The night was silent.
Celeste sat on the rooftop, legs pulled close to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Below her, the city glowed faintly, distant and uncaring. The wind rustled gently through her half-open hair, carrying the soft scent of damp earth and early autumn.
Above her, the moon watched.
A silver orb, glowing full and proud, casting light that should have felt comforting—but tonight, it felt too far, too quiet. Too cruel.
Her eyes didn't leave it.
Every night, she spoke to the moon. Sometimes she smiled while doing it—talking about her dreams, her fears, the strange thoughts she couldn't share with anyone else. Luna always teased her about it.
"You talk to it like it's your boyfriend," she used to laugh.
And Celeste would laugh too. She'd even blow kisses to the sky just to make Luna roll her eyes and laugh harder. It became their thing.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the laughter was buried beneath the salt of her tears. They slid down her cheeks silently, steadily, as if her body had forgotten how to cry loudly. As if even her grief had grown tired of making noise.
"...Why?" Her voice trembled, barely a whisper. "Why do I always lose the ones I love?"
Her hands clenched into the fabric of her skirt.
"They leave," she murmured. "One by one. And I keep pretending I'm fine. I smile like it doesn't hurt. Like it's normal. But Luna..."
Her voice cracked, her head tilting toward the sky.
"She wasn't supposed to go."
The rooftop was cold beneath her, but not as cold as the ache inside her chest. This was their place. Their escape. The world never touched them here. It was where dreams were made, secrets were shared, and wishes were whispered into the wind.
Now it was just hers.
A grave for memories.
"I begged you to protect her," Celeste whispered, her voice laced with quiet fury. "I prayed to you. I bowed to you every single morning and night. You saw us. You heard us talking about your world—how badly we wanted to be part of it. How much we loved you."
The wind brushed past her, lifting strands of her hair, like a memory trying to comfort her.
But Celeste's stare was sharp now, not pleading—but accusing.
"So why did you stay silent when she needed you most?" Her voice shook. "Why did you let her suffer?"
The moon didn't answer. Of course it didn't.
And how could it?
It had always watched. Always listened. Always remained silent.
Celeste was done with silence.
She closed her eyes and remembered Luna's voice again.
"When we grow up," Luna had once said, lying beside her on this very rooftop, "Let's travel the whole world together. And if we don't like this world—let's find another one."
Celeste had laughed. "You mean like a fantasy realm?"
"Why not?" Luna grinned. "We'll find the Moon Palace, the Star Bridge, the Thunder Gate—all of it. Just you and me."
Just you and me.
Celeste opened her eyes, the memory burning behind them. A faint, electric tingle sparked at her fingertips—an odd sensation that had become strangely familiar lately. Sometimes it flickered in her palms. Sometimes her phone would glitch. Sometimes the lights blinked when she was angry.
She didn't flinch anymore.
Instead, she stood up.
And looked straight into the sky.
"If you're real—if your world exists beyond that veil—then hear me now," she said, her voice like steel wrapped in sorrow. "I won't let this go unanswered. I don't care if the world calls me cursed, or beast, or demon."
She inhaled deeply, the autumn air cold in her lungs.
"I'll make them all pay."
She closed her eyes.
And bowed—to the moon, the stars, the thunder, the wind—just like she used to do with Luna beside her. A ritual they made up. A spell they believed in.
But tonight, she was alone.
No laughter beside her.
No hands held.
Just a girl and her grief.
Just a soul and the moon.
And for the first time in her life—she wasn't praying.
She was making a vow.
And in the deepest part of the sky—just for a second—the moon flickered...