Title: Claire De La Lune
Characters: Remus and Tonks Lupin, Bill and Fleur Weasley, and the moon.
Notes: Well, you know what I'm like with personification... it calls to me! I'm seriously considering doing another of these, for the next generation and a few plot twists, but for now, I hope you enjoy.
She wishes - oh, how she wishes - that she could be part of the day. That she could be part of springtime, full of promise and pleasure; that she could be part of autumn-time with all the auburns and reds breaking free; that she could be part of summertime, filled with love and adventure and hope.
She wishes - oh, how she wishes - that she knew of something other than winter nights.
Because every night is cold - even in summer, she waits until it is blistering with cold, not heat, until she rises, head high, heart frozen.
And tonight - oh, tonight - she brushes her fingers over four who wish that things could be different. Two used to be so pretty, and she took that, and took no pleasure from the act. The other two, oh, yes, they're still young, and whole, but look at their pretty faces; don't they look sad?
One prowls over empty shadows, the winter night not affecting him. There were times when he would bloody himself, tear himself apart in hatred for her. Now, he curls up in the corner and whimpers.
The defeated one falls asleep, and she looks away.
She has turned to ice too many times, now; felt herself turn cold and dead and stab the defeated one. He doesn't need her again tonight.
The other; he prowls his empty house, his skin cold and his eyes feral. He craves meat, and flesh, and blood, but his human side wars against her more than any wolf side could. She lets him fight and still he retains his human form, and believes that that is who he is.
The determined one keeps fighting her, and so she leaves him be, for tonight. There is always next month when she can watch a little longer.
Another; her hair turns silvery-white with worry, and her eyes turns black, and the older one- she sees herself in the young one's gaze. Oh, such sadness, for one so young. The mirror, oh, she cries, and so she leaves her; another needs her chilling comfort tonight.
And finally, the last, the prettiest, the most broken of the four. Her hair catches in the moonlight, and she sighs. The whole one wishes - oh, how she wishes - that she could sigh as prettily as the broken one.
She doesn't acknowledge her presence other than to glare disdainfully and take about another steak for her husband. Oh so broken; held together with Spellotape and Reparos and glue.
The determined one helps her, as it is in his nature, but she fears the broken one won't ever be whole.
She herself is whole once a month and has come to accept that fact.
But oh, after all, what choice does she have? She is as affected by her cycle as those four down below; the defeated one, the determined one, the young one and the broken one.
They rely on her just as much as she relies on them.
And still, she wishes - oh, how she wishes - that she could be part of the day, full of open windows and escaped possibilities and light that doesn't cause pain to those who bask in it. She wishes she wasn't so cold, her head high, heart frozen.
She wishes, and sometimes, she regrets.
She has many names: lune, mond, luna, moon. The ones below; they call her monster.