The Tale of the Moon(Mathurika) The Tale of the Moon
A short story

Good morning my dear readers, or good afternoon, or night, whatever time it is over there. I wonder how you’re doing, I wonder how you humans are feeling right now, but let us not worry about that right now. Back to humans, well, there is one human I know, and I guess you could say I know her well. Now, allow me to tell you a tale about her.
It all started when a girl was born into the Crescent Kingdom of the Celestial lands in the Crescent Castle on a dark night when the moon was the only source of light for the kingdom. Her cries filled the silent room as everyone stood in shock, horror, and fear. She would soon be named Chandara. It meant “the moon that shines.”
Now why was everyone standing in horror and fear? This girl had inherited a so-called ‘curse’. The curse was that her soul was not hers. It belonged to a goddess, the moon goddess. Now I know this goddess quite well, in fact very well, but I won’t tell you how or in what way. Not just yet.
This was a problem, the moon is weak, it is always relying on the sun for its light, letting the asteroids penetrate its skin, and it was different. In a world of stars, it would hang there quietly, differently, changing constantly, it was indecisive, and it could never decide on one form to stay permanently in.
As I said before, the moon is weak, and in the world she lived in, being strong was admired, cherished, and worshiped. With that stupid moon’s soul, she was considered weak from the moment she was born.
When she was introduced to the cruel society we live in, of course, she would enter perfect, intact, and unscathed, but when she came back she would be covered in scars, bruises, and cuts. She hated herself for that. She hated how people could so easily say such cruel things and not give a damn later on.
Growing up in that cruel society gave her so many scars, too many to the point where now she is emotionless, cold, and harsh. She despised humans, they were so harmful. They were like a super sharp blade that one second you could run your finger along it, and the next thing you know your finger was covered in blood. She tried to be nice, and she tried to sympathize with them, but no matter how hard she tried they would never accept her. No one liked her. She wasn’t even seen as a goddess, she was seen as a curse, a disgrace. She loathed herself because people forced her to.
Over time she created a mask. A mask she would put on anytime she would see someone. This mask was a mask that could please anyone. It was a person they wanted to see, a person they wanted to be next to. Though deep down she knew she was not this person. That she should stop putting on that mask. She wanted to see what would happen, the second she acted as her true self. Would people act the same? Would they accept her? Would they turn a cold shoulder and treat her as the outcast she is? These questions filled her head to the point she could never sleep.
When these questions invaded her head, she would get up from her bed, and then walk to the window, and stare straight into the moon through all its light that wasn’t its own, through all the scars and holes it had from the asteroids that hurt it. She would stare straight at it as if she could see right through it. Why did the moon choose her? She would ask. Why was it her? Why did she have to deal with all of this? One question I also asked myself was that exact question. Why did the moon choose her? Of all the bright stars in the world, it chose her. How could the moon just wake up one day and decide to give its soul away?
After staring into the moon for a good amount of time she would then walk over to the mirror.She stared at the reflection of herself that took up the mirror. Oh, how selfish that reflection was. It took up all the space in the mirror to the point nothing else could be seen. How greedy it was to think that it could just force her to look at herself, to not let any object distract her.
She possessed wavy black hair with silver streaks, dusty grey eyes that were as silver as the moon, olive skin, and two moles that were on her shoulders. They said that two moles on your shoulders meant you would have a hard time finding love and keeping it for yourself or someone else. She would try and delude herself into thinking she didn’t look like that. She hated herself for looking like that. She hated that didn’t have the pin-straight black-brown hair her siblings inherited from their mother. The beautiful sky-blue eyes her siblings had gotten from their father. The beautiful tanned brown skin that covered every inch of their body. She didn’t like how she looked nothing like her siblings. She didn’t like that the first thing anyone would point out was the fact that she looked so much more different from her siblings. She didn’t like being different. Her looks were a reminder of the fact that she could never have her own soul, that her soul always, and forever belonged to someone else.
She never trusted anyone, she was paranoid. Even the people she loved. Did they secretly loathe her? Did they find her weird, cold, odd? Why? Why? Why? Why was she so incapable of trusting people? Her thoughts haunted her.
There was one experience that gave her a bad scar. A scar that would last forever. When the girl was young, she would go to her parents' room to soothe her nightmares. She would stay with them so her mother could sing her sleep. So that her father could easily pull her away from her nightmares. She would stay with her parents for protection.
One night when she was 5, wandering the long, eerie halls of her home or castle as others would refer to it while trying to get to her parents' room she heard something. Something she shouldn’t have heard. She sat by the frame of the door listening to her mother cry while squeezing her teddy bear so hard that if it were a real person it’d be dead by now.
“Why? Why did I have to marry into your family and bring the traces of that curse with me? I’ve ruined your family.” Her mother said. “I shouldn’t have given birth to her. It’s because of me that she has to suffer. Why does she have to go through all of this?” Her mother cried out. Those words cut Chandara so deep that she could hear the tears falling down her mother’s face. It cut her so deep that she could practically feel the tears. Did she make such an impact on people that they wished they felt her pain?
Chandara knew why her mother was crying. That night it was a full moon. Every time there was a full moon she would become… how do I put it? Possessed? Thick, silver, shimmery tears would fall from her eyes, cracks would form on her skin, and all Chandara could ever do was scream, or be silent. She couldn’t bear the pain. She couldn’t hold it in.
Why did I do that? She would think. She could hear the long cries of her mother and the soft reassuring words of her father. Her father would talk about how Chandara is fine, and that her mother shouldn’t worry.
Is he lying? She would think.
That was the last of Chandara’s nightly visits. She would soon cry herself to sleep.
I felt bad for her. I felt so bad. She blamed herself every day for something that was never her fault to begin with. She grew up blaming herself.
The first time she became possessed, the aftermath truly was something. After everything was over she lay there, as silent as a whisper. She didn’t move, she didn’t talk, she didn’t even blink, she just lay there, and her small cheek pressed against the cold floor. Her older sister watched her, and she poked her cheek. She didn’t wake up.
“Chandara? What are you doing? Wake up.” The naive young girl said. Since the poking didn’t work she shook her. Chandara still refused to wake up. Her sister, Aisha ran and grabbed a cup of water, when she returned she poured it on Chandara’s head. Chandara didn’t flinch, she remained on the ground, refusing to move. At that moment Aisha realised something was wrong.
“Mooooooom! Daaaaad! Chandara isn’t moving!” She yelled out.
Her mother came running down the stairs and when she reached the lobby of the castle she knew something was wrong. She scooped Chandara in her arms and turned to look at the maids. Fear covered her face, leaving no other emotion.
“Go call a doctor! Now!” She screamed at the maids. As the maids rushed out of the lobby she looked at Chandara’s cold unconscious body lying in her arms. She ran upstairs, her breathing going faster as the seconds passed by. She looked around, sweating and continuing to look down at Chandara in her arms as if she hoped Chandara would magically wake up. Once she found an unoccupied bed she placed Chandara on it. The doctor ran into the room and began to examine Chandara’s body.
Aisha watched as the whole scene unfolded in front of her, or at least she tried to watch. The moment Aisha saw her mother’s face drop she couldn’t bear to watch. She wanted to stay beside her sister’s side, but she was way too scared. She ran away as soon as she saw her mother fall to her knees and burst out crying. Aisha ran to her room and never in her life did the halls feel so long. When she reached her room she jumped to her bed and began to cry. Is her sister dying? Will she be okay? What will happen if she dies? Aisha thought as her tears dampened her pillow. She cried for hours worrying about her sister.
Back to Chandara, she finally woke up after 3 long hours. She turned her small 5-year-old body and found her mother and father at her side. She looked at her mother’s tear-stained face, and into her father’s sky-blue eyes. They both gasped. “Are you okay Chana?” Her father asked in his comforting soft warm tone. Her mother’s eyes softened.“What happened?” She asked.“You just fell asleep,” her mother said. Chandara knew her mother was lying, but she believed her anyway. Her father gave her a glass of water and she got up and chugged it down. She asked for a bowl of porridge and scarfed it down like it was her last meal. Later she threw up.
When the next day came she saw her sister. Her sister wouldn’t talk to her. All she did was hug her. Chandara was confused. What was her sister doing?
As the years passed by, Chandara and Aisha became a little more distant. Why? Chandara wondered. She then got another sister. Her name was Lottie. This time her father named her. Chandara watched the small human that only knew how to cry and be annoying turn into a smart girl. Lottie and Aisha were really close. Chandara was not as close, but still close. She saw herself, Aisha, and Lottie grow into an emotionless 17-year-old, a smart 19-year-old, and a playful 12-year-old. They all were different in their ways.
I never focused on her sisters. Though they were interesting I couldn’t let their stories distract me, but they never could be as interesting as Chandara. After all, it was my duty to look after her. So I only focused on her.
One thing I always did was watch her. I stayed behind her and observed how she stared at herself in the mirror, I would wipe her tears away and try to be there for her. I was there when she sat by the doorframe, I sat next to her.
“Why are you so hurt?” I asked her. She didn’t even turn her head. I wiped her tears away, kissed her forehead and told her it would all be okay. Could she even see me? That is what I wondered every single time I visited her. She never looked at me. That is what I noticed. I watched her grow. She was once a hurt girl who only knew how to cry, now she’s just a girl who’s dead inside. Who hurt you? I asked as I felt the tears flow down my face. Why do you ignore me? Talk to me and I’ll listen. I won’t make fun of you and hurt you like those other humans. I promise.
That is what I wanted to tell her. That is what I wanted to do, but I didn’t. I just sat there and watched, and I didn’t do anything. I was simply a bystander. Just like all those other humans, I stood by and watched her cry, and go through all that pain. Why did I do that? I was scared. What would she think of me? What will she see me as? Why did I do all of that? How could I say I cared for her, but I simply stood by and watched? I swear I should have been there for her. Soon I would regret it all.
You’re probably wondering who I am at this point. What right do I have to describe this girl as if I knew her like the back of my hand? What connection do I even have with her? But here is something you should know before you keep on reading. I will always look over her. I will always care for her. I will protect her even if it means killing someone. Why? You might ask, well, you’ll find out later.

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