Gather around, and listen. Have you ever heard of this tale? 

Once upon a time, there was a woman given a special talent for building. But everything she built was flawed. 

Things built to dream? Forgotten. 

Things built to shield? Destroyed. 

Things built to assist? Hindered. 

The disasters of her works angered the deities, and they cursed her by cutting her in half; she then fled to a place where she discovered the pure, and the treasured; there, she crafted perfect things and deeds. When the deities caught up, the woman fled deeper, morphing herself into the darkness. In her wake, she left behind a glorious purple moon. 

And of her creations? Still trapped, but if the woman became whole , they may have freedom forever and ever. 

************************************************************************************************* She stumbled down the cobbled lane. Her lofty feathered hat tipped with every step she took, letting light peek at her hidden face. A jagged seam ran down the center, her skin sewn together by impatient hands. The left half of her face was covered with crumbling green skin, a childish smile etched onto her cheek; her left eye was circled in crimson eyeliner. The right half of her face: creased indigo skin and a murderous glare from her golden eye dotted in pale purple paint. Her right arm appeared bulkier, stronger; her left arm, thinner and weaker, hung by her side. Her torso was slender but twisted, bent out of shape by the punishment. She limped forward, her movements marked by a sequence of squeaks, giggles, and occasional ( mostly from the right side of her face) tragic sighs. 

She, known as Maris, stopped beneath a bloated moon, its pale, purple light casting long, jagged figures on the street. 

“I must succeed,” she howled. 

“I have tried 37 times, and this... this may be the last.” 

But what did a creature like Maris want with the moon, you might ask? 

This was no ordinary moon. Not here. Not in this place. The moon was a thing of completeness, freedom, and balance—everything Maris was not. And because it was everything she was not allowed to be, it was everything she ever wanted. 

Her eyes—one smiling, one glaring—were fixed on the moon, and her hands, gloved in tattered cloth, reached toward it as if to pluck it from the sky. But Maris was not stupid. She knew that she could not simply take it away. No, the moon was guarded. Not by physical

barriers, but by something far more dangerous. 

She shuffled closer, her feet silent on the cobblestones, save for the occasional creak of her stiff joints. Her eyes never left the moon as she began to mutter under her breath, her words twisting and writhing through the air. These were words that once built things. She had built so much, once upon a time. But here, perhaps, those same words might... 

But then, the moonlight... dimmed? Not flickered, but dimmed. As though the moon were sinking into itself. It was just for a moment…but it was enough. Maris grinned—half a smile, half a sneer—and raised her hands higher. 

The sky around the moon darkened. Thick clouds of shadow spiraled down—the moon was calling for her. Maris stumbled back, her hands falling to her sides as the shadows closed in. Her heart—or whatever was beating inside her chest—skipped. Her mismatched eyes widened. She wasn’t prepared for this. She hadn’t accounted for the moon's actions. The moon, as Maris never expected, was alive. And now, irritated by Maris, it responded. Her left side—grinning, naive—laughed softly, as though it were all part of the game. Her right side, however, growled, her eye tightening as she tried to figure out how to escape. But there was no escape. The shadow covered her and dragged her toward the moon. It was at that moment when Maris knew she had failed. 

She had always been destined to fail. 

And so, as the shadows pulled her upward, closer and closer to the shining orb, she realized that the test had never been about stealing the moon — It had always been about confronting the test she would never pass. 

Maris felt the moonlight growing brighter, warming her body as if she were being absorbed into the sun. For a moment, just for a moment, both sides of Maris’s face—her smiling left and her snarling right—seemed to blend together into something almost whole. 

Almost. 

But then the light swallowed her, and Maris was no more. 

The moon returned to its place in the sky, as though nothing had happened. The cobblestones below were empty, save for a single, wrinkled feather from Maris’ once-imposing hat. 

**************************************************************************************************** And so, the tale ends. 

The moon remains, as it always has. 

And Maris... well, perhaps she’s still somewhere in the wild… possibly, chasing after something she’ll never quite hold.