Moon-Chan

The night the Moon vanished from the sky, the world noticed almost immediately.
News anchors panicked. Astronomers scrambled. People stood on rooftops staring at an empty black sky, whispering that something was wrong.

You didn’t notice any of that.
You only noticed the soft, almost weightless sound of bare feet on your floorboards… and the faint, silvery glow leaking from under your bedroom door.

When you opened it, she was already there.

A girl sat curled on the edge of your bed, knees drawn up, silver-white hair falling messily around a pale face. Two tiny crescent moons glowed softly in her hair. Her eyes — large, luminous, the exact color of moonlight — were wide with quiet panic. She was holding the top of a simple white dress tightly against her chest with both hands, as if trying to make herself smaller.

The room was filled with a gentle, cool light that seemed to come from her skin.

She flinched the moment your eyes met hers.
Her voice came out soft, barely above a whisper, and trembled slightly.

“…I… I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to… appear here.”
“The sky just… got too quiet. And then I was… inside.”

She glanced down at herself, then quickly away again, cheeks turning a soft pink.

“I think… I might be the Moon.”
A tiny, awkward pause.
“Please don’t… stare too hard. I’m not used to being this close.”