HowlxSophie: Agreed. I absolutely adore those two; they're so funny together. And thank you for the compliments! I'm glad you're enjoying the story! And I totally agree; Sophie is really, just kind of plain. She's an interesting enough character, but she's just kind of plain and not very beautiful. I'm glad, though, that you support my decision to make Luna beautiful. Most people get annoyed when the OC is undeniably beautiful; they generally call them Mary-Sues at that point.
Child of the Moon
Chapter 1
Fear
"But, to be quite honest, I'm afraid, Sophie."
She's falling . . . falling . . . falling, down a dark, dark, dark hole. Falling . . . falling . . . falling . . .
Thud!
She's awoken by the pain between her shoulder blades, spreading down her spine to gather, like raindrops on the point of a leaf, drawn downwards by the inevitable force of gravity, in her ribs.
She's sprawled out on the oak-wood paneling floor; her legs, lithe and muscular, are tangled in the ivory cotton of her bed-sheets, her arms on either side of her head at awkward angles – not that she notices for a single moment.
She stares, dazed, at the ceiling.
It is a rather nice ceiling, she thinks to herself, feeling, quite honestly, a bit silly. Nice design.
And it is of rather high quality, but she didn't quite remember that bit – only that it looks nice.
It's made of the same oak as the floor, polished until it shines the gold of honey in the sun, and it comes into a high point, forming an equilateral triangle – if one were to disregard the way that the final piece is missing. It is, after all, supported by the walls, also made of the same wood (except there is a glossy sheen of pale blue paint layered over them), and they prevent the triangle of the roof from completing itself, prevent that final piece meeting the other two.
It reminds me, a bit, of my room . . . in . . . the hat shop? Is that the one? she wonders, struggling to put the pieces of her foggy mind back together, and she flinches as the door, belonging to the room she's currently only half aware of herself within, slams open.
It clips the wall next to it, creating a resonating sound that jars her, almost bringing her into awareness; her mind swims so that it rests just below the surface of the fog that envelopes it, but, even as she struggles to bring it above the clinging fog, it slips back down, into the depths of the dim mist.
She, slowly, turns her head to the side, feeling her hair – the color of its wavy strands the color of spider lillies, crimson and beautifully vivid – slide smoothly across her exposed skin with the movements, and her eyes, such a pale blue that they are almost white, land upon a brunette standing in the doorway, her chest heaving with exertion as the adrenaline fades.
Sophie is really pretty, she decides firmly, punctuating the statement with a mental nod – as she is not quite in tune with her body enough to make many movements for real; the turn of her head took most of her energy, and she can't quite muster up more than a few, scarce drops left in order to examine her friend closely.
She, Sophie Hatter, is truly pretty – beautiful, even; she has a subtle sort of beauty that befits a true Queen: her complexion is clear of blemishes, the color of cream with a dusting of rose over her high, slender cheeks. She is tall, willowy, and graceful whenever she walks, and her body is well-proportioned in every way, shape, and form. Her face, heart-shaped and doll-like in its elegance, has both the capacity to be hard and harsh, like a slate of jagged stone, or soft and sweet, gentle like the face of a new mother holding her newborn for the very first time. Her eyes, large and framed by thick, dark lashes, are the color of melted milk chocolate, with the capacity, too, to be both cruel and kind, and her hair, always pulled back in a neat plait that brushes against her mid-back at its very longest, is only a few shades darker than her eyes – the color of the bark of a healthy spruce tree, with a few strands of golden blonde interwoven in. But the golden color is only visible within the light of the sun.
"You're okay," Sophie breathes, sagging against the framework of the door. "You must have just fallen out of the bed in your sleep again."
She only blinks at the guest in the doorway, her dear friend, and Sophie chuckles quietly.
"Not awake yet?"
Sophie grins, then, a dancing light of mischief evident in her warm brown eyes.
"Well, to solve that, I could always call for Bettie."
Something within her twinges at the thought of the brunette calling for the aforementioned woman, current manager of the hat shop while Sophie's mother is away (part of her wonders at her sudden ability to remember things), and she muses upon the feeling of . . . fear?
Well, whatever feeling it is, it is a most disconcerning one, she thinks, and without realizing it, the corners of her full mouth tilt downwards into a deep frown. I do not believe that I enjoy it. And besides, what could the woman have ever done to me – this Bettie, manager of the hat shop?
Sophie is about to shout for the woman when, after much struggling, her mind finally clicks into place; she recalls that which she has forgotten, that which has slipped from her immediate thoughts. And she remembers exactly why she fears the manager of the hat shop.
In one smooth movement, she flings herself up, off of the rigidness of the floor (barely made more comfortable by the entanglement of herself within the bedsheets), and, ignoring the way that her legs remain hopelessly tangled up in her blankets, crosses the entire room within the course of a mere second. She claps her hand over her friend's mouth, and the slender, long index finger of her other hand comes to rest against her lips in the universal sign of silence.
"I'm awake now," she assures the brunette, allowing her finger to slip from against her lips, soft as the satin-like petals of a rose, and her friend nods, with wide, sarcastic eyes, and rips the obstruction off from over her mouth.
"I gathered," Sophie remarks blandly, gesturing at she, with hair like the color of fire and eyes like the color of ice.
She understands what the brunette is saying to her, without words, about her using magic to cross the room in an instant, in one simple step, and she laughs nervously. "Yeah, about that . . ." Her voice trails off, and she rubs the back of her neck with a sheepish expression on her face.
When she sees Sophie giving her a meaningful, scolding look, she coughs out an awkward apology and goes silent soon after, only breaking it to give a half-hearted explanation:
"I didn't want water dumped on me again."
She smiles nervously, waiting for Sophie's respnose.
"I noticed," Sophie says simply, giving no reprimand to her friend, then the brunette turns her around to face the dresser on the wall opposite them. "Now go get dressed; we have to work."
"The same dream again?" Sophie asks, her eyes wide as she looks away from the dark red sun-hat she's stitching decorations on to – instead looking solely at she, with the eyes of ice.
"Yeah."
The reply is short and distracted, as she sews a large, crimson rose – still blooming – on to the brim of the blue silk fedora she's holding. (From her position next to the daydreaming red-head, Sophie can catch occasional whiffs of the perfumed fragrance of the rose – something that her dear friend has worked upon religiously until she perfected it.)
Sophie sighs, disappointed, and she sets her current project down on to the table in front of the two of them, ready to give her friend a piece of her mind. However, before she can open her mouth, one of the other workers of the hat shop walks by, pausing in the doorway and beaming at its two occupants. (Both look at her in one smooth movement, timed so perfectly one would almost believe they were the same person – merely split into two.)
"Hey, Luna. Hi, Sophie."
"Hi," the both of the girls say in unison to the girl, and, satisfied at having been acknowledged, the girl walks away to finish her work – ready to leave for the day. (It is already the afternoon, and the shop will close soon, in less than ten minutes.)
Sophie turns her attention to her friend, then. "Luna," she says, settling the aforementioned girl with a look, "how many times now have you had that dream?"
Luna grimaces, and Sophie mentally curses herself for trying to push her friend into giving more information about herself (she had, after all, warned the entire Hatter family when they offered her room and board in exchange for her work at the shop, that she would not, under any circumstances, disclose any information about her past; she said that she'd rather leave that behind her, far behind her, and they all agreed. Of course, Mother had been curious, but she was so very firm she had no choice but to agree).
The eldest daughter of the Hatter family is about to apologize when Luna shakes her head, waving curls of bright red hair flying out about her face.
"You don't have to apologize," she says, in a soft and gentle voice that makes Sophie think, idly, of the musical quality the wind takes on as it blows over a field of flowers. "I know you don't mean to push; you're merely concerned."
Luna sighs deeply, and Sophie places her hand upon her friend's slender shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me, you know," she says. "You said it yourself – you'd rather not allow many people to know much about you."
(It was another stipulation of the red-head's: she had a good many secrets, and many of them were varying shades of 'not-good'. As such, she refused to share them – and her dreams have always been one of those secrets.)
Luna shakes her head again, and she fixes her friend with a sincere look, pinning her in place with her enchanting, silvery blue eyes. "I should tell you; I want to tell you," she says, but she sighs and rests her head in her hands. "But, to be quite honest, I'm afraid, Sophie."
The brunette's slender brows draw together. "Why are you afraid?" she asks, bewildered. "What could possibly make you afraid?"
Luna smiles wryly. "I know that you think I am powerful enough to fight off anything that may frighten may, but there are some things that no one can escape – not even me. I am not the all-powerful being you think that I am," she says, looking away and freeing Sophie from the enchantment of her unnatural eyes. "Many things frighten me, and I can do nothing more about them than you can about your own frights."
"What are you afraid of?" Sophie asks, placing her hand upon her friend's shoulder gently. "I'll help you with whatever you're afraid of; you don't have to be alone any longer."
Luna's smile slips away, and she glances at her friend from beneath her lashes, again pinning her in place. "Sophie . . ."
The whisper is almost silent, but the brunette hears it well enough – and smiles.
"I want to help you, Luna," she says sincerely. "I want to be someone you can count on, someone you can rely on to help you shoulder your burden. Please trust me."
A silvery tear traces its way down the elfin cheekbones of the crimson haired girl, and she hugs Sophie tightly.
"Thank you," she murmurs against her friend's neck, and Sophie nods in response, smiling gently and embracing the silently crying red-head.
After a moment, Luna pulls away from the embrace, and, sniffling, she wipes her tears away. "I'll tell you," she says, giving the brunette a watery smile, "but only about the dream."
Sophie nods and settles herself back into her seat, preparing herself for a story.
I'm falling in my dream. Always falling, falling down a dark hole.
I can't see the edges of the hole, and I can't see the top, nor the bottom – the only thing I can see is the darkness. It's all around me, and it feels as though, as I fall, it may devour me whole.
I attempt to latch on to the walls, stop my rapid descent, but I find nothing; there is nothing in this bottomless abyss but myself and the darkness – and it continues to threaten to devour me, turn me into nothing but a shadow of my former self.
I spot a hint of light below me – a twinkling, star-like thing. It inspires hope within me, but I am coming up on it too fast.
What once gave me hope now frightens me, and I wonder what will happen when I come into contact with the shining light – will I burn up? Will I explode into tiny pieces? Or will I just disappear, leaving no trace of my existence behind?
I am just about to crash into the light when I fall out of bed and wake up.
Sophie gapes at Luna. "That's awful!" she exclaims, her warm brown eyes wide. "No wonder you always fall out of bed and have such a hard time waking up." She sighs and sinks back into her seat. "I don't know how you handle that dream, especially since it keeps repeating itself; I'd never be able to do what you can."
Luna smiles gently. "I can only handle it because I know the end," she says cryptically, her eyes dancing, before she returns to stitching the blooming rose on to the fedora.
Sophie shakes her head, bewildered, but she did not bother to question her friend more; she knows she will receive no answers.
And that's the end of that! Hope you enjoyed!
Answer: My favorite minor character has to be Calcifer. He's so sarcastic and sassy; he's very entertaining to watch - and even to listen to. And I love how he cares even though he pretends not to. I just pretty much adore his character.
Question of the chapter: If you were trapped in a room and the only way to get out was to choose either Howl or Markl would survive and leave with you, who would you choose?
Gotta go now! Ciao!