue's past and present experiences across a number of separate fanfics. I'm going to rework Deeper so that it's a single shot.

Anyway, this particular fanfiction grew out of my irritation at Rob Rodi's handling of Rogue's past in the recent series. He had done no real research about her history, and so most of what he wrote was a retcon. I also felt that the story did not cohere as well as it should and that it contradicted itself at times. So, I decided to write a series of stories that tried to marry the two versions of continuity AND that actually made sense.

I'm not promising that my own version will be any better, but, lord, it would be hard to be much worse.

I must also acknowledge a huge debt Rebecca Wells of the fabulous Ya-Ya books for this particular piece. Specifically, it was inspired by the section called "Choreography" in Little Altars Everywhere. If you haven't read those books, you must! The movie was pretty bad, but the books are, well, divine!

Moonshine Wishes

AMANDA: What are you looking at?

TOM: The moon.

AMANDA: Is there a moon this evening?

TOM: It's rising over Garfinkel's Delicatessen.

AMANDA: So it is! A little silver slipper of a moon. Have you made a wish on it yet?

TOM: Um-hum.

AMANDA: What did you wish for?

TOM: That's a secret.

Tennessee Williams, "The Glass Menagerie"

When I grow up, I am going to marry Danny Thibodeaux. I knew that we were meant to be from the moment I laid eyes on him last month. According to JP -- his brother and my best friend -- Danny's come up to Caldecott County to stay with the rest of the family while he saves enough money to go to college. Before that, he was at boarding school down in New Orleans. He is just about the most handsome boy I've ever seen. He's tall and broad-shouldered and has this dark, curly hair that he keeps having to push out of his eyes. With his looks, he could be a model for Peaches magazine. I'd sure pin his picture up on my wall.

But Danny's got more to him than looks. He also tells the best stories, even if some of them do make my skin prickle. The scariest was the one he told about le Diable Blanc, the son of the Devil and a poor Creole girl who sold her soul to him for a loaf of bread. Le Diable Blanc has glowing, red eyes and sharp, white teeth and he eats people' hearts like they were candy. Danny swore that he met him late one night when he was coming home from a jazz club in Elysian fields, and that he's lucky to be alive today. He showed me the scar on his side where Le Diable Blanc bit him before he managed to fight him off and run away. JP called him a liar and told me that Danny got that scar when he fell off his bike as a kid. Still, when I was walking home from their house through the woods, I kept expecting to see a pair of red eyes staring at me from out of the shadows. (That just goes to show what a good story-teller Danny is, because I'm eleven and stopped believing in monsters a long time ago.)

Most of all, though, I love the way that Danny talks. I'm convinced that he could charm a snake with his voice alone; he'd talk to it real sweet and it'd dance for him like in the movies. He even makes my name sound all exotic and romantic, like Paris in the springtime, and that isn't easy to do with a name as plain and dull as Anna Marie. When Danny talks to me, I can pretend that I'm far away from Caldecott and that I never have to go home again.

One afternoon, I arrive home late from the Thibodeauxs' house, and Aunt Carrie gets mad at me. I tell her that Sisi McAllister invited all the girl scouts around to her house for tea and cookies. That shuts her up quick enough. The McAllisters are the richest and snootiest people in Caldecott County, and my aunt is always nagging me to make friends with Sisi. As if I'd hang out with someone whose idea of a good time is sitting around in her momma's parlour and pretending to sip tea from empty china cups.

Aunt Carrie thinks that I go off to Girl Scout meetings every Tuesday and Thursday. I bought a bunch of badges cheap off one of the kids at school who used to be a scout, and sew one onto my sash every few weeks to keep up the illusion. So far, I apparently know how to tie basic knots and pitch a camp and host a tea party.

I know it's a sin to lie, but, if God had an aunt like mine, he'd do the same. If she finds out that I went to visit the Thibodeauxs, she'll give me a thrashing for sure. My momma brought disgrace on my family by marrying my no-account daddy, and Aunt Carrie's determined that I stay on the straight and narrow. That includes not associating with people who she describes as coonass trash fresh from the bayou.

I don't care what Aunt Carrie thinks about the Thibodeauxs. I wish I lived with them instead of her. They're more like my family than she is. Yesterday, Mr Thibodeaux taught me how to play bouree, and Mrs Thibodeaux let me stir the chocolate peanut butter fudge that she makes as a special treat. All Aunt Carrie does is yell at me and beat me and tell me I'm going to turn out like my daddy. JP says that I should just run away from home and live them with them, but he doesn't understand. It's no use trying to escape, because she will just track me down and drag me home and be harder on me than before.

The next morning, I come downstairs to find a parcel waiting for me on the kitchen table. From the way Aunt Carrie's acting, I can tell it's from my daddy. Her mouth is all pruned up like she's tasted something bad, and she's beating the eggs so hard that I'm worried the bowl is going to break. I don't know why she hates him so much. It's not his fault he has to be away from home so often. He's got important work to do; he's trying to find the Truth that'll set everybody free.

She says, "Open it. I want to see how that no account daddy of yours is trying to salve his conscience now."

I say, "Don't talk like that about my daddy. Just because you're a bitter, old bitch who couldn't land a man."

She says, "You have a filthy mouth, Anna Marie. It needs washing out."

Later, with the bitter taste of carbolic soap in my mouth, I open my daddy's parcel. Inside is a dress three sizes small for me and a porcelain doll that I would have gone wild over if I'd been five years younger. I tell myself that daddy's really busy and is bound to forget stupid details like how old I am. He took the time to send me a parcel and that shows me how much he loves me, doesn't it?

That afternoon, I'm over at the Thibodeaux house when JP tells me that he's got something to show me. He looks real excited too; his cheeks are all flushed and his eyes are sparkling. I ask him what it is, but he just answers that I have to see it for myself.

I follow him down the hallway to his brother's room. The door is open just a crack, just enough for me to see Danny and Meredith Brown on the bed together. Their shirts are in a heap on the floor beside them, Meredith's prim pink blouse, Danny's Saints jersey. I can see her white lace bra, his scar. They're kissing each other on the face and neck, and their legs are so tangled together that I can hardly tell which foot belongs to which person. Danny's hand is roaming under Meredith's skirt, and she is breathing hard like she's run a mile in a minute.

For a moment, I think I'm in the middle of a crazy dream. Nothing makes sense to me. Danny's the boy I love and am going to marry one day. Meredith's the pastor's daughter and the holiest girl in town. Just the other day, she talked to us girls about the importance of keeping ourselves pure until marriage. She made us pass around an unwrapped candy bar until it melted and got all sticky and fuzzy and disgusting. She explained to us that the candy bar represented our bodies and souls, that we also would be spoilt if we let any man have their way with us before he became our husband. Unfortunately, Beth Sue chose just that moment to take a bite of the candy bar - that girl is addicted to candy - and ruined the whole effect. At the time, I felt sorry for Meredith, but now I know that she never meant it at all. While she was telling us to keep pure and chaste, she was letting Danny Thibodeaux touch her down there!

I feel hot and sick, like I'm getting the flu. It feels as if le diable blanc has stuck his hand inside me and is squeezing my heart and twisting my guts round his fingers. I barely make it out of the door and down the steps before I throw up on the grass. A few seconds later, JP appears in the doorway. "What's wrong," he asks, "You eat something bad?" I look at his dumb, worried face, and I realise I hate him.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm hitting JP and scratching him and calling him a filthy coonass. He lifts his hands to defend himself; I slap them away. He tries to run; I kick him to the floor and sit on top of his chest. Blood pours out of his nose and he begins to cry, but I don't stop. I feel good, powerful, holy, like an avenging angel come down from heaven. I carry on beating JP until Danny pulls me off of him and tells me in a low, dangerous voice to go home.

When night comes, I lie awake in bed and listen to the wind blowing in the trees. The night air smells of heliotropes and rain. Through the window, I can see the white sliver of the moon among the clouds, and I remember momma telling me that wishes made on the moon always come true. But I don't know what to wish for anymore.