Operation: Moonfall | Jimmy Crystal Revenge & Redemption

The Breakfast

A young wolf girl posed in front of her mirror, and the reflection she saw was that of Porsha, only nine years old. Strewn about her room was almost every piece of clothing she owned, the early morning aftermath of a tornado of inspiration. When she got that fashionista itch, there was rarely a time she didn't scratch it.

Her latest ensemble included a skirted shirt with the skirt being transparent and shorts underneath, along with a glossy pair of shoes. The rolling shades of turquoise across her outfit reminded her of the ocean, and it was a very deliberate reminder.

It was almost two whole years since her mother had passed, and she was stricken out of the blue by one of her favorite memories from when her family was still whole. They'd gone on a family vacation to Hawaii, just her and mommy and daddy. She'd fallen asleep on the plane, but when her parents woke her up in time to see the Big Island, the imagery would be emblazoned upon her young mind for years to come. She had no idea water could be so clear, vibrant and beautiful.

Porsha wanted to keep that feeling alive. Sometimes her outfits were chosen to use colors and patterns that evoked feelings and memories from within. Looking herself over in the mirror, she could almost feel the sun rolling across her fur, hear the crash of waves, inhale the scent of the ocean.

As much as she enjoyed reminiscing about that vacation, Porsha shook away the memories and was back in reality. She didn't just dress up to remember, but to look and feel good. And anyone that looked good as her only had one option left: Show off. Strutting around her room, Porsha walked an invisible red carpet, stopping occasionally to pose for the voracious cameras of the imaginary paparazzi.

"Porsha! Porsha!" she altered and threw her voice. "You look stunning tonight! What are you wearing?"

"It's a Porsha Crystal Ensemble," she said. With her finger, she wrote out the letters T & M in the air as she added, "Trademarked!" After a few more minutes of pleasing the adoring public, Porsha found herself back in front of the mirror, and the memories began to reach out to her once more.

She felt the warm sand under her feet and wiggled her toes as water rolled across the beach and lapped at her ankles. If she squinted, she could see the sun beaming high above. Somewhere in the distance she heard the relaxed voices of her parents calling out to her.

"Porsha! Get down here!"

Porsha nearly jumped out of her fur. Her father's yell could splinter wood and blister paint. It was too early in the morning to have done anything to get in trouble over, and she didn't remember any incident from the night before, so she was baffled by her father's mood. But she knew if she kept him waiting, it'd likely get worse, so she sprinted out of her room and down the staircase.

"Porshaaaaa!"

"I'm coming, daddy!"

Why did he have to be so impatient? It was like he forgot how big the Crystal Manor was.

Porsha followed her dad's voice to its epicenter, drawing her into their lavish kitchen. She was stunned at the sight of him; slacks and a button up shirt weren't all that unusual, but the apron around his torso was something she never recalled seeing before. The media would have a field day if it ever caught Jimmy Crystal in an apron.

"It's about time!" he said. "You don't want it to get cold, do ya?"

On the white marble countertop was an ornate glass cover over a plate. "Ta-daaaa!" he sang while raising the cover. Porsha let out a high-pitched squeal when he revealed what he'd been working on.

"Daddy! You made French toast!?"

"Here you go, baby," Jimmy said, grabbing some utensils before carrying the plate over to the table. He abandoned his apron and watched with anxious anticipation.