Love Against the Savior

Preface Part 1. Sarabel-- The Book of Moonlit Tears

The restless moonlight seeped through the empty windows and the glinting ricochet of night illuminated the navy walls. The rough, timber door swung to its outer position and Sarabel's perfect face drowned in the bath of milky light.

The warm comfort of clothing choices exceeded the intoxicating feeling of knowing that a night like this would haunt her for the rest of her life. She was only four years old and she knew no less than she was supposed to.

Tonight was the night that the Lunar vow took place. When the moon was at its fullest and all of the newborns had reached the appropriate age, a tedious festival started as the second struck at midnight.

Her mother had passed, her father was at sea, so she was living with her crooked uncle in the middle of a deserted plane-- far from where the Lunar festival was taking place. Luckily their neighbouring houses provided slightly-unstable interactive transport and fulfilling sustenance to sooth their needs.

Sarabel's navy dress complimented her young, fulfilling face, and her heart throbbed to wonder what her uncle would think.

William Lune, ten year pirate lord, with a cancelled bounty after faking his death in front of billions of innocent citizens. He eventually changed his name to Fynn Beastly in a turning change of events-- and began to grow a new life with a loopy woman named Esther-- who died in a way that should not be said in this story. Sarabel never got to meet her aunty, but her uncle dragged her into earshot to take her imagination on unbelievably silly tales about how he braved her mental illnesses and crazes-- and each story ended with him complaining about her appearance and saying that he never loved her in the first place.

Sarabel fingered and caressed her chocolaty hair, until she combed through the locks with a sandy brush her uncle 'decorated' when she was two. And to finish off her radiant look, she slid her mother's old lipstick across the glossy, pink beauty that was her lips.
She sat down upon the velvety surface of her dressing chair and glared at a book, caressing the leather cover before fully opening it. Words were scattered across the old, brown paper, and the first three pages were smudged with water-stained sentences. Sarabel flicked to an empty page and closed her eyes as tears trickled down her burning cheeks. They splattered onto the illuminated pages. Out of the side of the cover sat a thick, furry quill, which she ripped from the leather and began to dip it into the tear stain. When the wet quill tip met the page, black ink replaced the salty tears.
'My eyes still mourn the motherly pages, and the memory of the poetic songs makes my heart throb. Life has given up for me and left me with the uncontrollable, but the night has come where I finally embrace the phrase... let go. Oh my sweet book of tears, no one must ever know about your presence. My uncle hates my kindly poet— I do not wish to cry for his existence. For this day is happy— I will be finally accepted into this country,' she hesitated and then began to write again, 'then... why do I suddenly feel so unwelcome?'
She slammed the book shut and wiped away her turquoise ocean of tears, finally accepting the terms and conditions for the night. She decided to change into something that didn't suit her to fulfil her crooked uncle's tedious needs. Tonight was a night that she had to embrace. No matter how much it hurt.
*
"Uncle Fynn, I do not believe this paint to be necessary."
"Don't be silly, Annabelle."
Anger seeped through Sarabel's veins at the mistake of names. She squealed in pain when a stinging, navy substance met her skin. It burnt like fire against mild parchment.
"My name is Sarabel, uncle, how many times do I have to tell you?"
He muttered something about being spoilt and dabbed cyan circles onto her cheeks.
The illuminating moon shined on the bright mauve grass that cried beneath her uncle's mud-soaked boots—not very appropriate footwear for a ceremony like this one— and Sarabel's hell-bound sobs screamed in her heart, but only showed up as a mild sniff on her perfect face. In her head and heart she knew that even her uncle's softest glare could make her bones crumble beneath his feet.
The zinging paint insulted Sarabel's hour-long skin care session. Although she was four she had the visions of a young adult.
"My people," announced a clothed man with a gloved finger to his throat, "This year's Lunar Vow Session has been arranged to be one of the best."
Sarabel mouthed each word because this was the speech he had every year. After the official mayor went on a journey five years ago, the vice-admiral of the village took over and everything got a little more tedious.
His eyeshot dropped to Sarabel and she pursed her lips and glared at the space a few meters away from him.
"We have five new children to join the Lunar Vow this year."
His gloved finger left the skin on his throat and his whole arm shot up into the air like a rocket.
Suddenly, Sarabel's feet left the bright mauve grass and in the blink of an eye she was on the timber stage next to the vice-admiral who's existence she'd dreaded.
"Now children," he whispered, "all you have to do is touch this little pendant with your pointer finger, got it?"
He fished a golden chain with a moonstone at the end of it out of his pocket.
"Now as the Lunar clock strikes midnight, these offsprings shall awaken the village's spirit inside of them."
Suddenly, the crowd started chanting and counting backwards.
"Ten!" Sarabel hesitated. But the vice-admiral's foggy glare made her head spin.
"Nine!" The hand on the clock above her head moved another inch.
"Eight!" The pendant glared in the gentle light and screamed for her to come closer.
"Seven!" She almost lost control over her arms as they tried to flail to safety.
"Six!" The kids beside her held hands, happy to embrace the madness she sensed from the pendant's harsh glow.
"Five!" The pendant began to spin.
"Four!" Faster.
"Three!" Faster.
"Two!" Even faster now.
"ONE!"
The pendant span so fast it began to hover. The four other kids slid their pointer fingers against it, but Sarabel stood there— with a hybrid of awe and shock in her eyes. The beckoning pendant began to flail towards her.
She held up her hands to protect herself— but the gem hit her ring finger and the fog over her mind grew thicker. Her eyelids lowered. She felt like she was going to be sick. But the tranquility of darkness played on her mind and she was swallowed by the black.

"The ceremony was successful, folks!"