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Title: Revolution of the Moon

Author: HuaiYin

Chapter: 2: Of Stars and Oaths

The gun lay innocently on blue comforter, harsh edges softened by puffy lumps. The metal glinted under the light overhead. Elsa was a curled ball before it.

She had always equated guns to shooting stars because of how fast the silver would streak from places unknown when the discussions got violent. And the single loud bang always sounded like an exaltation of a wish to her, a bellow of melancholy for the soul you reaped.

Her door was locked, her tears were falling. The gun was a judge before her, solemn and condemning, but waiting for the verdict all the same.

She prayed for unlocked doors, for secrets spilled…

There was a rap at her door. All of a sudden the gun wasn't on the bed; it was in her hands, the barrel pointed like a snarled mouth toward the exit of the room.

Silence and then the soft syllables of her name came sliding under crack of the door, angel wing gentle and uplifting.

"Elsa?"

She lowered the gun; let it fall like a star from her hands. It bounced once and lay still, twinkling merrily under the light. She fisted handfuls of her white blonde hair, wrenching it from its previously coiled bun.

"Uhm…I wanted to check if you were alright. It's uhm…"

"Anna…" Elsa breathed with longing, unknowingly stretching toward the disembodied voice.

"It's Anna," the voice went on, "But uhm, anyway, when you and Father finally came out of the drawing room, you looked super upset and you rushed into your room. Then you missed dinner and when the maid bought you some you didn't let her in and I noticed it was still sitting out here. Are you…okay?"

No, she was not.

But her holy words held no weight, no weight at all against the fortress of secrets wherein she lived; they merely tightened the lock and key, made her weep…

Elsa didn't answer, didn't move. She could almost feel the disappointment from the other side of the door.

"Okay…well…" the voice said despondently, "I-If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Uhm…okay…"

"Bye…" Elsa whispered to the empty air.

"Bye." Footsteps sounded and then faded into the drip of the background and silence wormed around her once more.

A sort of half choked sob scratched itself out of her throat but she swallowed the rest and closed her eyes. She saw her little sister walking away from her, strawberry blonde braids swinging with the rhythm of her steps. Would she have chosen to wear comfortable clothes today or would she have dressed up so she could dream of a better day with somewhere to go? Anna had always been fanciful like that.

Elsa wondered if the freckles from childhood would still show on Anna. Hers had faded a bit and now almost blended in with her skin, though she often blamed this on the fact that she hadn't seen the sun in ages. Anna was frequently seen in the gardens however, so perhaps she had kept them.

She wondered if that light scar on Anna's temple was shimmering under the dim lights of the hallway as she walked away, the only mar to Anna's otherwise perfect beauty.

That scar was Elsa's only gift to her sister, bestowed when she was five and Anna only three. Anna had been too young to remember what had happened, had been young enough that the gush of red eroded away her memory. But Elsa would never forget the fear, the powerful, seizing, gut wrenching fear she had felt as Anna fell and she, Elsa, wasn't fast enough, couldn't save her. A whimper worked its way out of her throat and she buried her head between the bars of her knees.

The last time she saw Anna was…was… she frowned, trying to think. Yes, the last time she had seen Anna was two months ago, at some business meeting. It had only been a quick glimpse before she had been swept away to go meet with her father's associate but they had locked eyes. Elsa had been shocked at how tall and mature her little sister had gotten.

They had locked eyes and to Elsa's dismay, Anna had lighted up like a Christmas tree and barreled toward her, heedless of the other guests. It took all of Elsa's training to slip away and not be found. It would have been easier, so much easier if Anna hated her, but she didn't. Anna didn't hate (but she should!) and it killed Elsa to know that she was still hurting Anna, even after all this time.

Prayer is fragile, bound with twine. Secrets are dangerous, fortified with chains. Wishes are bombs, undiffused with bows. Mix the three in a starlit brew, serve it hot and serve it cold…

Words were useless so Elsa wrapped herself up and cried instead, wishing she had time machine to take it all back.

…

King Arendelle frowned at the pictures on his mahogany desk, touching the images quizzically with his index fingers, tracing the curves of the moon and the words. His eyes snapped up and bore into his servant's causing the man to flinch, though, surely, the man was used to this treatment by now.

"Where did you say you found this trash, Kai?" his voice hissed, belly low into the carpet.

"At…the alleyway between 4th and 5th Street, your Majesty," Kai managed to say.

"I see…" the King traced the printed moon again, "well what do you think it means, Kai?"

Kai hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words that wouldn't cause the King to lop off his head. Finally he said, "I think that Moon City is trying to go to war with us, judging from the moon that the culprit painted, your Majesty."

A flicker of something like a smirk dashed across the King's face but just as soon as Kai thought he saw it the expression was gone. "Astute guess," the King said, pushing himself out of his chair, "But you're wrong, my loyal Kai."

Kai's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to defend his answer but the King was speaking again.

"Yes, Moon City uses the moon as their symbol, yes they have been plotting to overthrow us since the day they were conceived, but this is not their work. I know their work. Manny Moon is a shrewd, if silent fellow. His plots to destroy me and overtake my rule would not be some schoolyard scribbling splashed on some bricks!" the King scoffed haughtily.

"No…this is not Manny's work. Manny knows his limits. As he is now he has no chance against me. Even the most powerful of his zealots haven't a shred of hope against our city. Manny would wait to strike; he wouldn't flash his colors before his attack. He'd attack when we least expect it and give us no warning." The King paused and eyed Kai expectantly, expecting the man to weigh in.

"Well…I suppose you're right," Kai mumbled, dropping his gaze to the carpet, where the King's voice still slithered through the fibers, all-encompassing and inescapable, "So, who do you think did this, Sir?"

The King laughed and returned to his seat, drawing open the heavy burgundy carpets behind him to let in the moon.

"Just a simple child frustrated and throwing a tantrum. No harm could possibly come of him. Leave him be for now, let him play his games and toot his horn. He'll tire of it soon enough."

Kai bowed low and backed out of the room. He shut the door behind himself, leaving the Monarch of Arendelle alone in the dark with only the moon for company.

"Yes…let him play. Let him see just how empty his words of war will be…"

…

His backpack rattled comfortingly against the ridges of his spine. The cylinders of spray paint were rolling around merrily inside, like a pocketful of change just waiting to be spent on better things. He hummed through the black kerchief tied around his face as he loped down the dark streets with only the moon as a companion. People of Arendelle took curfew very seriously unless they were doing illicit activities for the King.

Jack titled his head back and threw off his hood for a better view of the waning moon. He winked at it and continued on. Within minutes he had reached his destination, the wall where he and Toothiana of Moon City had talked before the other day.

He set his backpack down and rolled his shoulders to relieve them of the weight. Still humming, he opened his backpack and pulled out the colors he had chosen for tonight. The cans gleamed under the moonlight, just like happy little stars.

He had always equated the silver of the cans to the lights of the heavenly stars because he always made a wish with every can. It wasn't so much of a wish as a solemn promise; promise to wrench the city of Arendelle out of the pathway of sin and destruction.

He'd do it for himself, for his little sister six feet under; sleeping with eyes wide open under silver coins, nestled with the crawling insidiousness of dirt.

One of the cans fell over, shoved by a twitching foot. He sat down heavily on the grimy concrete, locking his head behind his knees, the opal stones of his teeth clashing on the soft skin of his lips to withhold a cry.

Promises are good as gold, liquid sunshine bathed in light…

His lip was bleeding, bright star copper painting his tongue with the putrid taste of filthy pennies dropped in wishing wells. He raised his head and spat it out, narrowing cerulean eyes that repelled the moon at the wall before him. Gritting his teeth he managed to slam to his feet, grabbing the fallen can of spray paint as he did so. He was breathing heavily as memories conjured danced about him, silent ghosts, all in his head, but tangible all the same.

The cap of the can was wrenched off and dropped to the ground and he paid no heed as his foot crunched the plastic and ground it to dust. He was lost in his work, in the splutter of color that overrode the whispers of the long dead ghosts. The hiss of paint soothed his angry heart as he streaked the wall ablaze with promise gold and absinthe green.

Oaths are better, platinum bonds forged by stars to lock one's tongue in place of hearts…

He relished the acrid bite of the paint, craved the sting of chemicals in his eyes. Heedless of the moon starting to dip behind the ever watchful glass skyscrapers above him, he worked hard and fast, leaving no detail left undrawn.

But I want a contract doused in red; want your life dribbling out of skin and into him…

At last, he finished. Chest heaving, mouth gaping, he stepped back and took stock of his work. The fresh paint made the picture look alive and he smiled a secret sort of smile as he packed away his paints and ducked out of the alley.

The moon was setting now, the dark horizon slashed through with color. He cast a careless glance at the rosy east, painful stirrings in his chest. He hated the sky for turning so pretty. He wanted the moon and a cold silver cut night back on his heels, the moonlight a heavy weight on his back.

His phone rang, cutting through his musings. He tore off the kerchief shrouding his face and checked the message. Quietly, another smile stole across his face, cutting corves into the light dappled skin, dragging the night shadows back where they belonged.

I understand what you would like me to do. I will carry it out next quarter. Await my signal.

Standard Disclaimers