HARNESS YOUR HOPES Moonknight

one. months bleed

—act one, part one
lost time—

MAREN STOP. The top two words she always heard. The last two words she would hear. "Maren, stop." She loathed those words more than being forced to eat vegetables by her stepmom.

"Maren, quit!" Her father's voice pierced the air, laden with the familiar strictness aimed at the small six-year-old, whose tiny hands he often struggled to keep in check.

She whined inwardly, silently cursing her father as she attempted once more to wriggle free from his grasp. "Maren, cut it out; stop moving around so much," Marc admonished, his tone tinged with frustration.

And yet, despite his pleas, she persisted, her determination unwavering. "Maren, please," he implored, the strain evident in his voice as he juggled the tasks of controlling her and ringing up groceries.

With a final tug, she freed herself from his grip, defiance flashing in her eyes. "Maren!" His voice rose in exasperation, a mixture of whisper and yell, as he warned of impending consequences.

Maren's brows furrowed in defiance as she clung to her father's leg, a silent protest against his authority. Marc sighed, feeling the weight of parenthood pressing down upon him.

He sighed at how stressful his day had been; he had to practically drag Maren out of bed to make her leave. Her hair was beautiful but hard to manage, so Marc spent at least two hours doing a hairstyle that didn't even work out. Sometimes he wondered when Maren would leave her annoying toddler phase. Marc paid no more attention to her as he rang up a carton of milk. It wasn't until he reached for her hand that he realized she was no longer by his side.

No Maren...

Panic seized him as he left his groceries and ran to go scan the aisles, desperately searching for his missing daughter. But she was nowhere to be found.

It wasn't until there was practically tears steaming down his face when he reported her missing. And then it wasn't until three weeks before Maren was found, her memory of the intervening time lost to trauma. She couldn't remember any of it, the doctors said it might come back over time but what happened to her was just so bad her mind couldn't even process it. Marc held her tightly, his relief palpable as he clung to her, afraid to let go because maybe if he did she'd just disappear again.

MAREN SPECTOR FELT THE WEIGHT
of impending doom pressing down on her like an anvil about to drop. She sensed it in the air, an ominous certainty that she couldn't shake off. The events leading up to it were like pieces of a twisted puzzle falling into place, and Maren found herself at the center, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape. She knew, deep down, that she was going to get shot. Shot just like her father was going to be, in the stomach and chest. It was a chilling premonition, casting a dark shadow over her thoughts.

With her father missing, Maren felt adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Each passing day was a relentless reminder of his absence, a void in her life that seemed to grow larger with each moment. The little things he used to say, now haunting echoes in her mind, held a weight she couldn't fully comprehend. Maren was left to navigate the murky waters of adolescence under the watchful eye of her stepmother, Layla.

Despite the turmoil, Maren harbored a deep affection for Layla, holding onto her like an anchor in a stormy sea. Yet, beneath the surface, there lingered a longing for her father's presence, a desperate ache to see him again. The uncertainty gnawed at her, fueling her doubts and fears. Was he dead, like her mother? Maren grappled with the concept of death, its finality a concept too vast for her young mind to grasp.