Spoilers: Some implied spoilers for Miracle Mask.
Warnings: Over-worried parents, implied minor character death
Set: Sometime before the Miracle Mask flashbacks.
The night sky, dotted with thousands of stars, was an infinite canvas draped above the Memory Knoll. A cool breeze caressed the reeds along the river that rippled past the knoll. Beneath an oak tree, Angela Redoll was sat waiting.
Angela was the most spirited girl the sleepy town of Stansbury had ever seen. Due to her liveliness, some may have assumed she was impatient or didn't appreciate the little things in life.
On the contrary, Angela was perfectly content seated under the old tree, known to many as the Memory Tree, surrounded by the serenity of nature (even with the crickets crawling around).
She loved watching the moonlight shimmer on the water. She believed the emerald green grove was beautiful, and you could almost reach out to touch the galaxies overhead.
Randall had arranged to meet Angela and Hershel here at eleven o'clock to show them this week's 'find of the century'.
They could have gone to Randall's house, but Randall had warned them that his father was in a foul mood. Mr Ascot wouldn't be pleased to hear his son ranting about such 'pointless artefacts'. Nor would he take kindly to intruders sneaking around the manor at such a late hour. Especially not after the last time they had been caught…
Angela shuddered and wrapped her fluffy cream blanket around her shoulders. Her mother would tut about how she looked like a beggar girl, but Angela was too chilly to care.
"I'm here!"
She glanced up to see not Randall, but Hershel rushing towards the slope. In his haste, he appeared to have forgotten his red waistcoat and his tie was slightly askew. He must have been freezing.
"H…hi," Hershel huffed as he raced up the hill. "Fell asleep reading a book... Forgot about meeting Randall." He took a beat to regain his breath before asking, "Where is he? I ran all the way across town…"
Hershel would go to the end of the Earth and back for his best friend.
Angela snorted lightly. "At least you beat Randall."
"I should have guessed..." Hershel shook his head. "He probably got distracted by something shiny on his way here."
"Probably."
The pair of them chuckled. If there was one thing they always agreed on, it was Randall.
Hershel perched himself next Angela on the grass, though he kept a respectable distance from her.
Rubbing his arms for warmth, he wondered, "What does he need to show us that's so urgent, anyway?"
"No idea… Are you cold?"
"N-not really," Hershel assured her. His shivers told a different story.
"You're a terrible liar— here."
She scooted towards him and chucked one end of the blanket over his shoulder so they could share.
Hershel stiffened slightly. His gaze skittered around the knoll.
Oh, the horror- two friends making physical contact!
Randall wouldn't give a toss about it. He was constantly dragging Hershel, Angela and Henry in for hugs. Depending how much he treasured his front teeth, Randall might even dare to hug Dalston.
But if Angela hugged Dalston (from the age of twelve onwards, no less) her parents would roll out the wedding carriage.
She knew Hershel wasn't the type of boy to worry about appearances- not to the extent of her parents, anyway- but he could still be a bit... uptight? No, just old-fashioned.
Hoping to detract from his discomfort, Angela pointed out, "Look, there's not a cloud in the sky!" She looked up, her eyes tracing shapes in the stars.
"Y-yes, it is clear at this time of year," Hershel agreed. "You can see lots of constellations."
Angela nodded as Hershel rattled off some constellations from memory.
What had they called it in Psychology...? An 'old soul'. That was it. A person who seemed out of place and possessed a wisdom far beyond their years.
Hershel was one of the oldest souls she had ever met. And yet... why did she feel like she had known him her entire life?
"I recognise that one," Angela mumbled vaguely.
"Which one? Aries?" Hershel made an L-shape with his finger and thumb. He turned the L sideways and held it up to the stars.
Angela squinted. "Like... the Greek god? Or the goat?" (She knew it was a star sign for March.)
"The ram, to be more specific," Hershel chuckled. "A flying ram that wore a Golden Fleece... " He gripped his side of the blanket. "Two twins- Phrixus and Helle- rode on the ram's back, but Helle fell into the sea... or something."
Angela whispered, "Where did you hear that?"
"I... read it in a book," Hershel dismissed. "It's just a myth..."
So was the Azran civilisation, supposedly, but Randall had found several artefacts that suggested otherwise.
The air suddenly felt colder. The crickets had gone quiet.
What was taking Randall so long?
Angela drew the blanket closer to her chest, like a child clutching their bed sheet during a storm.
Hershel shrugged off his side of the blanket and tried to return it to her.
"Sorry," Angela sighed.
"No, really, it should be me who- er…"
She had shifted close enough to lean her head against his arm. For a moment, he froze and Angela expected him to move.
But then he relaxed, lowering his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder.
"Wake me when Randall gets here," she mumbled.
"I'll look out for him?" he offered.
"Thanks, Hersh."