short stories

Moonlight

A/n; It's official, you're going in blind, read at your own demise (I mean it).                                               I love Wattpad (I need another platform) ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

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Its rays are brighter than the sun's, glaring down at you like you're nothing more than an arrogant human. You'd think the moon hates you if you didn't know of envy, how cruel it can be to irrespective minds. The moon must be so envious of the sun, how much it sees during the day compared to the moon's night. You've been standing here for about an hour; you forgot what you were supposed to be doing the moment you saw the moon's vexation. Maybe it's out of pity, maybe it's out of sympathy, but you've been standing here, staring at the white, perfect circle that glares down on your form. You hate envy, how it burrows into every fraction of your being, how it tears your brain apart in search for something else to oppose. Envy is greedy and ignorant. How can the moon not see how perfect it is? How you crave to be there, tend to its craters with kisses and praise? How can the moon see the sun is no match for it, lightyears away and scrutinized differently. Oh, how you wish you could give the moon what Douma gives to you.

"Y/n," someone calls, your eyes still riveted on the moon, but attention slowly dwindling. "Yes?" You don't know who it is, but by the light mature voice you assume it's one of the older women here, the one's that teach you how to behave, how to dress, how to be ladylike and not unmannerly. "Douma is calling for you. You have yet to check in since yesterday, it's caused him some grievance, Y/n." You can hear her light voice hint with vexation. You're reminded of the moon, how your eyes are already seeking out the envy in her own. "Do not leave him in wait, Y/n." Before you finally part from the moon, you see something. It's a trick of your mind, of course, but you swear the moon was never vexed, you swear the moon was never envious, nor glaring down at your arrogant human self. You swear the moon knew how perfect it was and has never once wavered in the understanding. You swear the moon was just trying to assist you in leaving this place. You swear you felt it in your bones before finding the older woman's envy.

"I see, I must apologize, the moon held my attention." Her face is neutral, even as you relay your reason. Still, in her eyes you see it, the taste of envy, the way it breaks her neutral expression. "No need to explain it to me. You're leaving him in wait." You gasp a bit, letting the sound enter the room you share before bowing slightly. You almost forgot she was here because of Douma. Oh, what would he think? "Thank you, I must leave." You don't pay her that much attention, but you do know that when she moves out of the way, her gaze is still on you. You feel envy when you leave, something you forget when your brisk walk ends at Douma's door. You swallow, brushing your white dress down. You don't know if it's see-through, it's made of a very thin, paper-like material that stretches to your knees. Still, dressing so informal to meet Douma is something you take into consideration. Did he know you were dressed informally? Did he know you should've been in bed a lot longer ago? Did he know you were awake? Did he want to see you in your- The door opens, and a tall, slender man appears. You don't know his name, anyone rarely remembers anyone's name besides Douma's, they're all treated as inconsequential.

"H-hello," you speak, bowing your head slightly. He returns the gesture, opening the sliding door wider for you to enter. You swallow, continuing to direct your gaze to the ground until you're all the way inside. There's some shuffling before the door closes softly, and you only feel one other presence in the room. "Come to me, Y/n." You blink, head lifting sheepishly as you seek for Douma's appearance. He's wearing what he usually does, a deep red shirt with a black design dripping from his collar and cuffs, while his hakama pants are a contrasting light tan held by a white belt. On top of his head lies his hat, a crown that has gold lining semi elongated diamonds on a black material. As always, Douma catches you staring with his rare eyes before you can find the floor again.