I'm excited to offer my Sailor Moon AU for resbangmod's resbang 2021 over on tumblr! I had the BEST artist partners ever - macabremermaid, bellflowerss, and emmyYq. Please take the time to listen to the playlists and love on the art they created because it will give you SoulxMaka feels and warm your heart. I would like to thank soundofez and lunar-resonance for their beta skills and support! I could not have finished this without any of these lovely people!
This story got away from me pretty quickly. I realized I couldn't fit everything that I planned in this fic for resbang. So, I've decided to start a slice-of-life spin off! More villains, more crime fighting by moonlight, more friendships feels, more shenanigans, and more clumsy young love à la the Sailor Moon 90's anime adaption! So please consider this a very fast paced main story, and keep a look out for the spin-off!
Warnings: cartoon/canon-typical violence and blood; depression and anxiety; adult alcohol use; teenage angst; magical shenanigans; second hand embarrassment.
Summary: Maka never expected to be stalked by a talking black kitten, drift away from her best friend, or turn into a clumsy, blushing idiot every time she runs into a certain snarky boy at the arcade. These aren't even the worst things happening to her - add in an obnoxious love-spell trend involving costume jewelry and her papa's newfound love interest in the school nurse, and Maka is at her wits' end. She doesn't have time to "transform into Meister Moon and hunt witches by moonlight," even if the kitten's ability to shoot pumpkins is kind of cool. But the fate of the universe waits for no final exams or school dances, and the friends Maka meets along the way (and a very charming and handsome masked stranger) might make that 3.99 GPA worth it. Sailor Moon AU. A magical girl story exploring the power of love, friendship, and fighting witches and mental illness.
Wicked Moon
by redphlox
Love is real, and love is bad. Love means pausing in the doorway when her papa calls out her name. Love means gripping the doorknob with a jolt as thunder roars overhead, a signal that rain will soon split the sky in half. Love means not being able to decide, at that moment, if she should stay and talk, or if she should go.
The death-like calm the grey clouds have brought makes the whole world seem like it's on hiatus. Waiting for the storm to break has her on edge, especially considering how late she already is for school - Maka can't spare thirty seconds to slip into her boots or search for her umbrella. She will have to nix hiding from the familiar black kitten that usually trots onto the doorstep and winks up at her from the morning routine, too.
And yet, despite all of this, Maka turns around to meet her papa, though she lets out a peeved sigh. She finds she always has time for him.
"I got something for you," her papa singsongs, sliding down the front hallway's hardwood floors in his socks, bringing his arm out from behind his back. A gold chain hangs from his hand, the flat heart-shaped gemstone swaying with his excited gestures. "It's rose quartz! Do you like it?"
"Ugh, you too?" Fists balled at her sides, Maka can feel her blood pressure rising and her temples throbbing, a sure sign a major headache will take her out of commission in a few hours. "Don't tell me you got sucked into this stupid trend, too."
Temporarily stunned into silence, Papa goes still and gulps, blinking like there's something caught in his eye. On his face is a certain brand of hurt and hesitant regret that could be called fear, at least judging from his scared, cornered, animal expression. But still, he decides to play dumb: "What are you talking about, Maka sweetie?"
No gift can fix what he's done and they both know it. Saying so would be disastrous, though, so Maka holds her breath and allows her fists to tremble, her chest to constrict.
"I saw this and thought of you," he continues, happy-go-lucky attitude puzzling her even further. Pretending not to notice her bratty meltdown can be chalked up to either skilled obliviousness or kindness, both of which she's grudgingly grateful for. "Can I put it on you?"
Resentful but loathe to start a one-sided argument that would only make her even later for school, Maka nods. She turns and gathers her hair away from her neck while Papa clasps the necklace and raves about how lovely she looks, the brightness in his eyes making her smile with a fondness she hasn't felt in weeks. This must be the part of her that will always be Papa's little girl because seventeen-year-old Maka still isn't sure if she should shut him out or open up to him.
Either way, it's a tug-of-war that she'll lose no matter the result. Another clap of thunder has her feeling like she's running out of time – she still can't decide what to do.
Papa chooses for her, sure hands nudging her completely out the door.
Maka thinks maybe love is just that – telling someone to go, asking them to leave sooner rather than later. She's wobbly on her feet for the briefest of seconds, as if unsure if she can stand on her own. But then, when lightning dances mutely across the heavens, she starts sprinting.
She's late, after all.
X
Bad luck follows whenever the black kitten with a crescent marked forehead crosses Maka's path.
Blair had appeared out of thin air a few weeks ago, waking Maka by placing a tiny paw on her cheek. Yellow, coherent eyes had widened in offense when Maka erupted into screams about oversleeping and pushed the feline off her chest. When the shock had worn off and the cat had refused to leave despite her best attempts to shoo it out, she had no choice but to leave the cat be and scramble into her school uniform. Ever since then, Blair has stuck to Maka, making a game out of shutting off the alarm clock before it's set to ring every morning and hiding Maka's hairbrush and shoes to delay her even more.
But what convinces Maka that the sudden appearance of Blair is a sure sign that she's going mad is the talking.
Today is no different.
"Kitten, I've been waiting for you! We're not going to make it in time," Blair huffs as she scampers alongside Maka, pretending she has nothing to do with the fact that Maka had been buried in an avalanche of clothing earlier when she opened the closet door during her hasty search for a raincoat.
"I knowww," Maka groans, dread blooming in her stomach. "This time I might get detention, and it's all your fault!"
"Yeah, exactly! So don't go to class, Kitten. Blair is tired of waiting for school to be over. There are more important things to worry about, like witches!"
Oh, riiiiight... Maka had forgotten she was going mad. She starts to squeeze her eyes shut but thinks better of it – she's still running. "Those aren't real, and neither are you!"
Puffing out her cheeks, Blair blows out a string of pumpkin-shaped soap bubbles that pack more of a punch than expected. They burst with a strident pop! as soon as they make contact with Maka's face, but they sting like a whip and rattle her senses for a few terrifying moments, blinding, confounding. After the first few mishaps, Maka has become an expert at careening to and fro until she regains both her balance and vision, but today Blair slides behind Maka's feet as she staggers backward, purring out a surprised oh as Maka lands bottom first.
"You're clumsy, Kitten," Blair notes, front paws on Maka's bent knee, peering curiously.
"That hurt, ahh…" Above, the sky is nothing but a grayscale of dread and foreboding, much like the storm Maka feels brewing in her chest, the one at home. With a deep breath and a promise to stay positive, Maka climbs to her feet, smoothing down the back of her pleated skirt. "Stop following me, Blair. I'm not a Guardian of souls and love and justice or whatever."
"Oh, but you are, Blair is sure, Blair believes in Kitten! Blair has been lonely and waiting lifetimes to be reunited with her favorite Guardian again."
"I still don't understand what you mean when you say that…"
"Meister Scouts are always at odds with the Witches."
"You've told me that." Maka tilts her head. What a strange, strange cat. "But what else?"
"That's it. Wars never end, Kitten, not when the Guardians and the Witch always reincarnate."
No matter how direct or diplomatic or loud Maka is with Blair, the kitten hasn't left Maka alone, which reminds Maka too much of her papa. The two have too many similarities, none of which Maka wishes to reflect on. As if reading her mind, Blair sits and looks up at her with unwavering hope and affection. "That's a pretty necklace, Kitten."
Guilt jabs at Maka, whose hand automatically goes to clutch the gemstone. "I don't like it... I think."
"Blair has seen other kids at the school with those types of necklaces. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, right Kitten? They carry spells, Blair knows, because Blair –"
"It's stupid," Maka says, the knot in her throat tightening. It's a fight to unfasten the necklace. Some of that can be blamed on her impatience and lack of motor control as a mix of rage and nameless sorrow pull her in different directions. The struggle only escalates when her hair gets entangled in the chain, too. By the time she's free of it, Maka has a fistful of sacrificed hair. She hisses, tosses it aside, and fists the necklace while cursing herself for her imprudence and her papa for everything else.
Blair, who's been observing her struggle, stands up on her back feet, paws on Maka's shins as if she's intending to climb up Maka's legs. "Don't!"
"Good riddance," Maka huffs, hurling the necklace over her shoulder. The satisfying thunk of metal thumping on the sidewalk is preceded by a rough howl of pain that prompts Maka to blush as she covers a soundless scream with her hands over her mouth. Mortified, she turns to see a boy with white hair rubbing his scalp.
"Watch where you're throwing stuff," he grouses, aiming a scathing glare that doesn't perturb her because she's too busy running over and kneeling beside the broken necklace. Something like remorse makes her blood run cold. It's not the symbolism that gets Maka, but the fragility of it all – the chain was cheap but (she admits begrudgingly) pretty with its interlocking hearts, one of which snapped sometime during the impact. Lightning-like cracks now run across the once smooth gemstone, pieces of it shattered on the concrete. For a desperate second, Maka contemplates skipping school to superglue everything together.
"You should watch where you're standing!" Leaping upright too quickly makes all the blood rush away from her head, but she ignores the temporary lightheadedness and spins on her heel to face him, seeing red. She knows she's being irrational, and yet…
Yet.
"Don't tell me what to do," the boy grouses. He bends down and picks up the necklace, handling it with a certain respect that puts Maka to shame for breaking it. "What the hell is this thing that you completely destroyed, anyway?"
"Nothing important," she snaps, offended that he's scrutinizing the damage she's done. The corners of his eyes and lips sharpen as he glances at her, pausing her mind, making her inexplicably think of a scythe's cool steel against her cheek, an impression that brings her a strange sense of safety instead of trepidation. Blinking chases away the weird thought, but Maka still stares at him, curious, unsure.
Now fixated on the necklace, he turns it over in his hands, thumb rubbing across the fissures and gaps marring the rose quartz, the uneven jaggedness probably satisfying to touch.
The irony of it only further infuriates Maka.
"No wonder you didn't want it. It looks like a stupid kid toy."
"Stupid?" she huffs, offended, "Stupid? My papa gave me that, and it's not like I can ask for another one. I don't want to hurt his feelings –"
"Then why did you throw it?"
He's so tall that Maka has to stand on her tiptoes and tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes, sticking her tongue out when words fail to supply her with a snarky comeback. There's that storm-like feeling again, fermenting, threatening to burst the more the thoughts about her papa and the intent behind his gifting the necklace consume her. She's strong, thanks to years of martial arts and a lifetime of bouncing back from emotional family-related downslopes, but her threshold for stress recently is low, nonexistent even, and maybe that's why her eyes start to sting and tear up.
The stranger must sense this too, because he eases up, his scowl softening. "... Sorry about your necklace."
"Whatever," she says before storming off, but it comes out all wrong. It's not blistering. That's not anger making her voice waver and break and her throat ache with the strain of a stifled sob. Trembling shoulders are a dead giveaway that she's losing the battle to hold herself together, and glancing over her shoulder to see that he's still looking at her undoes her – her face crumples, and suddenly getting to school on time isn't as big a deal as it was before the boy spoke to her.
It hurts to think a total stranger can see straight through her.
X
After school in the arcade, Maka loses herself amongst intense neon signs and a cacophony of dings and other electronic, game sound effects as she searches for her friends and the consolation only they can provide. Her guard is down, and her thoughts elsewhere, which is why she doesn't register the telltale thudof Liz Thompson's boots until it's too late.
Liz sticks a necklace in Maka's face and chews on her gum with expert nonchalance. "Wanna buy one?"
"Hell no," comes out of Maka's mouth before she can think, her face scrunching in automatic disgust. She's not surprised she and Liz are finally meeting like this – an ambush. Skirting around the hustler extraordinaire since they accidentally made eye contact on the first day of school has been all kinds of exhausting. But if a confrontation will cross her off Liz's hit list, then Maka can roll with the punches.
Too bad her gauge for pushiness is low.
After all, it's thanks to Liz that the necklaces had become popular overnight. Ignoring the fact that they emerged the day after her mama left isn't the easiest thing in the world - there's a happy couple everywhere she turns, except at home. For a second Maka wishes her parents' wedding rings had the same make-believe magic as the necklaces so that her mama would still be around, but then Maka remembers all the tears and heartache her no-good cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater papa caused, and she's bone-breaking mad all over again.
No thanks. Maka doesn't want any part in it.
Still, though – it's hard to be bitter about the fad when her best friends are one of those giddy couples who constantly make googly eyes at each other and stow away in closets for quick spit-swapping sessions. At least Maka can fume about the increase in excessive PDA when they're not within earshot, but that's a growing problem, too: they're seldom around anymore.
Liz lets out a low, impressed whistle, hikes up one brow, and refuses to move out of the way, the embodiment of calm, overly confidence that her marketing skills measure off the charts. And like everyone else who keeps up with the town's scandals, especially those revolving around one of its police officers, she knows Maka's sore spots: "You could get one for your dad –"
"I hate those necklaces!" Maka wants to yell herself hoarse, but can't, and she doesn't scoff or swear or cry that she's not sure how to feel about Spirit Albarn – she hisses like a cat that's wounded but still putting up a fight.
Ridiculous would be a good word for the tirade because Liz isn't disturbed by any of it. Now silently staring each other down, Maka can't trudge up anything about Liz aside from her recent transfer status: no past, no rumors, just a reputation for selling necklaces and skipping class alone, always alone.
She's hard to read, what with her tone being level and business-like when she says, "You could get one for your mom, too."
That gets to Maka. For the briefest of moments, she's feeble, like she took a brick to the kidney and she's forgotten how to blink and breathe and move, but recovering from the taunt is easy enough when she learns to copy Liz's poker face. She ducks under Liz's outstretched arm with careless ease, pretending not to hear the peddler call after her, "Your friends are by the pinball machines, by the way!"
Nothing hurts if Maka doesn't let it, not even her toes when she runs into the corner of the DDR machine, not even her feelings when she does find Kim and Jackie right where Liz said they'd be, cozied up between the pinball machines for privacy and with gold chains around their necks.
The anger kindles to life in her bones again. "Ughhh, don't tell me you guys bought those from Liz, too!" There is more heat in her voice than a pair of cheap necklaces merit, but she can't help it. "It's like there's real magic in those things, and it's actually making everyone go crazy."
Jumping out of Jackie's arms, Kim gives Maka an apologetic look as she fingers the small interlocking crescent-moons that make up the chain, reminding Maka of the broken hearts on hers. "We couldn't help it! They are a little cute. Doesn't the gem on this one look like a full moon?"
"The stone on mine is red," Jackie adds in a less sheepish tone, though her cheeks are the same color as the stone. Holding her star pendant necklace out for Maka to see, she breathes out through her nose like a bull ready to charge. Figures – Jackie's not herself if she's not ready to fight and consume like a fire, and this is her way of daring Maka to tease her for being a closeted romantic.
Taking a deep breath, Maka tries to be supportive: "You're the stars and Kim is the moon. Cute."
"You don't have to pretend, Maka. We know you hate them," Jackie says with a remorseful smile. Though the two have only known each other for three months, they've already learned each other's tells. Jackie probably already read the heartbroken agony in Maka, because her face softens the way it does when she's about to offer a shoulder to cry on.
Stubborn, that's what Maka is – a livid, unstable thing that stands at just five-two and didn't cry when her mama left a week and a half ago because it was a long time coming. Arriving home to suitcases waiting in the hallway and the taxi parked in the driveway wasn't a surprise because her mama was too bright, kind, and precious to be held back by broken promises, and if that meant Maka couldn't go with her because of Nevada's weird curriculum and its inability to transfer regular class credits to high schools out of the state, then – it was what it was.
At least she hadn't been blindsided.
But this – this feels like the ultimate betrayal, and Maka doesn't know why. Her dad acting like nothing is weird at home, the fact he hasn't apologized to Maka for anything, the weird kitten following her around, the stupid trend… it's too much for Maka.
"The necklaces don't really have spells on them," Kim tries to cajole, reaching out to touch Maka's shoulder. It makes sense that her childhood best friend knows what's wrong with Maka before she even does. "That part is make-believe, of course. It would be wrong to put a spell on someone to make them love you… there's no consent in that. It's the gesture. Right, Jackie?"
"Yep! It's like, you're giving the necklace to someone who already loves you, kind of like giving someone an engagement ring or something. The supposed spell part is just an interesting detail, it's dumb fun."
Thinking too much about what her papa tried to tell Maka through the necklace gives her a headache because the possibilities are endless. Either her papa meant well and used the token as a peace offering, or he truly believes in the ridiculous fad, which means he was looking for an easy way out to fix their relationship, which means he isn't truly remorseful.
Either way, Maka concludes it's stupid to stand in the middle of a bustling arcade, policing people's tastes in fads and costume jewelry and thinking about her papa. "So it's… a symbol of love?"
Excited, Kim pulls Maka into a much-needed hug. "Exactly! And Liz says it doesn't have to be romantic, either. You can buy them for your family and friends, too."
"Oh." Guilt smacks Maka, the full weight of how proud her papa looked showing her necklace and how she's been all over the place with her feelings, her outbursts short but frequent, finally crushes her. Had he been trying to tell her he loved her, and she literally threw that symbol away? She's been awful.
Jackie gives her a once-over and frowns. "Have you been thinking about that this whole time? That's what's been bothering you, the spell?" Brows furrowed, she turns to her girlfriend and asks, "Does she always overthink like this?"
"Yeah," Maka admits, sniffles turning into hiccuping laughter. "Shut up, Jackie."
x
They meet again in passing when another crack of thunder shakes the ground beneath them.
Already jittery from the threat of severe weather, Maka shrieks when someone catches her by the shoulder as she shimmies her way out of the arcade. Self-defense mechanisms take over, her hand going taut and her legs springing her into the air, mustering all of her energy into bringing her arm down like swinging a hatchet. Her eyes are closed, of course, because that's what jumpy teenagers do – attack blindly first, ask questions later.
"OW! What the flying fu –?"
"Oh-oh, it's you," she exclaims, blinking, heart still racing. "Sorry, I guess."
Annoyed, the boy from earlier peers at her through one watery eye, rubbing his scalp. "Did you just… chop me? You just chopped me… Damn, you hit hard. Do you always greet people like this?"
"Only you." She backs away, the weight of her backpack reminding her that she has hours of studying and reading on the agenda tonight. It seems she's becoming an expert at running into him.
"Shut up and wait," he says as she spins on her heel to run off.
She looks over her shoulder to grimace. "Don't tell me what to do!"
"I, uh, didn't know if I was going to see you again, but…. Anyway, I got this for you." Closing the space between them with two long strides, he shoves his closed palm at her. "Take it."
Instinct makes her accept whatever he's offering with mild curiosity. She knows what it is before she sees it, curling her fingers and squeezing to confirm its existence, appreciating the gemstone's sleek surface. The intricately patterned lines on the back are such a pleasing contrast.
"It's… the necklace my papa gave me." For the second time today, she feels like she's carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, the need to cry reducing her to a quiet mess. "You fixed it?"
"Nah, that one was beyond repairing…"
Maka stares, waiting for more of an explanation, something, anything, but all she gets is a nonchalant shrug. The more she looks at him, the less he comes off as someone who would go out of his way for a random act of kindness. Leather jacket worn with careless disregard, his shoulders are slightly rounded, his hair wind-tousled, and – and none of it meshes well with the pristine black slacks and dress shoes he's wearing.
Interested but distracted, Maka can't decide what to do. "Thanks," she says, not sure if the gesture makes her want to sob into her hands or throw the necklace back at him.
"Yeah. And…" He sighs deeply and glances at the clouds before meeting her gaze. "It's okay to feel messed up about things breaking, you know?"
This time he's the one walking away first, looking over his shoulder briefly before disappearing into the arcade. Maka stares long after he's gone, wondering what he meant and why he said exactly what she needed to hear.
X
No one's home when Maka bursts in, but the walls still buzz like there's someone just on the other side. A certain heaviness hangs in the air, one Maka can't quite place. She shrugs off the feeling that something is horribly wrong and bounds up the stairs, the necklace hanging around her neck again.
Got called in. Robberies, the text papa sends hours later explains. Might be home late.
Mhm, okay. That's nothing new, though.
Re-hanging the clothes that had spilled out of her closet earlier that morning turns into a cuddling session with Blair, who tries her best to help but seems to be better at creating mayhem and seeking affection. She slips into Maka's arms as Maka rearranges her shoes, and Maka finds that she doesn't mind, that it feels like nothing new, even though she's refused any physical contact with the kitten until now.
"You're so soft," she coos, poking Blair's nose and wondering how she could look so sweet but be such a nuisance. "And you're silly."
"Blair only wants to spend more time with Kitten. Kitten is Blair's kitten."
Maka hasn't stopped to think about all the absurd things Blair has said. Witches, Meisters, evil – all of it seems like something out of the fairy tales her papa would read to her when she was younger, but she no longer sees the world through the same rose-colored glasses. She's an optimist, but she's careful now, to the point of almost mistrusting – however, there's something about crouching in the semi-darkness of her closet that makes her feel safe enough to wonder.
"But how can I be your kitten if you're my kitten?" Maka asks her cat, surprising even herself at how softly it comes out. The moment is only interrupted by the door unlocking downstairs and a faraway cry – Makaaaaa – that makes Blair meow with the promise of dinner and Maka's stomach drop for unknown reasons.
"I'll be back. Stay," Maka begs through the door crack before closing it completely, catching a glimpse of Blair hopping on top of her desk and recognizing the curious glance that foreshadows chaos. Accepting that she now has a pet brings a spring to her step, but even that withers when she freezes at the bottom step.
There's no one around, but she could have sworn –
"Papa?"
No response.
X
Maka wakes to an eerie stillness.
It's like the whole room is holding its breath, waiting, an unwelcome presence lurking nearby. She just missed someone moving by her bed, where she is sprawled sideways and facedown on her favorite moon and stars comforter. Darkness has fallen outside her window where there was once daylight. Sleeping off a stress-induced headache had been both an excellent idea and a mistake – she's rested enough that she'll be awake all night, but something went terribly amiss while she napped.
There's a certain nothingness that makes Maka's skin crawl as she decides what to do next, until – until Blair's blood-curdling yelp breaks the silence, a thousand times more scared than the time she was almost hit by a car the first time she went outside. Instead of screeching tires, Maka hears a thwak! and doesn't need to turn her head to see the source because Blair sails by overhead, crashing into the wall and falling limp to the floor, heavy-lidded yellow eyes dimming.
Intruder.
The realization comes to Maka in the same wave that brings a sense of loss and brain-frying fury.Too many things happen at once – a pocket of light blooms from nothingness above the bed, the crescent moon shape on Blair's forehead glows as a murderous scowl overtakes the cat's features, and the sound of a drawer opening paralyzes Maka. Even the heart-shaped object that falls from the light fails to faze her, unresponsive when metallic wings sprout on each side of it.
Intruder! Intruder! Intruder! Maka's brain screams like an alarm.
Someone is behind her, and if she makes the wrong move, the wrong decision –
"Kitten, Kitten!" Blair leaps back over Maka's head, sharp nails gleaming in the light that fades too quickly. "Kitten must transform!"
Reaching for what Maka inexplicably knows is a compact comes as second nature – she opens it and looks in the mirror, sees two yellow streaks running across her forehead to meet in the middle and solidifying into a tiara, gold bands pulling her long hair into high pigtails. Electricity flows from her fingertips as red ribbons curl around the length of her arm and meld into gloves, a warmth spreading over her as she blinks and her eyes brighten, greener than ever before.
Suddenly, Maka knows exactly what she's up against, knows exactly what to do.
Standing up to meet the intruder is easy because her hands burn with power, except she's not ready for what she sees – witches are beautiful. They're not scraggly-haired, square-chinned, nor green-fleshed – at least this one isn't. Cat eyes sharpen more when the intruder smirks, the knowing glint revealing that her knowledge is unlimited and to be used for the greater evil. The witch has the nerve to wink at Maka before throwing a struggling Blair in the closet and crossing the room to the window in two long strides, jumping into the night.
Maka – whoever she is, because that name is paling into a foggy memory – goes after her, landing into more unsettling quiet. The flowerbeds in her backyard stand motionless, the wind nonexistent. Jumping the fence and running into the cluster of trees behind her house makes sense. Of course the intruder would disappear to hide there. Maybe she waited there until Maka fell asleep, but it doesn't occur to Maka that it might be a trap until she's out of breath from tripping over tree roots as she tries to search for signs of movement, disoriented.
From one second to another, the trees start to sway like they're signaling for her to leave, to turn away from the danger lurking in its depths. Menacing shadows dance around her, and as Maka tries to find her way out and keep track of them all, she slams into a tree trunk. Hot pain radiates from her cheekbone to her jaw. She can do nothing but sit and pull her knees to her chest while the throbbing subsides, seeing double as the witch dives at her, knife-like nails pointing at Maka's throat.
Maka cringes and waits for the worst pain imaginable, but it never comes. Instead, someone wraps a protective arm around her shoulder, and a guttural scream ricochets through the trees. Daring to open her eyes, the first thing she sees is a glistening scythe digging into red-soaked grass. The second thing she sees is the side of her rescuer's smug face as he murmurs regretfully, "Should have aimed for her neck."
It's a standoff. The two stare at each other: murderous hatred emanating from the witch, cheeky defiance from the newcomer. But, with the scythe-wielder ready to slice something off again and the witch missing three fingers, it's clear who stands as the winner of this battle. The witch's nostrils flare out as she snarls before she turns to run, a promise that it – whatever it is – isn't over yet.
Peace settles as the night comes to life again. The wind rustles, the moon comes out from behind clouds, and Maka learns to breathe again, distantly fighting off a headache.
"Hi," he says when it's calm and she can feel her limbs. He pulls her to her feet with certain easy confidence she can't help but admire. "Are you okay?"
Something tells her to trust him. "I think… Who are you?"
"Piano Reaper."
Maka lets it sink in, blinking. "Where did your scythe go?"
"I don't have a scythe, I am a scythe." And then he smiles, confident and at ease and handsome in the moonlight, formal button-up sleeve morphing into a white blade. It catches the light and glints as he holds it out at different angles, and Maka can see herself amidst piano keys she knows are only a surreal illusion. Leaning forward to run a finger along its mirror-smooth surface, she's not surprised to find it feels as cool as metal when left out during a snowstorm.
"Beautiful," she says, overcome with an inexplicable nostalgia, a faraway fondness, reaching up to do the same with his mask. It's the same material as his blade, and when she cups his cheek, she's glad to know that it's all flesh, warm flesh. "Beautiful."
When he grins, even his teeth are sharp. He slips on the hood of his cape, nodding at her. "Be careful, Meister Moon. We'll see each other soon."
She – whoever she is – stands there staring at the half shadows cast by the rustling trees until the police sirens grow louder and louder until they whirl to a stop. And then she waits for the magic to wear off, and she goes home to cry into Blair's fur while Papa pulls them both close.