It was just turning to the witching hour, the wolves down in the dark woods singing out towards the luminous globe in the sky, and a single figure was perched at the mouth of the cave, her gaze directed up towards the sky. The glow of the moon far outshone the light from the stars, and thus the sky was rendered an ebony void but for the single sphere of silvery light. The cold winter air made the moon that much more visible, and as she sat watching it, the girl felt as though she could simply reach up into the sky and touch the worn, cracked surface of the celestial body.
She doubted that they would ever understand just how perfectly the name had suited her, even those that knew what it meant.
The moon had no light of its own, relying instead upon the light from the greater sun to shine in the night. The pale surface, always described in poetry as so sultry and luminous, was covered in craters and cracks, marks that would never fade. It waxed and waned, either gone completely or so bright it blotted out all else around it. It held no special powers, save the sway it had over the tides, and was brightest at night.
She sighed, her breath misting before her eyes and then vanishing into the night. Never had a girl been so aptly named as she, the girl thought as she looked up into the face of her namesake and wondered who else had noticed the similarities between the two of them.
Only one person had ever described her as lovely as her namesake, and even then he hadn’t known her. He had spotted her sitting alone in the crowd and taken pity on her, telling her what he thought she needed to hear… He had never been more right in what a lonely little girl wanted to hear.
She stood and stretched, heading back into the cave and bidding goodnight to the moon above her. It would be there again tomorrow night, a never-spoken yet always-understood pact between them.
The moon would rise, and she would rise to greet it, the lonely little moon child who hid her face from the sun.