Waking to the smell of pancakes the next morning and the sound of her papa singing along with the radio transports Maka back to a time when she didn't have to worry about someone breaking into her house while she slept. Back to when her mama had been around, and her family was actually a family. Maka's chest constricts at the thought. Those days are long over, but at least the memories aren't fleeting.

Rolling out of bed with a groan, Maka washes up in the bathroom before heading downstairs where her papa is indeed twirling around the kitchen like a ballerina with a bowl of pancake mix.

"Makaaaaaa, I made your favorite!"

"Oh really? I never would have guessed." Despite the ridiculous scene, Maka smiles. Why does he have to be so embarrassing and love her so much all the time? He could tone it down sometimes so she doesn't feel like a spoiled brat for wishing he had been a better husband to her mother…

"With chocolate chips and bananas and strawberries," he adds, as if the pile of cut fruit ready for serving at the table isn't obvious.

Maka eases herself into a chair, hands clasped in her lap. Now that she has time to dwell on her home life, it dawns on her that she hasn't spent time with her papa at all, their interactions limited to texting and passing each other in the hallway. Most of Maka's time is spent locked in her room with her eyes glued to her notes or completing assignments. School hasn't taken a backseat to her nightly patrols as Meister Moon at all. The sooner the witch is off the streets, the better she will sleep, and the sooner the town – the whole world – will be safer.

A stack of pancakes materializes in front of her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She thanks her papa as she assembles a mountain of toppings on her pancakes, dousing it all with maple syrup. What a great start to her Thursday – not only was dinner great last night but now she's finding it easier to be in her papa's presence. Maybe she can face the agonizing trends at school and being a Meister Scout and her developing friendship with Soul after all. She and her papa can reconcile –

Papa chooses then to burst her bubble by opening his mouth. "Maka, I invited my girlfriend over so we can have dinner together on Saturday!"

The sweetness in Maka's mouth sours, the first bite of her breakfast sliding down her throat prematurely because her muscles forget how to function synchronously. Part of the unchewed glob gets stuck on the way down to her stomach; the tickle in her throat causes her to cough violently until the hazard clears. Then all she wants to do is suck in a giant breath so she can yell: "Wait, WHAT? Girlfriend? Mama barely left – when did you – who – why would I – how dare you, Papa?"

The man stands there with his now-radiantless smile plastered on his face, his brain obviously struggling to string together pacifying words.

"I can't believe you just said that to me. Mama has been gone for how many weeks now and you want me to meet your new girlfriend? After everything you put her through – and me – and now I'm stuck here with you..." Her throat closes with the sorrow of it all. If only she didn't respond to betrayal with anger. If only she was better at hiding her heart…

The chair screeches on the tile as Maka stands, pancakes forgotten. No words spill out of her mouth when she opens it to scold her papa, to tell him how wrong he is, to demand he take it back, to order him not to expect anything of her… but exhaustion hits her like a brick. Why should she waste her time? Vision blurring with tears, Maka's legs transport her outside before her brain can process the visceral need to escape. Grass and pebbles stick to the underside of her foot, vaguely tipping her off that she didn't bother to don shoes or change into actual clothes before sprinting into the street. What a sight she must be to any neighbors peering out of their windows, their teenage neighbor sprinting out in her bunny patterned pajamas. If it were any other day, Maka would be mortified.

But now? Who cares? It's not like anyone could understand how selfish her papa is, how he broke her mother's forgiving heart one too many times and basically drove her away with his infidelity and broken promises. Who cares if people see her with her hair in messy buns, if cars screech to a halt to avoid hitting her? So what if one car's bumper comes so close that it grazes her leg? She may not be able to see thanks to the constant stream of tears, but at least she can feel the ground beneath her change from grass, to concrete (crossing the street without looking both ways, what a rebel) and morph back to grass. At least Maka can rely on her senses as her chest spasms under the strain of gasping for breath while running and sobbing.

A distant ache blooms in her head, an omen of the migraine that will soon follow. When the tears ebb and the pain stills, Maka's surroundings unblur, the jungle gym and slides cluing her into her new location: the park a few blocks over from her house. This is where Papa taught her to ride her bike, where she tipped over and earned a scar on her knee, where Papa told her it's okay to cry and get back up. Grief and courage can coexist, after all.

The irony of subconsciously showing up here isn't lost on Maka. She wipes the tears away, sitting on one of the swings. Once upon a time, she had loved when her papa pushed her higher and higher, but now all he does is push her away…

Time slips by Maka as she gently swings back and forth, the occasional burst of cool wind rustling her hair. The swing beside her creaks too. She peeks, not surprised to find the seat occupied by a masked stranger with a sharp grin ingrained into his face. Under this melancholic light that is far too common for Death City, he exudes confidence, an air of certainty that she can't help but compare to a hero, especially because his cape flows behind him in all its glory.

"Piano Reaper, it's you!"

He turns his head to wink at her, eyes sparkling with a color Maka can't describe but can feel: soft, warm, safe. Though half of his face hides behind the moon-shaped mask, she can't help but feel like he's not a stranger at all. The tips of his fingers morph into miniature scythes and he taps a melody along the chains, one she's never heard before but already knows by heart.

"Where have you been?" Desperation bleeds into her voice. "I've been all alone."

"It does seem like we keep missing each other..."

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, I followed your soul," he says easily, as if what he just said isn't peculiar. "A sound soul dwells within a sound mind and a sound body. If your soul needs peace, then I'll find you."

Maka rests her head against the chain holding her swing up, studying him through one of the links, too afraid to reach out and touch him to confirm his existence. This can't be real, can it? She must be dreaming again. The ethereal film around them will deteriorate, and she'll be swept away by misery again…

"It's nice here, just the two of us, right?" Piano Reaper lifts an eyebrow, her heartbeat quickening in tandem. "Sometimes it's nice when love and peace are together."

"If you're peace, then I'm love," Maka agrees, her mouth moving to speak words her mind hadn't planned. The conflict rages on inside her heart though, and she can't help but be a skeptic. After all, love can't be real, not when it means pushing others away, hurting them, repeating cycles… "But if that's true, Piano Reaper, then why can't we always be together? Why can't love heal all and bring peace?" She extends her hand out, lazily, hoping he meets her halfway. "Why can't we fix people?"

"We can only save," he responds. His hand moves toward her, scythe-fingers catching a reflection of the cloudy storm above as if also mirroring the confusion in her soul. "The souls of the people in this town have been beckoning me. There is something amiss here, Sailor Moon."

Their hands hover in the air between them, so close and yet so far. "I want to help them, but it feels like we're chasing a ghost. Even you are like that. What's your name, Piano Reaper?"

"I'm not sure. A second before I remember, it goes away..."

"How am I supposed to find you as a civilian, though? When you're not in front of me, I forget what you look like."

A wistful look crosses his face. "Sounds like we're destined to be apart."

"But the fate of the world is in our hands – or, that's what Blair says."

"We have to find a way to be together," he says, dropping his hand. "If we can find each other we can defeat the witch and put this spell to rest."

Part of Maka boils with vindication. Of course that's what has been going on: the town, its weather, this unseen tension building up between herself and the world… it's a spell. Maka's brain grasps at that possibility uselessly though, the truth slipping through her fingers like water. Maybe it was never meant to be, and knowledge was never meant to last. Scintillating blurs pop up in her periphery, always moving out of her way when she tries to look at them directly. Surely they're a signal that her shared dreamscape with Piano Reaper is soon to end. She can't resist.

And yet…

"Piano Reaper, why is my papa like that? Why is he so… dumb?"

"Why is your papa like that?" A lopsided smile brightens his face despite the fact the fringes of their world rips away even more. "Why is he so dumb? Well, it's simple… it's because he's a fool, and he can't help it. That's how he is."

Maka laughs, comforted that her papa isn't maliciously out to hurt her – he's just stupid. When she turns to face Piano Reaper, he's gone, as though he was never there. A bright light encases the world…

X

Where are you? You okay? reads the text that greets Maka as she treads home without a memory of the journey back. Worrying that pieces of her memory are missing is a concern for another day. Her stomach growls with hunger, her eyes sting from crying, and her head is filled to the brim with thoughts about Piano Reaper – who is he? And who are the other Sailor Guardians, anyway?

Blair, splayed across Maka's bed, eyes her cautiously as Maka gathers her waterproof speaker and towel and heads for the bathroom, finally trotting to keep Maka company as she soaks in bubbles. "Are you okay, Kitten?"

"I am now," Maka reassures, sinking deeper into the hot water.

"Blair doesn't think Kitten is telling the truth. Kitten is skipping school, after all!"

The scandalized, shell-shocked look on Blair's face sends Maka into a fit of giggles. "Oh Blair, you're just too cute. Come here."

"Blair doesn't like water!"

"Oh… right." An image of pumpkin-shaped bubbles floating around the bathroom like hot air balloons blooms in her head, but as she gets out the first syllable, her kitten says: "Papa talked to me. He told me to tell you he loves you and he's sorry."

That sends millions of thoughts and questions coursing through Maka. What? Does he know Blair can talk?

"Blair didn't say anything, though! Kitten's father only petted Blair, said those things in a sad voice, and went to work."

Maka nods, letting that information settle. To distract herself from the topic of her papa, she answers Kim's text: my papa wants me to meet his new girlfriend. This immediately prompts a slew of messages asking if she's alright, reassuring her, and funny memes to cheer her up.

Jackie says we're invited to a sleepover at her house! Kim says. We can do a girls' night and get your mind off your gross dad.

And honestly, nail painting, movie watching, and snack eating with her best friend sound amazing. Why not? She replies with an enthusiastic YAAAAAAS and decides to catch up on homework and studying since she's not in class, pretending not to stew in anger the more time her papa goes without at least checking in on her. Yes, she wanted space, but that doesn't override the need to feel cared for...he could at least send her a text.

She's hot and she's cold, after all. Never sure when she should let herself love or when she should push it away.

Maybe she doesn't know how to love.

And if she doesn't know how to love, then how can she be Sailor Moon?

X

Hours later, the rumble of thunder shakes the heavy canvas paintings of appropriately stormy seas on Jackie's wall. Grey light falls in through the sheer curtains and casts shadows across the spacious room. They blend into Jackie's monochrome decor – blacks, greys, and whites everywhere, from her dresser to the paint to the baseboards to the floors. While the exterior of the refined, elegant home embodied first-class, posh, high economic standing, Jackie's space gives off a typical disgruntled teen aura, one with a proclivity for organization and a dislike for color.

Maka bites down a grin watching her best friend and Jackie bicker about what movie to stream on the largest flat-screen Maka has ever seen in her entire life. The monstrosity practically takes up the entire wall opposite Jackie's bed. Kim, with her pink bob, looks amusingly out of place among Jackie's things, proving she and Jackie are the embodiment of that expression about opposites attracting.

Kim's bullying senses must tip her off that sentiment is getting the best of Maka because she whirls to affix Maka a quizzical look. "You're the tiebreaker. What should we watch?"

They agree on an animated classic to serve as background noise while they lounge on the area rug in a circle, painting each other's nails and filling in Jackie about the latest rumor at Death City High: the school cafeteria being haunted.

"As if," Jackie scoffs. "Full offense but ghosts wouldn't waste their time at your school. No one wants to spend their afterlife heating food in a microwave for a bunch of snot-nosed, rude teenagers."

"Okay, living an eternity like that does sound really awful, but I did sneak into the cafeteria and totally felt bad vibes in there," Kim says, unscrewing the cap of yellow nail polish. "The school might be haunted!"

"What you felt was the staff side-eyeing you for breaking into their domain like a cockroach." Jackie pauses, tapping her chin whilst deciding which nail polish color to pick. "And speaking of bad vibes – Maka, you're getting along well with the resident edge lord, Soul Evans."

"Not really," Maka lies in an attempt to throw Jackie and Kim off.

"Whatever. What did you two talk about the other day at the pizzeria? It's hard to imagine Soul saying much. He's the silent but salty type of person. BUT you two seem to have hit it off like you're old friends… so, what's going on? Spill it!"

"Nothing! Ugh, Jackie, put your eyebrows back down."

Too late – denial turns out to be the most damning thing she could say, and combined with the incriminating blush that colors not only her entire face but her neck, she braces herself for a courtroom-worthy torrent of evidence proving she's been struck by, quote-unquote, dokis.

"The height difference is what gets me," Kim giggles like a fangirl, visibly surprising even herself. "You two are so cute together."

Suddenly Maka feels like someone poured gasoline inside her and dropped a match at the suggestion that Soul, what with his arresting lone dimple, is more to her than a friend of a friend.

"It's like they've known each other for years. They're basically an old married couple!"

"I can still hear you," Maka hisses through clenched teeth. She's never been one to handle teasing gracefully.

Jackie breaks into a dazzling smile that could replace the sun. "He lives right around the corner, you know! On the next block over. Let's drop by and give him a visit!"

What's more annoying than her face crawling with heat is the way her best friend starts teasing Maka about the fact she and Soul shared a whole pizza. It's the most unromantic, platonic action ever, but Kim finds a way to describe the moment like a scene out of a sappy rom-com movie. Never in her life has Maka been more embarrassed and annoyed. Worse than that, Jackie nudges Maka in the ribs with her viola case, which is bedazzled with Pikachu and skull stickers, and says, "We can use the recital as an excuse to visit. He's probably practicing right now. He always gets nervous the night before a performance..."

Somehow, the two girls manage to coerce Maka into her shoes and out the door. Cool, fresh evening air caresses her skin as the sky glows with shades of grey along with the sunset. She's only met Soul three times, but ever since, her life has been unpredictable, exciting, and beyond mortifying. Why does she feel so drawn to him, and why are their friends so devoted to getting them together? And why do Jackie and Kim have to be so blatant in their matchmaking agenda?

Two minutes later finds them halfway to Souls' house, the daylight finally extinguishing behind high-reaching, expensive-looking rooftops. Kim and Jackie have snaked their arms around hers like jailers walking an inmate to their cell.

"There is no such thing!" Maka cries in response to wild accusations about Soul being her soulmate, but chokes on her own words when something drops from the tree branch above and slides into her scalp – four paws and tiny sharp toes, to be exact. They're sharp because the kitten puts up a fight every time Maka tries to clip them.

A riotous meow broadcasts Blair's arrival, absurdly reminding Maka of being in the thicket of trees behind her house all those weeks ago. But the flashback is short-lived because Blair doesn't know what tact means: "KITTEN, SHE'S NEAR, BLAIR CAN FEEL IT!"

Sinking into the ground and dying seems like an exaggerated reaction but that's exactly what Maka wants right now. She stiffens, vigilant of Jackie and Kim's nonplussed expressions and general lack of freaking out, and then disentangles herself from her friends' arms to scoop up the little hellion and cover her little mouth.

Jackie recovers first, setting down her viola case – probably to avoid the grueling earful from her parents about responsibility that she would suffer through if she had dropped it. "Maka… is that your cat? How did it find you?"

"What's coming?" Fear twists Kim's face, who pales to the extent of the veins around her lips showing beneath white skin. She wraps an arm around Jackie's, scooting closer, twisting her head around to take in their surroundings. She looks like a trapped owl, her head spinning three hundred sixty degrees. "Where is it?"

"Your cat just talked!" Jackie yells over her girlfriend's snowballing frenzy, tone impatient and accusatory.

Anger is her go-to, even if it's irrational and impedes Maka from thinking straight. "I know, Jackie, I heard her too!"

"It's over there," Kim screeches like she's at a haunted house.

A woman stands unnaturally still across the street, face buried in the shadow cast by her hood, but starting right at them. She sticks an arm high in the air, a chain hanging from her fist. "IS LOVE WORTH IT?"

"Kitten!" Blair calls, just like the night of the break-in, but this time Maka is precious seconds ahead, already thumbing open the compact and blinking at her reflection, a seraphic light scorching her dress into the sailor-esque ensemble she's tried to recreate in her weekend wardrobe. She hits the ground running, fueled by the anger that rises in her when the witch flashes a smug grin before taking off. The sound of pounding footfalls fills the unnaturally still air, Maka's friends' nervous shrills rising above the chaos: "What's that light?"

Right, Maka thinks, her brain already processing the events before she can consciously digest the implication of what's happening. She doesn't need to turn around, and she can't – too afraid to lose sight of the witch. But her toe catches the curb, sending her flying, falling, jaw colliding with the cement and sparking pain and white rays of light behind her eyelids. If this isn't a sign from the universe that she needs to put her friends first, then she doesn't know what is...

The words rush out of her mouth as she looks over her shoulder. "Look in the compact mirror!"

They do, and Maka appreciates the tenderness that their transformations are synchronous, a ribbon of glowing stars wrapping Kim while a fiery tornado envelops Jackie, both fading and dispersing to reveal each dressed in a uniform similar to Maka's.

Blair's screech snaps them out of it. "DON'T LET HER ESCAPE!"

Maka quickly stands, beckoning the girls to follow. The three sprint down the street, Blair running between them –

And then a distant tug at her soul makes her pause, almost tripping her up again. It's as if her soul, her very being, is tied to one end of an invisible string and whoever is on the other end is calling for her, needing her…

But, the fate of the town depends on her, right? She can't possibly leave Jackie and Kim to fend for themselves, especially after they barely unlocked their powers. Instinct tells Maka that her greatest power lies in granting peace to those who call upon her…

The girls run ahead until they're too encased by darkness for Maka to watch. She turns on her heel and begins to walk, searching for whoever it is that needs her. The tug originated from the direction in which Jackie had been leading them not five minutes earlier. Streetlamps guide her past giant homes, down a couple of more blocks, and into a thicket of trees. Flashbacks of that night when Piano Reaper barely saved her in time, of fingers flying off a hand, but Maka walks into the shadows anyway. There's someone on the other end of that string in her soul who needs her more than she is afraid.

It doesn't take long to find him, sitting there on a bench overlooking a rock garden. Although Maka has only met him a handful of times, she's already familiarized with his slouch, his hunched over shoulders, the ingrained self-loathing more exposed than she ever witnessed.

Soul Evans watches her from the corner of his eye. "Who are you?"

"Uhm, I'm…" Biting down on her tongue to keep her real name from slipping out will probably become a bad habit. Although nothing about her ruby-studded tiara and pleated skirt disguises her identity as Maka Albarn, studious girl extraordinaire, the magic of the moon must make her signature long pigtails and bare face indistinguishable to the eye of the beholder. "I'm Meister Moon."

"You're not real," is his automatic reply. "She's just a legend people made up to make themselves feel less alone in this world."

"Ah, if that's the case, then you're not real either, and your friends dreamed you up to make themselves feel less alone," she says in the most lighthearted way she can, but the damage it leaves is apparent in the way he squints and jolts as if he's been stabbed, setting his jaw, his misery clear. "What's wrong?"

Honesty is what Soul gifts her: "I'm tired of feeling like this."

She doesn't have to ask for details – the way he's slumped over says it all, like he's too exhausted to go on but ironically too worn down to rest. This is only a moment of weakness in a long string of similar ones, and it won't be the last one. She saw a brief hint of it whenever the topic of school or piano playing came up, a detached melancholy in his bones. Still, he needs to let it out, and she asks for clarification. "What's 'this'?"

"Oh, you know." Soul's voice breaks, shrugging, face twisting bitterly. "Like I'm never good enough. Like I'm always failing, and that I don't fit in. I'm not anything that can be fixed."

Maka links her fingers together in front of her as if trying to make a basket and catch his feelings. Validating him will be harder than she thought – sure, she had felt fringes of these feelings emanating off him the few times they met, but she had no idea they ran this deep. What can she say? Nothing, she decides – just sitting with him could help, and that's what she does. They watch the leaves rustle with the wind, the moon climbing the sky until Maka notices his eyelids struggling to stay open.

"I'll walk you home," she offers, standing up and brushing off whatever dust settled on her skirt before reaching out her hand. "Is that okay?"

Doubt flashes across his face, and as his reservations vanish and he accepts her help, Maka wonders if he'll ever let her in like this when she's not Meister Moon.

X

Minutes after seeing Soul sneak back into his house, she eyeballs her cell phone screen for the millionth time, confirming that it's well past three AM (the witching hour, ironically) and that Papa Albarn had flooded her phone with back-to-back calls, single-handedly filling her voicemail inbox. Dread mutates into guilt when she calls him back and he answers before the first ring ends, sounding borderline berserk.

"Makaaaaa, are you okay, Angel?"

"Yeah, I'm at, uh, Jackie's house still. Didn't you read my text message?" Straight A students like Maka tell white lies to shelter their overbearing papas from the truth, even if he's deeply flawed and the main source of a bucketful of unsorted pain. But Maka doesn't feel too bad – one more block and she'll be at the O'Lantern-Dupre family's 5,200 square foot estate. "Sorry, we were... playing Uno."

"Sid came over the radio and reported suspicious activity in that area earlier. Are you sure all the windows are locked?"

Papa has always smothered Maka with well-meaning safety questions via texts when he's on duty, fretting over the slight possibility that their house's upgraded state-of-the-art alarm system might malfunction. He's extra alert as both a father and a cop, and it doesn't dawn on Maka until now that he's been acting as a vigilante for the city. Like father, like daughter. Strangers and family friends alike have commented on their similarities – excitable personalities, endless passion, a firm sense of right and wrong. But Maka hates that he can't ever act right without her telling him what to do: don't cheat on mama, give me space but not too much.

"Yep," Maka responds, not smarting off that checking all the windows at Jackie's would span thirty minutes, but only because she spots the heiress hunched over on the sidewalk up ahead, blanching at Kim's touch. "Listen, I have to go! I might be home tomorrow."

Papa's incredulous "what" is clipped off when she hangs up, and she silences her phone when it begins to ring immediately afterward, reaching her friends in two seconds flat.

"I'm okay," Jackie is insisting, the cloth layered around her forearm splotched with blood. "Just a scrape."

Horrified, Maka swoons, the reality of their battle against a depraved, elusive witch settling in like an overdose. "Do you need stitches?"

"She won't let me take her," Kim laugh-snorts, bitter and remorseful.

"Because people are nosy and they're going to ask what happened and I can't really tell them I turned into a BAMF magical girl but still got my ass kicked by someone we barely saw. It's insane!"

"But you'll bleed to death, Jackie! … And it's all my fault."

"Don't…"

Maka doesn't dare ask, not while the two seem to be sharing a moment.

"Blair can heal you, Kitten Jackie," the kitten says, trotting out of the shadows, scaring the trio. She could have easily been Medusa, biding her time for the perfect opening. Purring into Jackie's forearm does the trick – the teen's grimace reverses, relief substituting the tense lines between her brows. She peeks beneath the cloth before sighing and testing her arm by stretching, holding it up against the moonlight.

"See, Kim? No harm no foul."

But Kim Diehl crosses her arm after wiping away a tear, not consoled at all.

Maka stumbles to the bushes, hurling out her guilty feelings until her stomach spasms.

At least she's found two out of three of her fellow Meister Scouts: Meister Mars and Meister Venus.