This is an original story written by myself. Please do not repost or claim as your own.
The Moon's Lover
It was said long ago, the moon never waxed and waned, it stayed as it was, a glorious being not unlike the sun, to light up the night and give people peace. The stars shone around it, adding to the light the moon offered, through the years until it finally stopped.
It started with a sliver, as the people looked up at the moon, it was smaller than before. They thought nothing of it, but the next night it grew smaller still, until the moon was only half of what it used to be. People panicked, for what would they do without their moon to light up the night?
Would they perish? What misdeeds could come in the night? The humans stayed home, huddled underneath blankets made of wool.
They prayed. They prayed so hard the sun heard them clearer than he ever heard them before, a begging wail that demanded to be heard. He rose early, gracing them with his presence, and they weeped with joy. And when he set, painting the sky brilliant shades of purple and pink, they waited nervously, hands clasped together, ready to pray to the moon.
Yet the moon didn’t rise, and they spent another night fearing the night, with the stars there to light the way but nothing compared to the radiance the moon held. The sun did not rise early, but rose at the time it always did, staining the sky red. It was like blood had stained the sky.
The people gave up. They had been fools to take the moon’s presence as anything but in the glory that it was. They had lost the moon, and they prayed frantically to the sun, hoping it wouldn’t disappear on them as well. But the sun was an ever faithful servant to those who prayed, and rose devotedly every morning, and each morning it stained the sky red.
People gave up. The moon would never return to them. They had wasted her gift and it would never return. Temples were burned, images destroyed. The moon was gone, and it was a true tragedy that would always haunt them.
By the time she returned, the moon, just a sliver in the sky, nothing like her former self, the humans didn’t care anymore. They watched her grow every night until she was just who she was, a bright beacon in the sky, and they didn’t care. When she started to wane, they weren’t surprised. She had left them once, and she would leave them again.
The dark times would come, leaving them in the night without the moon’s protection for three days. Yet she wasn’t needed anymore. The humans realized they would live through the night if she wasn’t there, and that would never be forgotten.
Temples were never resurrected, images were not saved. The moon was simply the moon, and the stars were her tears, and every night she rose, another star was added to the sky. The stars were her tears, but no humans ever cared to learn that.
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