Tales by moonlight

"Die!" Saphira shouted from exhaustion, with the flow of her sword thrusting into Gangodo the Great. "I will return" Gandogo whispers under his dying breath. My grandmother Nana would always end her tales as if she had witnessed them firsthand. Nana's tales by moonlight always send chills down my spine, and somehow, I felt she was talking to me or giving me a message.

Tonight, the air was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. The countryside, usually so alive with the chirping of crickets and the croaking of frogs, seemed muted tonight. I sat alone on the wooden porch of my grandmother's old house, the only place I had ever truly called home.

"The moon sees everything, Sarah," my grandmother would say, her dark eyes twinkling as the firelight danced across her face. "Its light will guide you when all else fails."

The moon's glow felt cold and distant, indifferent to my loss. Grandma-my Nana, my protector, my everything-was gone, leaving me in a world that felt suddenly too harsh and too cruel. My father, always absent, had remarried soon after my mother died giving birth to me.

Clara, my stepmother, ruled the household with an iron fist and little affection. Nana's tales by moonlight had been my solace, a fleeting escape into worlds of bravery and magic. But now, even those seemed like a fading dream.

Clara's sharp voice cut through the stillness of the night. "Sarah! Have you finished cleaning the kitchen yet?"

I didn't respond immediately. I knew it would only fuel her anger, but my grief weighed too heavily on me to care.

"Sarah!" she barked again, stepping out onto the porch, her shadow stretching long and thin under the moonlight. "Don't think you can ignore me!"

"I'll finish it soon," I mumbled, my voice barely audible.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Your grandmother may have spoiled you, but that's over now. You live under my roof; you follow my rules. Is that clear?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground. The last thing I wanted was to meet her cold, unrelenting gaze. I stood up and shuffled into the house, heading for the kitchen. The sight of the unwashed pots and pans felt like another mountain I didn't have the strength to climb, but I set to work anyway. Nana's voice echoed in my mind, soothing and firm. "Sarah, strength isn't about never breaking. It's about putting the pieces back together when you do."

Clara's cruelty was not limited to words. A week after Nana's funeral, Clara handed me a pair of worn-out shoes and said, "You'll be walking to the market from now on. No more wasting money on rides for you."

The market was miles away, and the journey on foot was exhausting. By the time I returned, my feet were blistered, and my arms ached from carrying the heavy basket of groceries. Clara barely looked up from her chair when I entered. "Took you long enough," she said, not even bothering to hide her disdain.

Another time, she accused me of stealing coins from her purse. "I know it was you," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Don't you dare deny it?"

"I didn't take anything," I said, my voice trembling.

"Liar!" she spat, slapping me hard across the face. My cheek burned, but I refused to cry. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

The worst was the night she locked me out of the house. It was late, and I had been tending to the chickens when she decided I hadn't worked fast enough. "Maybe a night in the cold will teach you some discipline," she said, slamming the door shut.

I huddled on the porch, shivering as the night wore on. The stars above offered little comfort, but I stared at them anyway, imagining Nana's voice. "You carry it within you, Sarah. The strength to endure, to survive. You'll find it when you need it most."

Then there was Clara's daughter, Ruth. One morning, while I was sweeping the living room, Ruth stormed in.

"That's my ribbon!" she shrieked, pointing at the red bow in my hair.

I froze, startled. "This? Nana gave it to me years ago."

"You're lying!" Ruth snapped, stomping her foot. "You stole it!"

"I didn't," I protested, my grip tightening on the broom. "It's mine."

"What's going on here?" My father's voice rang out as he entered the room, his presence a rare and fleeting thing. Ruth immediately turned on the tears.

"Papa, Sarah stole my ribbon and won't give it back!"

I stared at her in disbelief. "That's not true! Nana gave it to me. I've had it for years."

My father sighed, his face weary. "Sarah, just give her the ribbon. Let's not make a big deal out of this."

"But-" I began, but his raised hand silenced me.

"It's just a ribbon," he said. "Do as I say."

Defeated, I pulled the bow from my hair and handed it to Ruth, who smirked triumphantly as she skipped away. My father turned back to me briefly. "Try not to fight over silly things next time," he said before leaving the room.

I stood there, clutching the broom, my chest heavy with anger and betrayal. It wasn't about the ribbon; it was about how little my voice seemed to matter. Nana had always told me to stand up for myself, but how could I when even my father wouldn't listen?

At the end of the day, when the house finally grew quiet, I slipped out into the night. I climbed the hill behind the house, the place where Nana and I had spent countless evenings under the stars. The wind was cool against my skin, and the stars blinked down at me like they held secrets I could never understand.

"Nana," I whispered, my voice breaking. "What do I do now? How do I face this without you?"

The wind seemed to answer, rustling the grass and the trees around me. For a moment, I could almost feel her hand on my shoulder, steadying me. I closed my eyes and let the memory fill me with a flicker of strength.

"You carry it within you," Nana used to say. "The strength to endure, to survive. You'll find it when you need it most."

The next morning, Clara's voice jolted me awake. "Get up! These clothes won't wash themselves."

I dragged myself out of bed, her impatient footsteps retreating down the hall. As I carried the basket of laundry to the stream, I let my thoughts wander. I thought of Nana's stories, of heroines who faced impossible odds and found a way to triumph.

Kneeling by the stream, I began to scrub, the cold water biting at my hands. A small smile tugged at my lips as a thought took root. If Nana believed I had strength, then maybe-just maybe-I could find it. For the first time since her passing, I felt a spark of defiance.

The road ahead was uncertain, and the weight of grief and Clara's cruelty pressed down on me, but I vowed to endure. For Nana. For myself.

And as the sun rose higher, casting its warm light over the stream, I whispered to the breeze, "I'll make it, Nana. I promise."

Deep into the heart of the forest, the waterfall's roar echoed through the cavern, its thunderous rhythm reverberating off the jagged walls. The vast chamber was illuminated by faint, glimmering reflections from a pool fed by the cascading water. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like jagged teeth, while patches of moss glowed faintly in the dim light, lending the cave an otherworldly aura. The air smelled of damp earth and hidden secrets.

George stepped cautiously, the damp stone beneath his boots slick with spray. The cool mist clung to his skin, and his breath mingled with the humid air as he moved deeper into the cavern. He paused as the faint rustle of fabric sliced through the cacophony. From the shadows, a figure emerged-cloaked and silent, her face obscured. Her voice, warm with familiarity, carried over the noise.

"A foe... or a friend?" she asked, a teasing smile evident even under the hood.

George turned to face her fully, his expression softening. "And what if it were a friendly foe?" he replied, his tone equally playful.

She laughed softly, lowering her hood to reveal the face he knew so well. Without hesitation, George closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. The tension melted away as their lips met in a kiss filled with passion and longing, a reunion that spoke of love and shared secrets.

As they pulled apart, George's hand lingered on her arm. "How far along is the plan?" he asked, his tone quieter now, serious.

Kendra sighed, her eyes flicking toward the entrance of the cave as if expecting an intruder. "It's progressing. The pieces are falling into place as expected, but the timing has to be perfect. There's no room for error."

"And the date to execute?" George pressed, his brow furrowing. "Has there been any talk of changing it?"

"Not at all," Kendra reassured him. "We're still on schedule."

George nodded, but his expression darkened. "Still, I can't help but worry about Sarah. Clara's cruelty is wearing her down, and Sarah doesn't yet understand who she is."

Kendra's gaze softened. "How is she holding up?"

"She's struggling," George admitted. "But she's resilient, like her mother. Clara's trying to break her spirit, but Sarah is stronger than she looks."

"Good," Kendra replied, her tone resolute. "Clara won't suspect anything. She thinks she has complete control. That arrogance will be her undoing."

"And after the plan?" George asked, his voice sharpening. "What about Clara?"

"She's done enough damage," Kendra replied coldly. "Once the town pays for what they've done to our family, Clara will follow. She'll answer for everything she's done to Sarah and to us."

George stepped closer, his hand gripping hers. "For Sarah. For our family. For every one they've taken from us."

"For all of them," Kendra agreed, her voice steady. The roar of the waterfall seemed to grow louder as if echoing their resolve. In the dim light of the cave, the lovers stood together, bound by their shared purpose and their unrelenting determination to see their vengeance through.

Meanwhile, I was lost in thought. I reached for another shirt from the basket when a shadow fell over me. Startled, I turned to see a tall figure standing behind me on the bank of the stream. It was Danny,