Lunar Shadows: Awaken

Selene

By the time my headlights illuminate our ornate wrought iron gate, the sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, making way for a clear night sky that is bright with the light from the third quarter moon. I wait as the bars lazily swing open at my arrival then ease the Prius onto the winding dirt driveway.

Nestled in the center of one hundred acres rests our splendid yet quaint cottage, surrounded by what I can only describe as a natural paradise full of every flower, herb, tree, and shrub imaginable. Approximately thirty acres around our home are luscious open fields dotted throughout with varying fruit bearing trees, soaring pines that whisper to the clouds, smooth pebbled pathways curling around mossy boulders, assorted flower beds, and two glittering creeks leading to a vast, two-acre wide pond. My favorite spot, the small, weathered white-painted gazebo rests behind the picturesque pond, caressing the edge of the forest. Shading the gazebo is an enormous, ancient willow whose branches cascade down, sweeping the shore. Located off the left side of the cottage, my second story bedroom windows and cozy balcony overlook the spectacular view.

Behind our home is the largest fruit, vegetable, and medicinal garden I have ever laid eyes on, spanning an entire square acre with neatly placed pebbled walkways displaying organized sections of produce fit for a village. Flowering trellis archways mark separate sections of the garden for herbs, root vegetables, a variety of leafy greens, gourds, and melons with climbing vegetables lining the edges of each section to create a visual boundary. Berry bushes of all kinds form a perimeter for the entire garden area with wide gaps to accommodate for the existing pathways at the cardinal points.

In the exact center of the garden sprouts a prodigious, circular three-tiered fountain with a large gazing ball on top resembling a sparkling full moon. Surrounding the exquisite fountain in quarters is a breathtaking moon garden, shaped by tiers of semi-circle beds filled with glowing moonflowers, stars of jasmine, supple gardenia and evening rain lilies. I have spent endless nights laying on the edge of the fountain beneath the moon and stars, basking in the glorious aroma of the nighttime blooms. More than enough times to count I have asked my mother how these flowers stay alive being native to warm climates, and she always just gives me a small smile and answers, ‘with love, dear,’ and leaves it at that.

My sister and I have freedom to roam our property as we wish, with our mother’s only request being we keep out of the forest. To enhance her request, she lined the three edges of the fields with spiky blackthorn shrubs which tangle together to create an impenetrable makeshift fence. The visual effect is beautiful when in bloom but is slightly intimidating when it is just the bare branches.

Pulling up the rest of the driveway, I gaze at my beautiful home in the moonlight. Our cottage has rustic cedar shingles for siding with black shingles on the roof, matching black trim and doors, light stone pillars adorn the front and back verandas made of matching stone floors and the broad windows glow with the warm firelight illuminating from within. Our home has two floors, with three large bedroom suites on the second floor and only a small foyer, bathroom, open living room and expansive kitchen make up the first floor. The entire interior of the home consists only of wood, stones, and metal, except for the furniture and decor filling each room. Potted plants live in every nook and cranny up and down, inside and out of our home. More books from all ages than any library I’ve ever been in are stacked, scattered and displayed anywhere there is a flat surface throughout the house.

The cottage is spacious but practical, giving the three of us and our two dogs plenty of room to live yet not be wasteful with utilities. We have electricity, although it is only used for modern luxuries such as Internet, television, refrigerator, water heater and the occasional wall outlet. A grand, antique candle chandelier drapes over the center of the first floor dripping with glittering crystals and emits enough light for the entire floor. Torch-like sconces are dotted throughout the home and every evening we light the candles that have either burnt out or had been blown out intentionally with the flame from the large hearth in the living room. As far as I can remember, there has always been firelight in our house and never have I seen it without the warm glow. Thankfully, to sustain this way of living we keep a few beehives around the property and utilize the beeswax to make our candles, as well as harvesting their honey to store away in the expansive pantry. We procure our firewood from a designated section of the forest close to the cottage for the ever-burning hearth.

Parking my sister’s Prius under the carport off the right side of our home, I loop my canvas bag and purse over my shoulder and walk around to the front veranda. Two large, caged torches burn brightly on the stone pillars, warming me as I skip up the steps and into the foyer. Removing my moccasins and hanging my purse, I gently close the front door and carry my grocery bag into the kitchen, placing it on the wide island. Quickly sliding open the freezer drawer, I discreetly stash my prized pint of fudge brownie and cookie dough ice cream deep into the back, underneath bags of frozen diced veggies. Quietly closing the freezer and padding over the warm slate floor, I find Asteria sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the forty-inch TV. She’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and fuzzy purple flannel pants, carefully painting her pointed nails with a blood red polish while watching Hocus Pocus.

“Hey, Selene,” Asteria greets me without looking up from her nails, being mindful not to smudge the paint. “Were you able to find the sweetener for my keto cookies?”

Sitting back in my favorite corner seat of our small leather sectional, I tuck my feet under me as I softly reply, “Yes, I did, and not without difficulty,” and begin picking at the hem of my old t-shirt, remembering the help I was given. Specifically the helper, I smirk at the memory.

Dipping the little wand into the bottle of polish, my sister grins over her shoulder and teases, “It isn’t necessary to hide your ice cream from me, regardless of the poorly chosen conspicuous place. I am willingly choosing to forgo all that is carb-loaded and sweet. Day three and my headache from hell is finally receding. I'm already feeling clearer and who needs all that extra sugar anyway when you’re as sweet as me?” she adds with a wink.

My only response is a flat stare, not at all amused when for the past few days she has been nothing but totally sour, absolutely intolerable to be around, resulting in me scouring the Internet for hours to find some damned fake cookie recipe to ‘satiate the cravings without caving’. Speaking of cravings, I wonder if meat-cart guy is a local? How would I even ask that, though, without sounding too eager? I wonder as I try not to smile.

“Okay, okay. I apologize, I know I haven’t been the most pleasant person to spend time with this week, and I’m sorry for that. I did not expect this to be such a difficult task for me. Not all of us can eat whatever we want with no consequences like you,” she lightheartedly jests, turning back around to screw the nail polish bottle closed and lithely rises from the floor to sit next to me on our worn couch.

Pulling down her hood, her long, shiny auburn waves spill over her shoulders, making her eerily light violet, almond-shaped eyes stand out in contrast. Though her hair color is artificial—her natural tone being a soft black—it is still strikingly beautiful. I examine my sister in comparison to me, where I am petite, she is lanky. The roads of my body take a more scenic route, whereas hers are direct, streamline. Her tawny skin contrasts my pallor tone. In a sense, we are like opposite polarities, and perhaps that is why we fit together like two puzzle pieces.

By no means do I feel inferior to Asteria, on the contrary I think we make a pair of uniquely beautiful women. However, I do not find myself to be extraordinary, if anything I am just a bit different than the average woman at my age. More than a few times I have been asked if I have albinism because of my complexion and hair, and the answer is no. He didn’t seem perturbed, though, earlier today. If I’m not mistaken, he might have been interested in me, based on the prolonged look he gave me. But then why suddenly disappear? I wonder as the mystery man crosses my mind again.

Completely lost in my thoughts, I almost miss Ria’s question, “So are you up for making the cookies, or what?”

Halfheartedly replying, “Mm-hmm,” I replay the expression on Mr. Amber-eyes’ face, concluding that he was definitely more than impartial to me. Why didn’t I act on it? Ugh, this is why I’m still single at thirty-one. He probably thought I wasn’t interested, I mutter silently to myself with a shake of my head.