Moondance Pack - A Collection of Novelettes

2. Beyond her First Shift - Childhood

Cloaking



*Charles POV*

As dusk fell over the forest, I stood in the clearing near the old barn, a spot our Moondance Pack held sacred. My breath caught in the cool evening air, the forest’s expectant silence wrapping tightly around me as if the ground beneath my feet thrummed with the gravity of our purpose.

Gabriel and Lila stepped into the circle, cradling Melody, surrounded by our families. I stood there, too, bound to Marisol by a fate neither of us could escape. The witches had insisted on my presence, a testament to the importance of the bonds we would fortify.

Unaware of the seriousness, the children played carefree while we adults felt the moment’s weight. Their innocence was a stark contrast to the solemnity of the occasion.

The Solaris Coven encircled us. Their support was comforting. Their hands joined, becoming a conduit for ancient power, with Eliza’s voice cutting through the silence, a beacon guiding us through the darkness.

“Beneath the eye of moon and star,

Shield these souls from near and far.”

With a touch that sparked the air, Thomas lent his strength to the incantation, magnifying the magic that began swirling around us like a storm of hope.

Solstace, Crimson, William, and King Vlad watched from afar. I glimpsed Solstace’s face, a silent promise etched in his stoic expression.

The air around the children shimmered, showing the protective power we summoned. Tears glistened on Lila’s cheeks, catching the faint moonlight. Gabriel’s protective stance echoed my feelings—a silent oath to guard our loved ones.

Isabella’s soft prayer melded with the chant, her voice a soothing balm amidst the crescendo of power. I couldn’t help but offer a silent vow, a promise to shield Marisol and Melody from the shadows that sought to harm them.

As the witches’ voices intertwined, weaving a protective spell around the children, I felt energy pulsate through the clearing. The air vibrated with the force of our collective will, sealing the magic with a promise of safety and love.

After the ritual, a gentle breeze whispered changes, bringing a new lightness to the children. It was done. A protective mantle now cloaked them, invisible yet impenetrable.

Gazing at the starry sky, I felt both relief and resolve. We had woven a powerful spell tonight, a shield of love and magic to guard our most precious treasures. Lila’s whispered words to Melody echoed my thoughts, a testament to the strength of a parent’s love.

Surrounded by unity, I saw how deep our determination went. We weren’t just fighting for survival; we ensured our children would thrive in a world that often showed little mercy. The quiet moments after, filled with meaningful glances and unspoken promises, brought us closer, bonding us as a family united by destiny, not just blood.

#

Second Anniversary

*Charles POV*

In the Moondance territory, under ancient trees, excitement filled the air. The setting sun cast a golden hue over the landscape, dappling the ground with patterns of light and shadow. It was a scene straight from a fairy tale, and at the center of it all was Marisol, radiating joy like a beacon in the twilight.

I’ve seen many sunrises and sunsets in my five centuries, but this one was special. Today, we celebrated Marisol’s second anniversary. Her laughter cascaded through the clearing, a bubbling stream of joy that swept us along in its current. Faces lit up around her, drawn together in a shared euphoria that pulsed through the air—each laugh, each smile a thread in the tapestry of our collective bliss.

“Charles, look!” Marisol pulled at my hand, excited like a kid, her eyes shining with wisdom.

It was a simple thing, crafted with care, its smiling face painted with delicate strokes, its dress a patchwork of vibrant colors that seemed to dance in the sunlight. But to Marisol, it was a treasure, a friend sprung to life from her vivid imagination.

Her tiny fingers traced the contours of the doll’s face, exploring the texture of its fabric skin and the silky strands of its hair. A gasp of pure joy escaped her as she discovered the doll’s tiny shoes, removable, revealing even tinier toes beneath. Her laughter, a melodic sound that filled the room, was a testament to the sheer delight of the discovery.

“Look, toes!” Marisol exclaimed, holding the doll up. My heart swelled at the sight, the simplicity of her amazement a poignant reminder of the beauty inherent in the small things, the everyday miracles often overlooked in the rush of life.

“Yes, she has toes, sunshine,” I replied.

Marisol’s eyes sparkled, twin stars in the dimming light, brimming with unspoken tales and adventures yet to unfold.

“Charles, come! Tea time!” she declared with the earnestness that only a child possessed, her tiny hand reaching out to me as if to bridge the gap between her world and mine.

For a moment, I hesitated, the solemnity of my centuries weighing against the simplicity of the invitation. Yet, as I looked into Marisol’s expectant eyes, I found myself drawn in, the allure of her innocence and joy a beacon in the twilight of my existence.

“Of course, Marisol. I couldn’t say no to you,” I said, laughing at her excitement.

With a grace that belied my years, I lowered myself to the floor, my place set at a tiny table adorned with an eclectic assortment of teacups and plates, each piece a testament to the imagination required to fill them. Beside me, Marisol busied herself with the arrangements, introducing me to her assembly of guests: dolls of various shapes and sizes, each with a name and a story, and Melody, her cherished new doll, seated at the place of honor.

“Melody, this is Prince Charmant [Prince Charming]. He’s old but nice,” Marisol explained, her voice a whisper of secrets and shared confidences as she positioned Melody just so, ensuring she faced me. Melody giggled at the scene.

“And Charles, taste tea. It’s the best,” she added, pouring an invisible brew from a teapot adorned with faded flowers into my cup with all the solemnity of a seasoned hostess.

I lifted the cup and took a sip of the air, marveling at the moment’s sweetness. “Delicious, Marisol. Truly, you are a hostess without equal,” I praised, watching as her face lit up with pride and pleasure.

Our tea party unfolded under the watchful eyes of her parents and grandparents, a blend of the mundane and the magical, where conversations ranged from the weather in Fairyland to the latest escapades of Marisol’s toy rabbit. With each passing moment, I found myself more entangled in the web of innocence and imagination, the lines between my world and hers blurring until all that remained was the joy of the present.

As the sun set and shadows stretched, Marisol’s yawn marked the party’s end, her energy fading with the daylight. “Thank you, Charmant. Melody liked you,” she said, her words slurred with the onset of sleep.

I smiled, touched by the sincerity of her gratitude. The simplicity of the moment was a stark contrast to the complexities of my existence. “I loved it, Marisol. Melody and your friends were great company,” I whispered back, keeping the room quiet.

As I rose, feeling the weight of my years once more, I looked down at Marisol, her eyes fluttering closed, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. In her, I saw the promise of tomorrow, the hope that lay in the purity of her dreams, and for a moment, I envied the simplicity of her world.

Matthew and Isabella moved to her side, lifting her gently and preparing to carry her to bed. Their faces were lit with the love and pride that only parents could know. I stepped back, allowing them their moment. A silent guardian watching over the scene.

As I left, Marisol reached out. “Sing, Charmant.”

Smiling at her request, I waited until she was ready for bed, then began singing softly.

“Un jour, ton prince viendra,

Un jour il t’aimera,

Dans son chateau heureux, s’en allant

Goûter le bonheur qui t’attend.”

[One day, your prince will come; one day, he will love you. You will be happy in his castle, Tasting the joy that waits for you.]

#

First Bike Ride

*Charles POV*

The bike, a vibrant splash of pink and white against the green grass, seemed to pulse with potential. It symbolized childhood milestones and the adventures beyond the first pedal stroke.

“Charles, do you think I can do this?” Marisol’s voice was tinged with excitement and nervousness as she eyed the bike, her small hands gripping the handlebars with determined resolve.

“I’m sure you can do it,” I said, confident in her abilities. “You have the heart of a lioness. This bike is no match for your courage.”

Her laughter, light, and bubbling filled the air, easing the tension that had gathered at the edges of her anticipation. Together, we practiced the basics, my hands lightly supporting the bike, guiding but not controlling, as she found her balance and the rhythm of movement with the freedom of two wheels.

“Okay, I’m going to let go now. Remember, just pedal and keep looking forward,” I instructed, my heart swelling with pride as I watched Marisol pedal with shaky determination, the bike wobbling slightly before finding its stride.

Marisol zoomed off, gaining confidence with every pedal. Her laughter told of her triumph and joy in learning. But as all tales of adventure go, not every turn is smooth, and in an instant, the bike faltered, sending Marisol tumbling to the grassy earth below.

Time froze, and every heartbeat echoed in my ears as I sprinted to her side. The sight of her, so small and vulnerable on the ground, snatched the breath from my lungs, fear clenching tight around my throat.

“Marisol!” I exclaimed, my voice a mix of concern and dread. The sight of her tiny form on the ground was a stark reminder of her fragility.

“I’m okay, Charles, I’m okay,” she reassured, her voice small but brave, as she sat up, inspecting the scrape on her knee, a bloom of red against her skin.

Gently, I helped her up, wishing I could protect her from any pain. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it was not the pain that defined these moments but the courage to rise after a fall.

We made our way back to the pack house, Marisol’s bravery not waning in the face of her scrape, her determination a shining beacon that illuminated the path home. Upon entering, the scene was one of familial warmth, with Matthew and Isabella wrapped in daily life’s mundane yet precious moments.

“Looks like someone took a little tumble,” Matthew remarked, his voice laced with a humor that belied his concern as he caught sight of Marisol’s knee.

“Charles is convinced she’s made of glass,” he teased, a gentle ribbing that spoke volumes of the affection and understanding woven through the fabric of their family.

“I just—” I started, the words catching in my throat. My protective instinct wrestled, knowing that Marisol’s strength was hers, not mine to give or safeguard.

Isabella knelt beside Marisol, cleaning the scrape with a healing and instructive tenderness. “There, all better. Are you ready to give it another try?” she asked, her words imbued with a confidence that seemed to recharge Marisol’s spirit.

“Yes!” Marisol’s response was immediate. Her resilience was a lesson in the face of adversity, and her eagerness to continue was undimmed by the fall.

As we prepared to head back outside, Matthew’s words lingered in my mind, a reminder of the strength inherent in every scrape, every fall. “Kids are tougher than we think, Charles. They learn and grow from this.”

With her scrape cleaned and spirits lifted by family support, we returned to the dimming day, the bike ready for another try. Watching Marisol pedal off again, her determination shining against life’s challenges, I got it.

It’s not about stopping the falls but helping her and celebrating the bravery to try again. Marisol’s ups and downs showed her strength, and our love guided and encouraged her path with her into the great unknown ahead.