Blood Moon

Aria Dauntair had been waiting for this night for five years now. She had been fifteen when she had found the solar maps in the back of the town library. 

Her eyes had been drawn to a table with a chess set, the pieces stopped mid game across the black and white board. She had walked to the table to examine the game when she had noticed scrolls stacked beneath it. 

They smelled of ink and old paper and felt rough against her callused brown fingers. They contained the most beautiful maps and calendars ever, for they depicted the night sky. 

Pouring over the scrolls all night she had come upon the alignment of the calendar that portrayed a complete lunar eclipse in five years' time. A full lunar eclipse meant the moon would become drenched in blood and turn an ominous red. And as a painter it was her deepest desire to capture that catastrophic color. 

So on the day of the eclipse Aria packed up all of her best paints, brushes, papers, and canvases into her brown satchel. Then with her easel beneath her arm she walked into the fields that separated the town from the Crass palace. In the East of these fields there lay old castle ruins from a time long forgotten. And what better place to use as a landscape? The ruins of royalty and the death of the sky; it would be a most poetic painting. 

Her dress was yellow and her breathing heavy as she carried her supplies to the ruins. She set them down to take a rest and pulled her springy black hair into a twist at the back of her head. Noticing a sunflower, she picked it and wove it into the twist of her hair. 

It was early April and the air was still cold despite the emergence of flowers. For this reason the exercise felt exhilarating, the chilly air pressed onto her hot skin to create an enchanting contrast.

Aria glanced at the Crass palace momentarily before continuing to the ruins. The palace stood taller than a mountain, with buttresses like shooting stars and balconies like jutting cliffs. It was both white and black like a game board and it frightened her. 

The Crass’s were the royal family that ruled her town, and the town past that, and many towns beyond. In her mind, they ruled the world. They felt like gods compared to her, an orphan raised by a prophetess, taught to paint and live simply. 

The ruins were raised slightly upon a hill and she trudged up it, only stumbling on her skirt twice. When she reached the top she dropped her things and sat down on a piece of concrete rubble, once a great pillar, now a stone surrounded by grass. 

She heard a laugh and fell backwards off the stone. She stood up hastily and turned to find the source of the laugh. A girl was laying across an old dining table, her lips open with mirth. 

“Why are you laughing?” Aria asked. The girl stopped laughing to level Aria with a piercing stare. Aria shifted her feet uncomfortably. 

“What’s funny?” she demanded. 

The girl shrugged her bony bare shoulders. “Only that you are here. I did not expect anyone to come up here.” 

Aria looked the girl up and down, hoping to puzzle her out. She had unnaturally pale skin, the opposite color to Aria’s warm dark complexion. Her hair was black, straight, and long like a curtain. She was wearing a deep red dress that fell around her in petticoats and ribbons, a pool of blood drenching her slim body. Her feet were bare and her toenails painted. In one hand she held a bottle of wine and in the other her fingers clutched a small velvet purse. 

“You, you are very pretty,” Aria managed. “But why are you dressed like you’re going to a ball?” 

The girl shrugged. “I do not know. It is a game I must play. I must pretend as if I am lovely and together. It does not do anymore. I quit the game. Or perhaps I lost. I’m not sure.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” 

The girl slid off the old table to her feet. She tipped drunkenly to the left for a second but managed to stand upright. Then she moved towards Aria. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” she remarked. “I could stare into those all day.” 

Aria turned her face away, flattered and embarrassed. “Do you always compliment strangers like this?” 

The girl laughed again. It was a harsh laugh because it sounded empty. It rattled from her throat, out her pink lips, like a last breath. “You’re not a stranger to me. You’re a subject.” 

Aria tried to make sense of this. The girl rolled her eyes at her confusion. 

“I’m Lorelai Crass. Or at least I am told that is my name.” 

“Oh!” Aria cried and she fell harshly to her knees. They would be bruised in the morning. 

Lorelai laughed. “Do not kneel to me. Didn’t I tell you I quit the game? Stop playing it. We are just too girls, that is all. Call me Rosy, that is what my friends call me.” 

Aria stared at the flowers that poked up between Lorelai’s dainty bare feet. Bright red wild poppies and blue cornflowers. They wrapped around the princesses ankles and grew stubbornly from the cracks of concrete on the ground. Aria slowly stood up. 

“Why do they call you Rosy?” she asked. 

Lorelai, or Rosy for that matter, held out the wine bottle in front of her, tipping it back and forth in Aria’s view. The wine was a light pink and on the bottle in gold lettering it said, “Rosé.” 

“Why do you think?” Rosy asked, her eyebrows raised and her voice full of satire. Then she took a swig from the bottle, spilling some of it down her front and staining her satin dress. 

Aria was unsure what to do in this strange situation so she turned back to the reason she had come to the ruins. She set up her easel on a piece of flat marble, what could have been a ballroom years before, and propped up a canvas on it. Then she sat down on the cold floor. She opened her case of paints, their chemical smell filling the air. Rosy was behind her and suddenly leaned her chin onto her shoulder to look at the paints. 

“You’re a painter,” she noted quite obviously, her words tickling Aria’s ear, the alcohol on her breath wafting about. “Have you come to paint me or the ruins? We are one and the same you see. No one remembers a time when we were one piece.” 

Aria was becoming more worried for the princess. She glanced sideways at her and their faces came close, Rosy’s pale skin and dark eyes alarming at that proximity. Aria pulled back instinctively and Rosy’s harsh laugh echoed about once more. It was at this moment that Aria noticed something odd. Something in Rosy’s handbag was moving. 

“What’s in your purse?” she inquired as she fiddled with one of her ivory brushes. 

“Oh!” Rosy exclaimed, standing up with excitement as if she had forgotten. “I brought along a friend! Yes, a dear friend.” 

Aria did not like the way it was moving about in the purse, making the velvet material pulse and ripple. 

“What kind of a friend?” she asked, her voice trembling. The sun was beginning to set behind the purple mountains. The air was growing very cold. Rosy looked as if she was going to answer but then suddenly turned her head, her mind completely sidetracked. 

“That’s right!” she announced to the open air. “I almost forgot. I chose this day on purpose. Perhaps you did too?” 

Aria smiled, remembering the excitement the night would bring. “Yes, the blood moon! I am going to paint it. I have wanted to paint it for five years now.” 

Rosy sat down next to Aria on the marble, taking another quick swig of her wine. “Five years. That is a long time to wait for something. I presume nothing could be more important than being able to paint it. I suppose you would not miss this for anything.” 

Aria bobbed her head, the sunflower falling from her black hair. “I can’t wait,” she said breathlessly. 

“Perhaps you could paint me too,” Rosy suggested. “Would I look terrifying in the red light? Or tragic perhaps?” 

Aria thought for a second, watching the color of the clouds darken to deep blue. “Why do you say you are like the ruins? What do you mean? It doesn’t make sense.” 

Rosy stood up as if the words had deeply affected her. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “I sense the moon rising, that is what I sense. Do not worry about it painter girl, I mean nothing. I am nothing. Just pretend I am not here.” Then she turned her back to Aria and disappeared behind a pile of rubble. 

Aria was not sure how to respond so she laid out her paint brushes, touching them with affection, preparing for the moment when the moon would appear. Something cold and wet suddenly graced her cheek. Like a kiss from a corpse’s lips. She touched her cheek, surprised. The air was icy and she watched her breath billow out of her mouth. Another cold thing landed on her nose. 

“Snow,” she whispered, understanding. She watched as small snowflakes fell down around her and the ruins. They seemed to be falling all together, as if one body, one white unstable body. She sat beneath the snow and thought of Rosy's strange words. They became more concerning in her mind the more she tried to puzzle through their meaning. 

She stood and walked towards the princess to see what she was doing. She sat against the pile of rubble, the bottle of wine empty and broken into shards on the ground. Rosy had evidently cut her wrists with some of the glass shards because there was blood spinning down the skin of her forearms. The snow settled around her, landing on the bright flowers and her bare feet. The world felt terribly wrong. Rosy had the purse clutched in her hands and she stared at it as if she was about to make a great decision. The look in her swirling black eyes was haunting. 

“Rosy,” Aria said, trying to bring her into reality. Rosy’s eyes snapped up to the painter in front of her, clad in soft yellow, skin warm, body steady. 

“Rosy, what’s in the purse.” 

Rosy said nothing, her eyes fixed on Aria. The smell of Rosy’s blood hit Aria suddenly, metallic and musty, the snow fresh and stark in comparison. 

“Rosy, won’t you let me bandage up your wrists? They are bleeding so much.” 

“Good,” she hissed. “I love blood! Don’t you see, you lovely girl? I am not just like these ruins, I am them! I am the blood moon, and the clouds. I am everything you have ever painted. I am poetry and I, am, death.” She paused between each of her last words, her voice tense with drama. 

“You aren’t making sense Rosy,” Aria said, feeling like a broken record. She began to cry and it felt odd, crying over someone she did not know. But the tears came anyways, warm and heavy. “Let me bandage up your wrists,” she pleaded. 

But when Aria took a step forward, Rosy unclasped the velvet purse and pulled out, with one swift motion, a thin black snake. Aria flinched backwards at the sight of it. The laugh came again, echoing against the stone ruins again, echoing back at them. The snow was still falling and it came to Aria’s notice that the moon had appeared. It’s glorious blood light shone on Rosy, willing her to die. 

“Know what this is, beautiful painter? It’s my mother’s snake. She keeps a whole tank of poisonous snakes in her room. She likes them. One bite from this one will kill me.” 

“Rosy, put the snake back,” Aria pleaded, afraid to step forward again, glancing up at the blood moon then back at the girl. 

“Go on!” Rosy cried, hysteria running rampid along her face. “Go paint your moon! Paint it and these ruins, all these ruins! Paint my ruins! Don’t miss your chance!” Rosy laughed again and stroked the back of the thin black snake. Aria was breathing hard with anxiety, watching those cold white fingers stroking the black scales. Her hair was cold and wet on her face from the snow and her body had begun shaking from cold. Her tears had frozen on her face. She should go paint her moon like the princess said. After all this girl was ruined wasn’t she? She looked into Rosy’s eyes, asking what to do. 

“Go on!” Rosy commanded again. “I won’t keep you waiting!” 

Aria glanced at the moon and knew she could not paint it. Not now, perhaps not ever. “What about your chance?” she whispered to her. Rosy scoffed, watching the snake coil around her hand and slither between her fingers. 

“Now you don’t make any sense.” 

“You said I shouldn’t miss my chance. But what about you? You deserve a chance to keep living.” 

“No I don’t! What will another chance do for me? Nothing! Nothing you idiot!” 

Aria was overcome with pain for the girl, and stepped forward, ready to grab the snake from her hands. 

“Don’t move!” Rosy snapped. If I press on the back of this guy's little head he will bite. I’ll do it now if you move again! I will!” Rosy had begun to sob then. Her eyes were glossy and the tears streamed endlessly down her shallow cheeks. Aria stood frozen, feeling the whole world tipping on a scale. Possible consequences echoing all around.

“I know you don’t want to die. So don’t. Don’t.” 

Rosy shook her head no. “You can’t stop me. You said you have been waiting for five years. Well I have been too! I have been planning this death, my death for five years! For five years I have wanted to-” 

And then mid-sentence Aria made a decision. She flung herself forward and stopped Rosy’s words short with a searing kiss. Full brown lips against thin pink ones. Lips frozen and wet with tears. Rosy tasted of the sweet pink alcohol she was nicknamed after and it sent a woozy sensation through Aria’s nerves. Rosy had gone still beneath Aria’s embrace, as if she was a machine, her lips the off button. Aria pressed her lips harder to hers, not daring to pull away. Willing to stay there until the end of time. It was Rosy who pulled her head back slightly, disconnecting their cold lips. 

Aria looked down at the snake. Rosy had not made it bite her. It sat in her hand calmly, coiled up in her white palm like a sleepy pet. Rosy’s eyes were still shut and her eyebrows were scrunched up, her jaw clenched. Aria carefully grabbed the end of the snake tail and picked up the snake from the girl’s hand. Then she placed the poisonous creature in the handbag and clasped it shut. She tossed it far to the side. Rosy’s eyes remained closed. 

“I still want to die,” she whispered to Aria who sat close on the snowy ground, flowers crushed beneath her thick legs. 

“I know. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to die.” 

Rosy’s eyes opened to Aria, wide and vulnerable, two open wounds. Then she fell into Aria’s arms, her sobs drenching her neck. They sat there in each others arms for an hour, the snow still falling lightly, the red moon still shining. Aria’s paints were ruined and the canvas soaked through but she had forgotten their existence. Aria realized how hard both of them were shivering and stood up, pulling Rosy’s limp body with her. 

“We need to get somewhere warm.” 

Rosy nodded against her. “Okay. Not the palace though. I don’t want to go back there. I’m done with that game.” 

So Aria scooped up Rosy into her arms and walked towards her paint studio, the town lights in the distance guiding her through the darkness. The wet grasses were shocking on her bare ankles and Rosy felt light in her arms. Rosy watched Aria’s face as she struggled forward.

“We hardly know each other,” she whispered to Aria. 

Aria nodded, a curl of her hair falling over her forehead and brushing an eyelid. 

“And we don’t share any blood,” she continued, clutching onto the fabric of Aria’s yellow dress with her quivering hands. “But we are family now. Aren’t we?” 

Aria looked down at the princess in her arms. “Why do you say that? I have never had family in my life. I’m an orphan.” 

“Family is people who take care of each other. And save each other. That’s what you did for me.” 

“I only kissed you,” she remarked, not sure she could accept such a bold statement, such a word as family. 

“No, you brought me back to life for a moment. I was already dead years ago but for a moment I felt alive again. How can that not be, be what family does? How can family be more than that?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Do you not wish to be my family?” 

“Of course I wish it.” 

“You think I’m terrible don’t you? A mess.” 

“No. I think you’re lonely. And stunning.” 

“So…” 

“Of course I wish to be your family.” 

And Rosy’s lips tilted into a tipsy smile as Aria stepped onto the cobble path that led to her studio, the blood moon shining above.